Princes Three: Darkness Unforeseen

Chapter 13

“It is difficult to wait, is it not?”

Elladan started, turning an apologetic gaze on his companion.

“Pardon?”

“You are losing rather spectacularly,” Tiriadon replied, nodding

at the gameboard between them. "As did Legolas, earlier this

evening on the training field.”

“I fear I am poor company.”

“Merely distracted company,” the Mirkwood captain said kindly,

gathering the intricately carved warriors and horses before closing

the board with a firm hand. “Perhaps we should turn to less

demanding pursuits.”

One ebony eyebrow arched sharply. “Such as?”

Tiriadon raised his glass, swirling the deep red wine

thoughtfully. “Drinking and idle conversation?”

Elladan snorted in amusement and reached for the wine.

Refilling his own goblet, he freshened his friend’s drink before

replacing the carafe and settling back into the overstuffed chair

he had drawn up to the small side table. “Of what shall we speak,

then?”

“Cheerful trivialities,” Tiriadon said with a smile. “Let me

tell you of Sílolwen’s latest fancy...”

*************

Elrohir’s hand shook as the candle flared to life, the

flickering flame bright as a beacon in the soft shadows of the

moonlit bedchamber. Exasperated by his own uncharacteristic

nervousness, he tugged sharply at the last fastenings of his

mostly-open tunic, letting go a soft oath as the delicate fabric

split, the stubborn clasp holding firm.

“Let me,” Legolas interrupted, smiling slightly as he opened the

final catch before pushing the garment from his lover’s shoulders.

Kicking off his own leggings, he slipped into the readied bed,

turning a hungry emerald gaze on the elf-knight.

Elrohir drew a steadying breath before reaching for his own

loosened lacings, his eyes never leaving Legolas’ bared form. The

prince’s creamy skin glowed in the candle’s warm light, the pale

strands of his hair shimmering like spun gold against dark wood and

rich blue linens. He seemed sunlight incarnate, and Elrohir

blinked back unexpected tears, moving toward the bed slowly, as

though approaching an altar.

Sensing his lover’s unease, Legolas scooted closer as Elrohir

lowered himself to the bed. “This night is no test, nor trial by

fire,” Legolas said gently, a smile touching his face once more as

he threaded his fingers through his lover’s unbound hair, tucking a

few silken strands behind one ear. “I am the same wily wood-elf

who has shared you bed for centuries, ‘Roh. Tonight is but one of

many, past and future. Do not taint the pleasure with needless

expectation.”

“You have expectations,” Elrohir countered.

“I have desires,” Legolas corrected, “but not

expectations.”

One of the elf-knight’s eyebrows arched in disbelief. “And if I

were to say that I want only to hold you while I sleep?”

“Then I would call you a liar,” Legolas retorted, his eyes

dancing with amusement, “for I am not blind.”

Elrohir granted him a scapegrace grin, pulling the traitorous

sheet higher around his own waist.

“I am not blind,” Legolas repeated, his face softening, “but I

would accept naught but your embrace and be glad for it, if that is

what you wish.”

“And what is your wish?” Elrohir asked, leaning in to press a

soft kiss to his lover’s lips.

“That you would love me long and well,” Legolas whispered, his

breath tickling the elf-knight’s mouth. “I would be welcomed back

to your chambers properly, rohir nín.”

An hour’s passing found the prince reconsidering his answer.

Legolas’ knuckles whitened as he gripped the headboard tighter,

his body undulating fluidly, in perfect synchronicity with the

movements of the lean form pressed snugly against his sweat-slick

back. His tensed thighs trembled under the combined weight, his

knees sinking deep into the soft mattress. A teasing mouth worried

one reddened ear, the licks and gentle nips woven into a murmured

stream of endearments and erotic promises, the honeyed words echoed

in the languid writhing that held him suspended on the edge of

ecstasy.

His pleas for an end to the loving torture ignored, Legolas

attempted to gain leverage by breaking rhythm, only to find his

waist wrapped by a strong arm.

“’Long and well,’ you said, ‘Las,” Elrohir chided with a hoarse

chuckle. “Has your mind changed?”

Saving his breath for more essential needs, Legolas did not

deign to answer, his head falling forward in total surrender as the

warm lips that had engulfed his ear traveled down to mark the ivory

skin of his throat. He stiffened for an instant, taunted by

unbidden images of bruised and torn flesh, as Elrohir’s mouth moved

to the nape of his neck, but relaxed once more when the elf-knight

pressed a flurry of soft, wet kisses to the tender skin.

Legolas shuddered, his gaze falling to his own neglected arousal

as he felt the tingling jolts that heralded impending release begin

to tighten his stomach and thighs. He watched, mesmerized, as a

bead of shimmering white appeared, growing larger even as a keening

wail built up in his chest, then his climax slammed into him,

sending ropes of the pearlescent fluid splattering across both

pillow and headboard. In a haze of pleasure so sharp as to be

painful, he was aware of frantic hands gripping his hips, then

there was a single forceful thrust and a rush of liquid heat

flooded his body even as Elrohir’s harsh groans filled his

ears.

They collapsed toward the center of the bed, a tangle of

trembling limbs and sweat-damp hair. There was a long silence,

broken only by the rasp of heavy breathing, then Elrohir chuckled

suddenly. “I fear Elladan’s pillow is a job for the laundress,” he

said, answering the arch of a golden eyebrow.

Legolas turned his head, taking in the rumpled, seed-splattered

pillow with a rueful grin. “No worry,” he replied airily, pushing

the offending pillow off the bed before settling his head

comfortably on Elrohir’s chest. “He may have mine.”

*************

Elladan rose slowly from his seat, brushing aside Glorfindel’s

concerned offer of assistance. Though the elder twin had drank

more than was his wont, attempting to blunt both his own anxiety

and the ever-present prickling of Elrohir’s emotions, he stood with

only the slightest hint of a sway, even extending a helping hand to

Tiriadon, whose footing proved only marginally less sure. Bidding

the gathered elves a reasonably coherent farewell, the two ambled

to the hall in a companionable huddle, sharing a parting embrace

before Elladan started up the staircase and Tiriadon turned toward

his own rest.

The elder twin reached his destination without event, opening

the door with no more than a moment’s fumbling. The front room was

nearly dark, lit only by the faint glow of the dying embers in the

fireplace, which Elladan stirred more out of habit than need of

warmth. A tray bearing the remains of an impressive meal sat

forgotten on the table, and Elladan carried it carefully to the

hall, placing it on the floor with a put-upon sigh that ended in a

moment of helpless snickering at his own expense. He moved

cautiously toward the bedchamber, his wine-blurred senses confused

by the faint gleam of light from the completely silent room. The

partially open door swung soundlessly and Elladan stepped

hesitantly inside.

A guttered candle still burned on the night table, casting a

soft glow over the rumpled bed. Elrohir lay on his back, deep in

reverie, the anxious lines that had for so long marred his brow

smoothed away, his arm wrapped securely around his companion.

Legolas curled snugly against the elf-knight, his head pillowed on

Elrohir’s chest, one leg thrown possessively over his lover’s body.

Dark hair mingled with gold in a tangled drift across twisted

linens. The faint scent of sandalwood and sated passion hung in

the air, familiar and arousing.

Tears spawned by equal parts drunken sentimentality and relief

stung Elladan’s eyes as he struggled out of his clothing, tossing

both leggings and tunic haphazardly over a chair before snuffing

the candle and crawling into bed.

He lay quite still for a moment, pondering, before he identified

the source of his discomfort. Eyes fixed on the ceiling, he sighed

heavily.

“Where is my pillow?”

The question was idly spoken, so Elladan was somewhat surprised

when the mattress shifted and an amused voice answered softly.

“On the floor, where it should stay. You may use mine.”

He turned his head to meet Legolas’ laughing eyes.

“And you are drunk, el nín.”

“I am not drunk,” Elladan retorted petulantly, taking

the offered pillow.

Legolas forced back a chuckle, leaning over to press a lingering

kiss to his lover’s mouth. “Pleasantly intoxicated, then.”

Elladan frowned, turning to face the prince, then snickered

unaccountably. “That perhaps, aye,” he agreed, “and dreadfully

sleepy.” Snuggling close, he added, “I did not mean to rouse you,

‘Las.”

An impudent hand slid across Elladan’s flinching stomach to

grasp his quickly burgeoning erection. “You cannot seriously

expect me to believe that?”

The dimness of the moonlit room did not hide the flash of true

affront that crossed the elder twin’s face, and Legolas retreated,

brushing an apologetic kiss across one flushed cheek. “Sleep well,

then,” he whispered, pulling Elladan closer before turning to

settle his head back on Elrohir’s chest.

There was a moment’s pause while Elladan struggled to hold on to

his righteous indignation. Failing miserably, he raised his hand

to trace the tip of Legolas’ ear. “But as you are

awake...”

Legolas laughed softly, fitting himself into the curve of

Elladan’s body. “Aye, as I am awake, you find that you

are not quite so sleepy as you believed, hmm?”

There was an amused snort and Elrohir stretched lazily, a cheeky

grin lighting his face. “You always have been an amorous drunk,

tôren,” he teased, rolling over and reaching out to smooth his

brother’s hair affectionately. “Has he not, ‘Las?”

Elladan’s pout was nearly comical. “I did not realize it was

cause for complaint,” he huffed. “I will...”

The imperious statement ended in a helpless groan as Legolas

pushed back, his still-slick crease nudging Elladan’s groin,

stirring up seductive images and echoes of Elrohir’s earlier

pleasure. “You will what?” the prince taunted, his eyes locking

with Elrohir’s darkening gaze, silently urging him closer.

“I will be of little use in a moment, if you do not stop,”

Elladan rasped, shuddering as Elrohir’s thumb swept over his ear.

“We cannot allow that,” Legolas purred, rocking against

his victim. Arching his back purposefully, he aimed a wicked smile

at Elrohir. “Perhaps we should hurry things along.”

Elladan’s eyes rolled back, a shout bursting from his mouth as

he was unexpectedly sheathed in his lover’s passage, his immediate

release prevented only by the debated third bottle of wine. ‘I

must thank Tiri,’ he thought disjointedly, then a flurry of

mischievous squirming brought his attention firmly back to the

moment. “Legolas,” he panted, “be

still...please...”

Legolas stilled obediently, his suddenly solemn gaze focused on

Elrohir’s face. “’Roh?”

The elf-knight met the searching look soberly, then reached for

the still-open bottle of oil, splashing a generous amount into his

own palm before closing his hand around his lover’s arousal.

Legolas hissed sharply, grasping Elrohir’s wrist to stop the

tantalizing touch. “You are sure? We have not...you do not have

to...”

Elrohir silenced the rambling with a forceful kiss, pulling away

only when his body demanded another breath. “I am sure,” he

whispered hoarsely. “I want you. Inside.”

Legolas swallowed thickly, running a trembling hand down the

elf-knight’s spine as Elrohir rolled to his side and positioned

himself with practiced ease, then pressed back, slowly but steadily

taking his lover’s shaft into his body.

The fierce stretch and burn forced a pained gasp from Elrohir,

and he felt Elladan’s fingers on his arm, tracing soothing patterns

over tense muscle. Focusing on the affectionate touch and the

calming rumble of Legolas’ murmuring, the elf-knight relaxed at

last, and, with a sigh of relief, he drew Elladan’s hand down to

entwine their fingers, rocking enticingly against Legolas’ stiffly

-held body. “I am well, anor nín,” he ground out, seeking to

reassure his lover. “Now move.”

Legolas bit his lip as he began to rock slowly, the motion at

first awkward, then uncertainty gave way to a long-familiar rhythm

and the overwhelming sensation of both filling and being filled.

The moonlit chamber echoed with spiraling groans and growls, ever

increasing in strength and pace, until a final triumphant roar

faded into labored breathing and whispered promises.

Cradled snugly between his lovers, Legolas slipped into reverie,

sighing with contentment as a last, drowsy vow brushed his

thoughts.

Always.

*~*~*~*~*