Ringspell

Chapter 19.
Caught in the act...

Slowly, painfully, Aragorn opened his eyes.

Looking around, it took him several moments to realise where he was: Legolas' bedroom. He sat up, swinging his legs over the edge of the large, soft couch on which he lay. His head swam dangerously for a moment, as he came upright and he closed his eyes against the nausea in his stomach. Somewhere, deep in his brain, a slow, dull throbbing began. Idly, he scratched his chest. It was then he realized his tunic and shirt hung open. He opened his eyes and looked down. On the floor, between his feet, lay a clear, glass bottle. He reached down and picked it up, instantly recognising the few drops of clear liquid that remained in the bottle as Sina - the cause of all his woes. Gradually, like the fragments of a dream, Aragorn began to piece together his memories of the night before.

He remembered quite clearly having dinner, in the Dining Hall. He had left the meal early, with Legolas, though he could not remember why. He had come down here to drink, that much was clear. How had he wound up half dressed, on the lounge?

"**Good morning, Aragorn.**"

Brought out of his reverie, Aragorn turned to see Legolas, floating across the room towards him, in his elegant hand he held a tall glass, filled with some vaguely green-looking liquid.

The Prince had obviously just bathed "“ his damp hair hung, unfettered about his face and he wore a long, pale shirt over clean pants. The shirt was very thin, almost transparent and tied loosely down the front. Like everything the Elf wore, it wrapped beautifully around his body, drawing attention to the lines and angles of Legolas' finely sculpted form.

- He may as well have worn nothing at all. - Aragorn's inner-voice mused.

Legolas stepped up to him and offered him the glass. Aragorn took it, sniffing suspiciously at the contents. It smelt something like rotten eggs. He glanced up at Legolas, who looked slightly bemused, smiling down at him.

"Drink. You will feel better for it."

Aragorn considered his options. He feared he might throw up, if he drank that green slop. But then, he was sure to throw up any minute, if he refused. Grimacing, he pinched his nose and poured the rancid drink down his throat. Remarkably, his stomach did not protest, though the taste that remained in his mouth would have turned an Orc off its dinner.

"Thank you." He said, and handed the glass back to the Prince, who walked away with it, placing it on a table near the door of the chamber. Desperate to rinse his mouth, Aragorn reached for the Sina, tipping the bottle back and swishing the last of the alcohol around in his mouth, before swallowing. The Sina burned his throat but it also killed the taste of the medicine, and by the time Legolas returned to him, he was beginning to feel almost human.

Legolas flopped down lazily on the couch beside him, resting one bare foot on the edge of the low table. He looked incredibly relaxed, a feeling not shared by Aragorn, whose heart jumped apprehensively, when the Elf settled his dark eyes upon him. Though he could not remember exactly the events of the night before, there was something in the calm familiarity of Legolas' gaze that left no doubt in his mind "“ something had definitely happened. Heat stirred between the Ranger's thighs, as he considered the possibilities.

"Did you sleep well?" Legolas was asking him. "I tried to move you onto the bed but you were quite uncooperative."

Aragorn did not answer. In his mind swam images of sin, of passion. Fantasies of warm flesh and sweat and unbridled lust were lived in his mind's eye, rushing into each other and overlapping. The heat in his loin grew to an inferno.

"Are you alright, Aragorn?" The Prince was looking at him, inquisitively, waiting for him to respond. The Ranger hesitated.

"Legolas." He began, carefully. "Last night..." He faltered, unsure how to continue. "Did something "“ I mean, did we...?" He stopped again, praying the Elf would catch his meaning and spare him the embarrassment of the question.

Legolas grinned at him, wickedly, like a child who had just lied and gotten away with it.

"Do you not remember?" The Elf asked, incredulously.

Aragorn shook his head, no.

Legolas gazed at him fondly for a moment "“ and then he laughed out loud. Aragorn wanted to crawl under the lounge and die.

"I am glad you find it so amusing." He said, defensively. Realising the Ranger's embarrassment, Legolas stifled his giggles, struggling to put on a straight face. It appeared to be an almost impossible task.

"Forgive me, Aragorn. I do not mean to laugh." Legolas sat up and leaned forward, in one fluid motion, his face hovering just inches from Aragorn's own. "But you are so utterly adorable, in the morning." With that, the Elf kissed him soundly on the lips; a simple, almost casual gesture that despite its seeming innocence, sent the Ranger's heart fluttering in his chest. Legolas released his mouth but did not move away, reaching up to caress Aragorn's face with long fingers.

"If it bothers you that you do not remember, I could show you." Legolas let his fingers drift down to the Ranger's exposed chest, tracing delicate lines at first, before laying his palm flat against the warm flesh over the Man's wildly beating heart. A gentle smile touched the Elfs' lips, as he felt the runaway pulse in the Man's chest.

"It would be my pleasure, to do so." Legolas purred and kissed Aragorn again.

This kiss was nothing like the last. The Elf parted his lips and dove into the warmth of Aragorn's mouth, hungrily tasting the Man, and without thought or hesitation Aragorn responded, losing himself in the passion of the Prince's embrace.

Legolas crawled over him, pushing Aragorn against the back of the lounge, climbing into his lap. One hand held the Ranger's head, long fingers entwined in the Man's dark hair, the other slid, snake-like down the flesh of Aragorn's stomach, finding the lustful heat between his thighs.

Legolas broke from the kiss, smiling knowingly at Aragorn, his eyes darkening with desire.

"Already, Estel?" The Elf asked softly. "How quickly you respond."

Aragorn's yearning surged, as the Prince uttered his elvish name and he threw caution to the wind, grabbing Legolas around the waist and throwing him down onto the lounge, covering the Elfs' luscious body with his own. He slipped his hands up under the fine silk shirt the young Prince wore, marvelling at the softness of the warm flesh beneath.

Legolas sighed beautifully beneath his touch, the dark eyes fluttering closed as Aragorn pinched gently on one of the Elfs' nipples, bringing the little nub to attention with carefully measured pain. He leaned down and kissed his lover's neck, sucking hard on the soft, sensitive flesh, coaxing soft moans of pleasure from the Elfs' lips.

"**Is he awake, yet?**"

"**I do not know, my Lord.**"

Legolas' whole body jumped, beneath Aragorn.

"Estel, get up." The Prince whispered desperately, pushing the Man away from him. "Ada is here."

For a moment Aragorn did not react. The Man found himself captivated by his lover's eyes; he had never before seen fear, in those dark blue pools.

He was dragged back into reality by the sound of the heavy wooden door, being pushed open. He crawled back off the young Elf, standing and turning towards the sound.

Through the doorway, strode the King Mirkwood. The King stopped, as soon as he laid eyes on Aragorn, standing perfectly still, staring, silently at him. Aragorn bore Thranduil's stony gaze, for what seemed like several minutes before the King's eyes moved on, looking beyond him now. Aragorn glanced over his shoulder. Legolas walked past him, approaching the King swiftly, his eyes on the floor at his father's feet. He stopped a couple of paces away from the intimidating figure of his King, bowing low.

"**Ada.**" The Prince said by way of greeting. He straightened and raised his eyes to meet Thranduil's. Silently, Aragorn wondered if Thranduil saw the fear he had seen, in the young Elfs' eyes.

The King glanced back over at Aragorn, disdain written all over his face.

"You, leave us." He commanded.

Aragorn hesitated. For some reason, he did not want to leave. It did not feel right, to do so. Nevertheless, the King waited impatiently for him to go, and so he did, walking stiffly across the room to the open door, the whole way beneath Thranduil's harsh glare. He crossed the threshold of the chamber and stepped out into the long hallway.

The heavy door was slammed closed behind him.

He stood there, for a moment, not really knowing what to do. Finally, the irritated looks the guard outside the door kept throwing him worked, and he turned and headed along the hallway, in the direction of the stairs that would take him down, to the fourth level of the halls and the rest of his companions.

He tried hard not to think, as he walked, but he could not keep from wondering what was happening now, behind the Prince's closed doors. His chest tightened uncomfortably.

Was Legolas in trouble?

To be continued...