Seascapes

SEASCAPES

Chapter 4

A small group gathered to say farewell as they left the castle. Imrahil was amused to see Heledir amongst them, although if he had given the matter any thought, he might have expected him to be there. He had to admit that the man had at last managed to surprise him the previous afternoon; just one more sign of the extent to which Legolas’s arrival had turned his life upside down.

Ancened had requested an audience with the prince as soon as he had heard the news. It had not been an easy interview. In the normal run ofngs,ngs, Imrahil greatly respected his counsellor’s views, and accepted his rather conservative nature as a fitting counterpoint to his own, more impetuous personality. On this occasion, however, he was not to be dissuaded from his chosen course. Ancened would not back down; and Imrahil, who regarded his birthright as both a gift of fate and a job to be done, was forced to assert his status in a manner he generally preferred to avoid.

Ancened had finally conceded defeat, and resorted to icy civility. He had swept from the study with disapproval written in every line of his body – disapproval, as Imrahil was well aware, not of the prince’s need for a holiday, but of the unconventional manner in which he meant to take it.

As the door closed behind the counsellor, Heledir, who had remained inconspicuously behind the desk throughout, had cleared his throat.

“If I may be so bold, my lord,” he had said hesitantly, “I think he is quite wrong.”

Imrahil was astonished. In all the years the secretary had worked for him, he had never expressed an opinion without it being coaxed from him with a certain amountdovedetermination.

He had sat down across the desk from Heledir, and watched the younger man intently.

“You need to get away, anyone can see that, and Prince Legolas is a most . . . fitting . . . companion.”

A definite blush had coloured the secretary’s cheeks as his gaze met that of his sovereign.

‘Well,’ Imrahil had reflected, ‘It seems the irresistible prince of Mirkwood has conquered another heart. Who would have thought it?’

As they rode down the long avenue towards the great gates, he was well aware of the reactions of the citizens around them. Old and young, male and female alike could not avoid a wide-eyed stare at Legolas, before respectfully bowing their heads to the prince. Stealing a glance at the elf riding alongside him, Imrahil found he had to agree with his subjects; here was something well worth looking at.

Legolas rode tall on his fine steed, without saddle or reins, perfectly balanced and at ease. His hair was pulled back into two simple braids above his ears, emphasising both their elven points and the fine bone structure of his face. Dressed in simple hunting garb, his bow and quiver slung across his back, he was every inch the warrior elf of song and story. He was also utterly, devastatingly desirable.

Not for the first time, Imrahil wondered just what he was riding towards.

As they passed through the gates Legolas looked searchingly at him and raised an eyebrow, evidently sensing the prince’s anxiety.

“There can be no doubt that you leave matters in good hands,” he said. “Merenin resembles his father to an extent that is almost comical, and as for his lady . . . she is exceptional; such a vital, passionate spirit.”

“Aye,” Imrahil replied, “They are well matched, and supremely happy together.”

Legolas, with his acute elven hearing, did not fail to hear the man’s small sigh.

“Surely you cannot deny that it is better to know love and to face the grief of parting, than to live a life in ignorance of such bliss? Do not begrudge him his joy,” he said quietly. His face gave nothing away; Imrahil could only guess at the pain behind his words.

“Forgive me,” the man replied, equally softly. “I fear that I have been submerged in my sorrow for too long. It is no wonder my children feel that I need to be distracted.”

“So cast aside your sorrow now,” said the elf “and enjoy the glory of the day. It cannot fail to move you, if there truly is elven blood in your veins.”

It was indeed a glorious day. A touch of lingering haze and the sun’s low angle tempered the sky to palest gold at the horizon, but the clear blue overhead spoke of the heat to come. The land showed the bright greens of early summer, and the sea shimmered peacefully in the stillness of the morning. Imrahil smiled as he looked about him, and breathed deeply.

“Well,” he enquired of his companion, “shall we ride hard? We could reach the summer house not long after midday and take the boat out this afternoon. Or we could take our time, stay a night there, and sail tomorrow.”

Legolas matched his smile with one of pure pleasure.

“Let us ride hard” he said, firmly. “I would feel the sweet air on my face this morning, and cool my feet in salt water when the sun reaches its full strength.”

Imrahil shifted in his saddle and adjusted his hold on the reins. He watched, intrigued, as the elf bent down to his horse’s head and whispered in its ear, too quietly for the man to determine the language, let alone the words. The proud roan tossed its head and whinnied loudly, then set off at a gallop, with Imrahil’s grey stallion close behind.

By early afternoon, a fair breeze had blown up, stirring the sea’s surface into flurries of white and filling the tall blue sail most handsomely. The boat was small and sturdy, simple in its design yet responsive to Imrahil’s touch as he reclined lazily in the stern, one hand on the tiller. Legolas sat with his back to him, cross-legged in the prow, motionless but for his streaming hair and with eyes fixed on the wide leagues of water before him.

Imrahil longed to know what was passing through the elf’s mind, but had not the heart to break the silence, sensing that Legolas was absorbed in the magic of the moment. He let his own thoughts wander to to the first occasion on which he had made this journey, when his father had taken the helm and he and his sister had laughed and squabbled, all the way from the summer house to the bay.

Adrahil and Finduilas; two bright spirits, each taken long before their time.

In the course of their lengthy moonlit conversation on the beach, Legolas had told him that the Eldar regarded mortal death as Illuvatar’s gift, a divine mystery forever hidden from the elves. Imrahil had refrained from the obvious comment: that such a view might not be so easy to hold to, once death had claimed the man he loved.

The sight of a familiar group of rocks on the seaward side roused Imrahil from his reverie and he reached tong tng the boom. An unwary sailor would pass the bay without even knowing it was there, its secrets hidden by the curving line of the coast, but he knew its location too well to miss it. The boat came about and headed in to the shore at an angle, soon encountering the choppy waters around the cliffs. Lively waves slapped across its bows and dashed its occupants with spray.

Legolas laughed, a clear silvery sound that sent a shiver down Imrahil’s back. The elf spun effortlessly around to face him, and even with the length of the boat between them the light in his eyes was startling. Still he said nothing, but there was no need; his delight was evident enough, and Imrahil felt his heart lifting in response.

Nor did the rest of his body remain unmoved. As they slid into the calm of the bay he watched Legolas lean over the side to trail his fingers in the water, his long slender body stretching out alluringly in the process. The man could only be grateful for the loose shirt he was wearing over his breeches; if he had thought he had his desire under control, it was clear that he had been wrong. He swallowed hard, and tried not to think what might happen once they reached the shore and the inevitable swim was proposed.

Before long Imrahil was slowly bringing the boat up to the rough, simple jetty, and Legolas jumped ashore to make the ropes fast. The elf unloaded their belongings and stood silently while Imrahil saw to the sail, making no move to help, but watching his hands running through the familiar moves with a concentration that unnerved the man considerably. The look Legolas gave him as he sprang from the boat and picked up his pack did little to restore his confidence, for his eyes were dark, and his face serious.

‘He must know how I feel,’ thought Imrahil, with a sinking sensation in his gut.

They turned to walk along the jetty to the beach, and the uncomfortable moment soon passed as the elf looked around him with a slowly growing smile.

The beach was small, but formed of a perfect crescent of fine, pale gold. It was held between two arms of high, craggy rock, h ch curved around to make a natural harbour and shielded the bay from passing boats. Behind the beach a scattering of trees spilled out from the steep wooded valley, forming a broad green fringe to the sand, and to one side a stream of sweet water emerged and found its way to the sea. Between the pines and olives could be seen the worn grey stone of the simple hut where Imrahil, in his youth, had waited out many an unexpected shower or storm.

“It is lovely,” Legolas said. They had climbed down from the end of the jetty, and were walking barefoot over the warm sand. “I cannot believe that nobody else has discovered it and claimed it as their own.”

“There are other bays,” said Imrahil, with a grin, “but this one has always been special to my family. None of the local people will invade our privacy by coming here.” As soon as the words escaped his mouth he stopped, realising the implications of his statement.

Legolas said nothing, but slowly bent to lay his pack on the sand, then straightened again and turned to look back at the sea. The breeze caught his fine white shirt, moulding it to his body, and blew a strand of hair across his face, golden in the bright sun.

He turned his gaze to Imrahil, who stood as if rooted to the spot.

“Then it is perfect,” he said.

The blood began to pound in Imrahil’s ears as he stared at Legolas. The look on the elf’s face was unambiguous now, the invitation at last beyond doubt; yet the man found that he was quite unable to move to accept it.

“Why do you hesitate?” asked Legolas, a note of laughter in his voice. “Do you not know why I came here?”

“Why?” Imrahil’s query would have been inaudible to a mortal man. His mouth was dry and his breathing felt suddenly constricted.

“Because I believed you to be a man of your word,” replied the elf, and for a second it seemed to Imrahil that all movement, of his heart, his lungs, of the air itself, ceased.

In that instant, as both stood silent and still, he understood a number of things.

Surely Legolas had been waiting, teasing him gently but keeping his distance, in anticipation of this moment. If that was the case, the implication was clear; Imrahil was not the only one who had relived their night together, imagining his passionate promise becoming reality. How many times had the elf found his pleasure while thinking of him? He could not dwell on that question for long; the mere thought would be enough to make him lose control, before he had even begun to show the elf that he was, indeed, a man of his word.

Two strides closed the distance between them, and at last Legolas was in his arms.

Mindful of his promise, Imrahil kissed him hard; there would be time enough for gentle caresses once his claim had been established. One hand in the small of the back pulled Legolas in to him, their bodies matched in height, muscle against muscle. His tongue plunged into the sweetness of the elf’s mouth, his other hand combing through soft hair to force the head closer still, to lock him into the hungry embrace.

When the need for air became imperative, Imrahil relaxed his hold on the elf’s head and pulled his mouth away. Legolas seemed reluctant to let him go; his hands gripped the man’s shoulders as if his legs might buckle beneath him, and a slight shift of his hips made his arousal urgently apparent as their bodies pressed yet more firmly together. Imrahil brushed ager ger across the moist, silent lips, looked steadily into the deep blue eyes and understood what it was that had made them dark.

No words were spoken as the man took a step back and brought both hands to the fastenings of the elf’s shirt. Legolas stood with his arms by his sides, neither helping nor hindering Imrahil in his endeavour, but simply allowing him to do as he pleased. In spite of the fact that he was all but trembling with lust, the man found himself to be totally focussed on the task. It was not long before the elf stood bare-chested before him, and strong fingers set to work on the soft cotton leggings.

Once Legolas was quite naked, Imrahil stepped back again, and lookedg atg at the glorious sight before him. He had thought to call the elf beautiful, as he had lain in the candle light and shadow years ago, but realised now that the word was too tame for all that he beheld. The strength of the tall lean body seemed barelnfinnfined beneath the smooth, luminescent skin, and the stillness with which the elf awaited him was unearthly. Imrahil would gladly have fallen to his knees before the magnificent being, but that, too, could wait.

For now, he sought only to meet the unmistakeable challenge in the elf’s unwavering gaze.

Inspiration struck him suddenly, and he crouched to reach into his pack, without breaking eye contact. The flask held oil to prevent his skin drying and cracking, through prolonged exposure to salt water and sun; he had not dared to think that it might serve another purpose, but it would do well enough now. Let Legolas think that he had come prepared for this… he grinned at the thought and saw the elf’s eyes widen in response.

His heart thudded and his skin tingled as he went to stand at Legolas’s side, and briefly bent to place the oil flask on the sand. He placed one hand gently on the taut belly then slid it, slowly, down; carefully avoiding the erection, reaching below to cup the sac firmly in his palm. Tiny movements of his thumb stroked the underside of the rigid cock, drawing a gasp from parted lips; but still the elf said nothing.

Imrahil kept his hand in place while he moved behind Legolas. The contrast between his own clothed body and the naked elf pressed against him excited him beyond belief; his own cock felt impossibly tight as it pushed into the cleft between the other’s buttocks. His free arm snaked around to draw Legolas more tightly in towards him, and his hand splayed out across the smooth warm chest, fingers and thumb brushing first one nipple, then the other. It was enough to make the elf tremble, and the slim hands came up to hold on to the man’s shoulders.

Imrahil bent his head to the elf’s neck and ran his teeth and tongue lightly along the skin there, tasting salt, before speaking directly into the pointed ear.

“Look at the sea, Legolas, listen to it.” His voice was soft and low. “Let it enter your mind and fill your heart, as I will enter you, and fill you with my desire.”

This brought a moan from the elf, and Imrahil knew he could wait no longer to satisfy his ochinching need.

“Kneel for me, lovely one,” he said, and bringing both hands to the elf’s shoulders, he guided him down onto the warm golden sand.

Imrahil had to close his eyes and breathe deeply as he smoothed the oil on to his cock, for the vision displayed before him threatened to bring matters to an all too hasty conclusion. Even on hands and knees, thighs invitingly parted, Legolas maintained his poise. The man had the distinct impression that the elf was still teasing him, challenging him, and a wave of liquefying lust passed through him, as he silently vowed to do whatever it might take to disturb that inhuman composure.

Positioning himself quickly, he forced his cock home in one slow, determined movement, easing his way past the tightness that brought tears to his eyes. Wanting to savour each sensation to the full, he paused, and was rewarded when Legolas shifted slightly against him and let out an audible breath. Grasping the elf’s hips, he hauled them back and held him tightly, and waited again, feeling the blood throbbing in his cock.

His self control almost deserted him when Legolas suddenly dropped down onto his elbows, causing him to sink in deeper still. He started to move, slowly pulling back as far as he could without withdrawing altogether, then thrusting decisively in again, hard and swift. After a few such movements he realised that the elf was pushing back to meet him just as forcefully, and he smiled, knowing that he would achieve his aim ere long.

The pleasure could have overwhelmed Imrahil, but he willed himself to hold back, halting for a moment to recover each time he approached the edge. He would make this last and hear Legolas cry out, before he reached his own release - or perish in the attempt. Leaning forward slightly, he slid his hand round the elf’s hip and held his shaft in a firm grip, feeling ock ock of painful delight as the muscles around his own cock contracted tightly in response.

Hand and hips moved now in concert, and the elf’s composure finally gave way. He writhed beneath Imrahil’s touch, his body rising to meet the man with every thrust, his breathing loud and fast.

Still he did not speak.

Imrahil, realising that he could not stay himself much longer, let go of the elf’s cock and drew himself out to the limit. Legolas groaned, and tried to move to regain the contact, but was firmly restrained by the man’s hold on his hips.

“Say it.” Imrahil’s voice was a low growl.

There was a pause, as the elf strove against the hands that held him.

“I am yours,” the sweet words came at last, almost a whisper.

Imrahil pushed in once, slowly, then withdrew again, relishing the sheer power of the moment. The truth of the matter did not concern him; all he wanted was the elf’s surrender.

“Louder,” he said, “Let the sea hear you.”

“I am yours, Imrahil! Finish it, please!” cried Legolas, his voice full of need.

Satisfied, Imrahil buried himself once more in hot, tight flesh, and reached again for the elf’s cock. Abandoning his self control, he rammed into the golden body almost brutally, leaning forward over the long back as his hand sought to maintain the same rhythm as his hips. The elf’s capitulation was complete, and he cried out freely now, his voice blending with the man’s as Imrahil groaned and shouted, wordless sounds of unashamed bliss.

Suddenly, Legolas tensed.

“Yours . . .” he cried again, as he came, spilling into the man’s hand and onto the sand beneath.

Imrahil felt the spasms in the muscles surrounding him. The pleasure of it was blinding, and he stared unseeing at the sky. He shouted his lover’s name as his whole body shook with the power and depth of his own orgasm, the fluid exploding at last from his pulsing cock, deep inside the elf.

Collapsed on the sand, they lay together on their sides, Legolas with his back against Imrahil’s chest, and for a long time they neither moved nor spoke. Imrahil listened to the sea’s soothing murmur, enjoying the sun on his face, the breeze lifting his hair. His mind felt numb, contentment and disbelief suppressing the questions he would eventually have to ask.

He raised a hand to stroke the elf’s hair.

Legolas suddenly turned in his arms to face him, and initiated a gentle kiss, full of affection and lazy, sated desire.

“You know there is a limit to what I can give you,” he said, when he pulled away at last.

“Of course I do,” replied Imrahil. Whatever his uncertainties, he was under no illusions about the elf’s commitment.

“Your heart and spirit are his, and always will be,” he acknowledged.

A sudden thrill of daring ran through him, as he thought of the challenge he had seen in those blue eyes, and he added,

“But for the time that you spend here with me, your body, at least, is mine.”

Legolas laughed, his eyes sparkling.

“I was right to come here,” he said.

They kissed again, with a little more heat this time.

“I have but one question,” announced Legolas, moments later.

“Ask,” said the man, stroking his lover’s cheek.

“Will you submit as willingly to me?”

Startled, Imrahil gazed at the elf, and saw both amusement and hunger in his face.

“Will you make me?” he asked, surprising himself with his boldness.

The smile that spread slowly across Legolas’s face held more than a hint of wickedness. His hand reached under Imrahil’s shirt and found its way up beneath the cotton, to his chest. The maspeasped as he felt a sharp tug on his nipple, which seemed to send urgent signals directly to his cock.

“I think you will find that the prince of Mirkwood is not easily denied,” Legolas told him, his voice as smooth as fine silk.

“I do not doubt it . . .” Imrahil managed to say, before the skilled hand moved lower and robbed him of the power of speech.

It was some time before either felt the need for further words, though sounds of pleasure soon mingled with the crash and hiss of waves upon the shore, as the sun moved slowly through the bright afternoon sky.