The Price of Pride

Chapter 37

Elrohir watched us speculatively the next morning when Aragorn crawled out of our bedroll shirtless, but Aragorn sent him a dar daring him to make something of it. He held his tongue. I wondered how he would react later, when Aragorn and I truly became lovers.

We fought Orcs that day, a larger pack than we had encountered before. They pressed us hard, almost fighting with strategy rather than the mindlessness we usually associated with their kind. Elladan and Elrohir fought, as always, at each other’s backs, with the familiarity of centuries of experience. Aragorn and I tried to do the same, but we did not know each other’s styles well enough and found ourselves separated. For a moment, I lost sight of Aragorn as I focused entirely on the Orcs around me. When I could again seek out Aragorn, the sight that met my eyes froze my heart. He was fending off four Orcs, all trying to circle behind him where they could strike at him unchallenged. I threw one of my knives, stabbing the nearest assailant in the back of the neck, but I dared not disarm myself completely. I sprinted toward Aragorn, convinced I was about to see him cut down in front of me before I ever had a chance to love him. Before I could reach him, he dispatched two more of his assailants, leaving him facing only one. I began to breathe easier, though I did not slow my pace until the third one fell under his blade as well. Side by side again, we finished off the few remaining creatures, checking with the twins to make sure they, too, were unharmed.

The rush of adrenalin from the battle was still surging through me, along with the lingering fear I had felt seeing Aragorn surrounded. I had tried to be relatively discreet so as not to goad the twins’ protective instincts, but I needed more confirmation that we were both still alive and well than my eyes alone could provide. The twins must have read my intentions in my eyes because they turned away to clean their weapons, giving us that much privacy at least.

My arms locked around Aragorn’s waist, pulling him roughly against me as my mouth descended on his. There was nothing tender about that kiss. It was all about proving we were still alive. Aragorn’s emotions must have been in as much turmoil as mine for his lips and hands were just as desperate as mine as they ran over my face, my back, my hips, grinding against me in need. I was wishing the twins to Mordor, or at least to Imladris by then, because had they been anywhere else but behind us, I w hav have pulled Aragorn to the ground and eased our raging feelings in the most physical way I could imagine. As it was, I was limited to this kiss, and the press of his body against mine. We really, really needed to find a town. With an inn. And a bed. I did not know how much longer I could stand the frustration.

I could not say how long we stood, locked in that embrace, lost in each other, in proving to each other that we were alive and unharmed. A discreet cough finally broke us apart, though, from the look on Elladan’s face, it might not have been so discreet. Aragorn cleaned his sword, I retrieved my knife, and we were ready to move on.

I did not touch Aragorn while we were on watch that night. I dared not. I knew if I did, the straining bonds of my control would break. When our watches were over, I woke Elrohir while Aragorn prepared to sleep. I watched in agonized desire as he pulled first his tunic, then his undertunic over his head. I removed my own tunic, because it really had grown too warm for it at night, but I left my shirt in place. I doubted I could sleep next to him, skin to skin, and not take him. My passion had cooled enough since the battle that my preference for a bed for our first lovemaking had reasserted itself, but I also knew that that preference could easily be subsumed again. And while I would enjoy it wherever and whenever it happened, I did not want Aragorn to in any way regret it later.

I removed my boots and started to lie down. Aragorn’s hand against my back stopped me. “Off,” he said, gesturing to my shirt.

“Estel…” I began.

“Off,” he repeated, lifting the hem of my shirt. What was I supposed to do? I could not resist his request so I pulled the shirt over my head. His hands were on me before I could even lie down, running frantically over my chest and stomach, learning me as I had learned him the night before. I lay still, trying to give him this time and still keep my promises to myself. I succeeded for a time, even after he brought his lips and tongue into play, licking and kissing and suckling on my skin. When one wandering hand brushed across my erection, I gave in. I was outnumbered, fighting myself as well as him. With a barely suppressed growl, I rolled him beneath me, forgetting completely about my promises, the twins, everything outside our bedroll. I was reaching for the laces on his leggings, all thought of waiting gone.

“Legolas!” Elrohir’s voice cracked through the silence with all the force of a whip. It was enough to wake Elladan as well. I rolled off Aragorn and lay on the bedroll, panting as I struggled for control.

Aragorn almost snarled at his brother as he sat up. “What right do you have to interfere?” he snapped. “You are not my keepers.”

“Ada told us to look out for you.”

“Ada is not here. I am not in any danger, but you might be if you do not mind your own business.”

Elrohir did not answer, but the mood was broken. I pulled Aragorn into my arms with a soothing whisper. “Soon,” I promised.