Deeper Waters

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DEEPER WATERS

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Chapter 2

How he had managed to keep his hands off Legolas until the door was shut behind them, Imrahil was not entirely sure. He had felt feverish with excitement since the moment he had awoken that morning, and by the time they reached the borders of the elven realm, he had been fighting to control a raging lust such as he had not known since his twenties. His lover’s sudden appearance in the clearing had caused the blood to ring in his ears and his heart to hammer in his chest; it was all he could do to maintain his composure in front of their small but attentive audience.

The walk up through the forest had been nothing short of torture. Legolas had led the way along the narrow path, leaving Imrahil to follow behind, his eyes glued to the taut muscles of the elf’s thighs and the hint of the curve of his buttocks under the pale, close-fitting tunic. He had found himself breathing hard, but assuming that Legolas was concerned about being overheard by his kin, he had followed his lover’s lead and talked only of neutral matters.

When they finally reached the cabin which was to be Imrahil’s for the duration of his stay, Legolas held the door open and allowed him to enter first. The man put down his pack hurriedly, and turned to see the elf standing in the open doorway, a look of amusement on his face. It was, for Imrahil, the final straw.

“Close it,” he said, fiercely.

Legolas’s eyes widened as he obeyed the man’s command. A fraction of a second later, Imrahil had him pinned against the door, their bodies crushed together, as he forced his tongue into the elf’s mouth and kissed him violently. His hands clutched and dragged at Legolas’s sides, then found their way down below his waist to pull his hips in even closer. Imrahil had been at least partially hard since the moment he had heard Legolas’s voice, and now he felt fit to burst. He ground his cock against the elf’s almost brutally, and felt his lover’s answering thrusts growing stronger.

At last the man pulled his head back and looked closely at the other’s face. He was gratified to see that there was no hint of humour there now, only the intensity of unsatisfied desire.

“Did you miss me?” Imrahil asked, his voice low.

“Yes,” breathed the elf. “Do you not feel it?”

They stared at each other for a second, and suddenly Imrahil was astonished to find himself being pushed backwards across the room and tumbled to the bed. Before he could move or speak, Legolas was astride him, trapping his arms at his sides, and kissing him with a ferocity to rival his own.

“Do you want me to prove it to you?” the elf said darkly.

With every fibre of his being he longed to cry out his assent, but he restrained himself, gazing into his lover’s hungry eyes and silently communicating his response.

“You shall have your proof, though you may have cause to rue it,” said Legolas.

This time Imrahil could not stop himself from saying it. He closed his eyes as he whispered the word. “Yes.”

The elf’s hands seemed to be everywhere at once then, roughly but efficiently unfastening his tunic and shirt, pulling them off his shoulders, leaving his chest exposed and his arms further restricted. The strong white fingers made short work of the fastenings at his waist, and he found himself lifting his hips to allow Legolas to pull his leggings down to his knees. His boots were gone in a moment, and the leggings followed soon after.

He shouted out at the onslaught of sensation as Legolas fell upon him with mouth and hands. The elf was far from gentle as he worked his way down Imrahil’s torso, licking and biting, kneading the flesh, scratching with just enough pressure to drive the man into a frenzy.

By the time Legolas took his cock in his mouth, Imrahil was practically weeping with need. The elf’s hands were resting on the man’s thighs, his thumbs working along the tender join of leg and body, while with lips and tongue he at last offered some relief for the ache that had plagued Imrahil for so much of the day. At last the man felt his peak approaching, and he pushed his head back into the mattress, mouth open, waiting for the first wave to break.

But just as he felt the agonising tension build throughout his groin, he recognised, with a shock, the presence of Legolas in his mind. The elf’s desire was urgent, yet there was something else, an iron control which held Imrahil still, his climax suspended, his whole body seemingly filled with ice and fire simultaneously. He felt his muscles begin to shake, but he was quite unable to move of his own accord.

Legolas raised his head and spoke in a tone which only served to heighten Imrahil’s desperation.

“Much as I long to taste you, I will wait for that pleasure. I wish to be inside you when you come.”

With that, he shifted on the bed, got up onto his knees, and rapidly removed his tunic, revealing the bare skin beneath. Imrahil could only watch as the elf unfastened his leggings and pulled out his cock, long and gloriously hard. The man’s legs were soon lifted at the knee and pushed down towards his chest, as Legolas positioned himself between them. The elf slowly licked one hand, and used the moisture to lubricate himself. All the while his eyes never left Imrahil’s, and the man somehow knew that until they did he would be utterly in his lover’s thrall.

“This will not be easy,” Legolas said, as he held himself ready for entry.

“I care not. Do it now!” Imrahil was still shaking with the strain of his delayed orgasm.

He howled as the elf drove into him, but even the pain was a welcome respite from the terrible paralysis that held him. He howled again, and again, as Legolas thrust deeply, slowly at first but gradually building in speed. Imrahil had never felt so helpless, doubly immobilised by the strength of the elf’s mind and the sheer power of the deceptively slender body slamming into his. It was completely overwhelming, the most intense feeling he had ever experienced. But when Legolas paused and changed his position slightly, only to begin his assault once more at an angle designed to maximise the man’s pleasure, Imrahil knew that his limit had truly been reached. His shuddering body was already burning, but now the waves of ecstasy were so extreme, he did not know how he could possibly survive it. Tears slid from his eyes as he finally managed to speak.

“Please! Please, Legolas, I cannot . . .” he cried.

The elf pushed inside him one last time and held himself there, the muscles in his chest and arms visibly tensed. He leaned down slightly towards Imrahil.

“Do you feel it now, my prince?” Legolas asked, his voice almost menacing.

“Gods, yes, I feel it! Release me, I beg you, before you kill me!”

There was only an instant to register the fact that Legolas’s smile was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, before his lover freed Imrahil’s mind from its constraints, and every part of his body seemed to turn in on itself at once. Surely every elf in Ithilien must have heard his screams as the orgasm, so long withheld, ripped through him, taking with it the last shreds of coherent thought. He was vaguely aware of Legolas crying out his own passion as he came, and then nothing but the physical sensation remained.

It was a while before Imrahil felt able to move or speak. Instead he kept quite still, eyes closed, and enjoyed the elf’s ministrations as Legolas lay at his side and gently kissed his face, licking the tears from his cheeks.

When the man did at last open his eyes to look at his lover, Legolas said, “I missed you.”

“I believe I felt it,” Imrahil replied. “But I had no idea that an elf could be so . . . impatient.”

“Nor had I, until I learned what it is to desire a mortal man,” the elf said seriously.

At that, Imrahil roused himself and wriggled one arm free of his clothing, so he could raise a hand and stroke his lover’s hair.

“What magic is it that you used on me?” he asked.

“It is no magic, simply my spirit touching yours.”

“Are you telling me that it is something commonplace for you?”

“Not exactly.” Legolas pushed himself up on an elbow to look down at Imrahil. “Elves can reach each other in that way, but only with consent. We learn from an early age to protect our own minds from intrusion.”

“’Tis a good thing, I think. It could be a dangerous gift,” said the man.

“Aye, though not all of us have it to the same extent. Physical contact makes it easier, but there are some for whom neither proximity nor consent is necessary. Galadriel is one of them, and Arwen; her brothers also. Lord Elrond must have the gift, although I have not felt him use it in its entirety. My father has it to a lesser degree; such power as I have is inherited from him.”

Imrahil thought for a while. “And men? We are defenceless against such manipulation.”

Legolas laughed, and kissed him gently before replying. “It has not been my habit to develop such intimacy with men in general; but it is my impression that some minds are more open than others. I believe you are particularly susceptible, no doubt due to your unusual lineage.”

“Yet you have not used your power with me, save twice before,” Imrahil gave an involuntary shiver at the thought of those occasions, each of which had affected him so greatly.

“I would not do so, my friend. I delight in the fact that we meet as equals. Were I to abuse our differences so, I would jeopardise something which is precious to me.”

Imrahil looked steadily into the blue eyes for a long moment, feeling the familiar ache in his chest.

“Do you know how much I love you?” he asked eventually.

“I feel it,” said the elf softly, and rolled into his arms, his lips seeking the man’s.

They lay in a close embrace as the light faded.

At the distant sound of elven voices raised in song, Legolas stirred himself. “We should bathe and dress. I think we would be missed at dinner.”

“Indeed,” said Imrahil. “But I must ask you, how is it for us here, amongst your people? Would they look ill upon us?”

“It is surely rather late to ask!” laughed the elf. “There are plenty who must be aware of the nature of our friendship now, after your splendid vocal performance.”

“I can hardly be blamed for that,” the man retorted.

“I meant no criticism. And besides, none will think the worse of us. We are less formal here than in my father’s court, or at Rivendell. Still, I am expected to maintain some dignity in front of my people. They will be greatly curious about you, though few will show it. How does that make you feel?”

“I would be proud to stand at your side, before any company, and in any circumstance,” said Imrahil firmly.

Legolas kissed him once more. “The Valar smiled on me, the night they led me to you,” he said. “Now, come, bathe with me, and tonight you shall sleep in my house.”

“I have been waiting to see it.”

They rose from the bed and dressed in amicable silence.

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The moon was high and the stars bright in the clear spring sky by the time the two walked up the slope towards Legolas’s cabin.

The meal of light, flavoursome food, washed down with fragrant wine, had left Imrahil invigorated, the weariness and tension of the day behind him. As the feast had refreshed his body, so the merry songs and tales of the golden-haired elves had uplifted his spirits. But if prinprince had been delighted by the evening, his secretary had clearly been entranced. Heledir’s saucer-eyed reaction to all that he had seen, heard and tasted had given Imrahil a good deal of private enjoyment.

The man placed a hand gently on his lover’s arm as they followed a path between the shadowy trees.

“Who is the dark-haired elf-woman who sat at Heledir’s side? I wished to ask you earlier, but feared that she would hear my question.”

“Ah, that is Velenda, the sister of Meluinen’s wife,” replied Legolas, turning to him with a small smile. “She has been eager to meet Heledir.”

“Why? What have you told her of him?”

“Do not underestimate your secretary, Imrahil. He is a keen student of history, as is Velenda herself. I do not think she regrets coming here from Rivendell with her sister, but she finds my Silvan folk wanting in regard to scholarship; there must be times when she longs for the wisdom of Lord Elrond’s house, and the wonders of his library. She and Heledir will have much to discuss, I am sure, and he may be able to aid her in her current work. With your permission, of course.”

Imrahil grinned at the elf’s courteous afterthought. “You have no need to ask my leave, as I am sure you are aware; I could deny you nothing, and I am delighted for Heledir that you pay such heed to him. You are ever kind and thoughtful.”

The man stepped nearer, and this time placed his hand on the elf’s shapely rear, lingering for a moment on the firm, warm curve. “And you are also a torment to my senses,” he continued, speaking close to his lover’s ear. “Tell me it is not far, or I may be forced to have you right here.”

He felt Legolas’s shudder before the elf pulled away from his touch.

“Control yourself, my hasty mortal. It is a tempting thought, but I have other pleasures in mind for this night. And we are nearly at my house, as you see.”

With that he led the way into a steeply sloping clearing surrounded by tall trees looming grey in the moonlight. Imrahil drew breath sharply, filling his lungs with the spicy aromas of cedar and thyme. His flesh tingled as he looked at the cabin, seemingly growing out of the earth like the plants around it, suspended there above the uneven ground, long branches interlocking above its curving roof. Graceful proportions and sweeping lines gave the simple building a natural beauty, even in the poor light.

The man shivered. “There is some enchantment about us, besides your own. I can sense it.”

“The forest is ancient, and the wisdom of the earth is strong here. That is what you feel. Does it trouble you?”

“No,” Imrahil spoke slowly, “If anything, it stirs my blood.”

The elf’s laugh held nothing mystical. “Then follow me, and we shall see if something can be done to calm it.”

Legolas ran lightly up the wooden steps to the wide balcony that surrounded the house on three sides. He opened the door and gestured to Imrahil, and the man stepped through into the darkened space. This time he had no need to command his lover; the door was shut in an instant and he found himself in Legolas’s arms, surrendering to a slow, deep kiss which betrayed an intensity the elf had never expressed in words.

“My people were surely not disappointed tonight, for your spirit was shining,” Legolas said when he drew away from Imrahil’s mouth. “It is I who should be proud to sit by you, with all your strength and vitality, your wit and your golden-skinned beauty.”

Imrahil pulled him close and simply held him, the man’s cheek pressed against the elf’s hair. He closed his eyes and inhaled his lover’s scent deeply, trees and herbs and newly cut grass, almost enough to overpower his senses.

It was Legolas who shifted and broke the spell.

“Welcome to my home,” he said, his tone light, and Imrahil understood that the moment for unguarded emotion had passed.

The elf took his arm and drew him across the room. A heavy curtain was pulled aside and the bed revealed behind.

“I shall join you shortly,” said Legolas, as flame sprang from a small tinderbox in his hand, “ but I wish to look on you in all your glory tonight.”

Imrahil undressed quickly as his lover moved around the chamber, lighting small oil lamps and adjusting them to give a gentle warm glow. The inside of the cabin was gradually revealed to have the same understated elegance as the outside, and indeed in that respect it could be said to resemble its occupant.

The man laid his clothes on the carved wooden chest at the side of the sleeping alcove, and climbed onto the bed. He reclined across its soft white covers, reaching to the table at one side for a curved alabaster jar that stood there. Eyeing his lover appreciatively as the elf began to unfasten his shirt, he was struck forcefully by a vivid memory, and felt his blood rush to his loins in response.

“I have not yet had occasion to tell you so, but I have come to the conclusion that there is orc blood in you,” he said, in a conversational manner. “I can think of no other explanation for your wickedness.” He opened the jar and sniffed at the contents.

“How so?” Legolas shrugged off his shirt and placed it on the couch.

“That letter,” replied Imrahil. “I could barely take my hand out of my breeches for a fortnight, it inflamed me so.”

The elf looked up from his own hands, busy with the fastenings at his waist. “Then I achieved my aim,” he said, pushing the leggings down, uncovering both the beauty of his form and the completeness of his arousal. “Are you very displeased with me?”

The man dipped his fingers into the sweet-smelling lotion and began applying it to his cock. The cool, slippery consistency felt good on his hot, swollen flesh.

“Come here,” he said, “and I will show you just how displeased I am.”

Legolas smiled, a slow, lascivious smile that made Imrahil’s gut clench with lust. He walked unhurriedly to the bed and climbed on it, moving up until he knelt astride the man.

Imrahil reached up with both hands to clutch his lover’s hips and move him into place. Legolas leaned down, his hands by the man’s arms, blond hair falling forward to brush Imrahil’s tanned shoulders.

“You say I am wicked, but did you not enjoy it?” the elf enquired, his face mere inches from the man’s.

“Greatly.” Imrahil pulled Legolas down into a long, bruising kiss.

Legolas finally drew himself away and sat up again, adjusting his position slightly and moving one hand behind him. As he held Imrahil’s cock in place and lowered himself slowly onto it he said in a low, conspiratorial tone, “I myself was hard for a week, just imagining your response.”

Imrahil groaned, his fingers digging into the elf’s hips and forcing him down, tight around his flesh. Legolas gasped, but he did not speak. The man remained still, concentrating on the sensation flooding through him, resisting the urge to move, in order to make the moment last. When the elf started to shift himself, Imrahil gripped him harder, keeping him in place.

“Not yet,” the man murmured. “Tell me, did you leave that hardness of yours untended? I think not.”

“No, indeed; not even an elf could show such restraint.”

“Then show me what you did to ease it.”

The elf met Imrahil’s stare with a look of undisguised lust, as his hand moved across his own belly, gradually circling down to his impressive erection. He leaned back slightly, and reached to caress his balls gently, while his thumb lightly stroked the underside of his cock.

As he watched Legolas slowly pleasure himself, Imrahil had cause to question how itld bld be that each coupling with his elven lover managed to match, if not outdo, the last. There seemed to be no limit to the delight the two could generate together.

He would not have been strong enough to stop the movements of Legolas’s hips, even if he had wanted to do so. But once the elf began to work himself in earnest, pushing down rhythmically against the eager cock that impaled him, Imrahil abandoned all thoughts of control. His own body responded of its own accord, matching his lover’s pace, his hips thrusting upwards with increasing force as the tension in his groin increased.

Even in the midst of his own pleasure, Imrahil sensed that the other was waiting for him

“You first,” he panted, “I want to see you come while I am yet capable of thought.”

It did not take long. Legolas moaned, “Ai, Imrahil . . .” and suddenly stilled. The man watched, rapt, as his lover’s eyes opened wide, his mouth fell open, and a look of wonder appeared on his face. There was a long, agonising pause, and then all was heat and movement once more as the elf came, his semen shooting up over Imrahil’s chest, even as far as his face.

Imrahil grasped Legolas’s hips and pushed up into the pulsing tightness around his cock, again and again. The sensation was too much to resist, and soon his cries joined those of his lover as he emptied himself deep inside the elf.

Afterwards they lay close, resting in each other’s arms. Imrahil found his mouth close to Legolas’s ear, so he licked it gently before whispering into it, “Wicked elf.”

“Hasty mortal,” came the reply.

“I shall greatly enjoy making you pay for that comment tomorrow,” murmured the man, “by pinning you down and licking every inch of your body, slowly, until you beg me for your release.”

“Torture.” Legolas turned his face to Imrahil’s and brushed the man’s lips with his own. “Would you not prefer to carry out your threat now, while it is fresh in your mind?”

Imrahil laughed, and ran his hand up the elf’ smooth back, bringing it to rest on his neck, under the soft hair.

“Nothing would please me more than to spend every hour of this night tormenting you; but I am afraid my feeble mortal body is finally succumbing to fatigue. I shall be a poor excuse for a lover tomorrow if I do not sleep soon.”

“There are many words I could choose to describe you, my beautiful prince, but feeble is not amongst them. Sleep, then, and perhaps I shall have my fill of looking at you while you rest.” Legolas kissed the man’s forehead and drew him closer into his arms. “Although I rather doubt that it could be so.”

Imrahil closed his eyes and let his emotions wash through him. In all their encounters Legolas had treated him with great affection, but there was a new tenderness to the elf’s words tonight that filled him with unspeakable joy. He could not question it, for fear of disturbing something fleeting; instead, for now, he would simply accept and enjoy it, waiting to see what the next few days might bring.

He sensed his face relaxing into a smile as he whispered the words, “I love you, Legolas,” and felt the elf’s arms tighten around him in response. And thus surrounded by his lovers hes heart at peace, the man drifted into sleep at last.

To be continued…