Invasion of Privacy

Chapter Warning: Non-consentual explicit sex

** LEGOLAS' POINT OF VIEW **


I’ve always taken huge interests in studying humans and their behaviour. They are intriguing, complex creatures, yet easy to manipulate and see through. Even him, although he was fostered and brought up by my race. He talks my tongue as though he was one of us, carries an Elven name when he’s among my people and his betrothed is a princess of my kind… But after all, he can’t deny who he really is. Aragorn. Son of Arathorn. A Man. Easy to manipulate and see through.

Ever since he almost caught Boromir and me in the act I can feel his unease, his tension, when I come too close or just stare at him. After our little conversation atop the rock, he changed. Only slightly, but I notice. He’s wary and unsure but tries hard to not let it show. He doesn’t know whatthinthink of all this. Of Boromir and me. Of the things we do together, to each other. Even though he didn’t catch us at it, he must have known what’s going on. He’s not stupid. He just doesn’t know what exactly to think of it. And so I decided to confront him with his feelings, to help realization hit him. With full impact. Right in the face.

I knew that he would be watching, that he wouldn’t be able to ignore it. And indeed he watches. As I said, Men are easy to manipulate.

Aragorn has been eyeing us for quite some time already. Boromir hasn't noticed yet. I can’t blame him really since I’m doing my best to distract him thoroughly. His broad, warm body occasionally trembles in my embrace and every now and then he pushes into the lock of my moving hand, but apart from that he is in stunning control of himself, not making a single sound. If it weren’t for his heaving chest I wouldn’t be able to tell if he is breathing at all. Aragorn is both deadly silent and motionless. Even his eyes are fixed in one place, not shifting an inch. He’s staring at Boromir’s face, at the passionate, beautiful mixture of despair and pleasure that I know is written all across his virile features.

As I feel Boromir’s tense body shake in pre-orgasmic convulsions and hot, tiny gushes moisten my busy hand I make a movement so abrupt and forceful that it sweeps the cloak that serves as his blanket away from over his crotch. It also draws Aragorn’s attention and he drops his gaze just in time to catch my hand performing the harsh, long stroke that finishes Boromir off. For a second, I watch him. Watch the battle of opposing emotions flutter over his rugged face as he witnesses Boromir’s extremely hard and sudden climax. Abhorrence and disdain on the one hand, thrill and desire on the other, all mixed with shock, jealousy and anger. So many feelings on a face that’s usually calm, not revealing aing.ing.

Before I can see which of his emotions finally overpowers the others, I hear a groan of pleasure erupting from Boromir’s mouth and quickly turn his face towards mine in order to crush my lips over his. It wouldn’t be very helpful if my Gondorian warrior woke up our comrades with his vocal outburst and I’m reliefed that I manage to smother the low sound before it develops into something more wanton. I feel his moan vibrate against my lips, his hot bh inh in my own mouth, and then he kisses me with such overwhelming fervour that for a short moment I totally forget about Aragorn. While the human in my arms shudders and whimpers in the throes of orgasm I respond to the searing kiss with equal passion, closing my eyes and holding to his heated face.

Then he stills and I softly withdraw both my hands and my lips. Aragorn is still watching, I feel his stare on us. When Boromir asks me for another kiss I comply eagerly and kiss him for all I’m worth, as affectionately as I can. This just *has* to work on this cursed, controlled ranger… I wish I could look at Aragorn’s face right now in order to see what he’s feeling, but when I softly break from the passionate kiss the expression on Boromir’s face captivates me instead. I stare at his deep and brilliant eyes for a few silent seconds, my lips slightly parted in astonishment and disbelief. Do I really see what I think I’m seeing…?

I try to swallow the lump that’s forming in my throat, but it only seems to get bigger. Under different circumstances I probably would have felt more than flattered from the adoration and affection in his gentle gaze, but this very moment his obviously deep and genuine feelings for me scare me. Suddenly my conscience is pricking at me. I never meant to hurt him. Not in this deep, emotional way. I realize that I owe him the truth – or at least part of it.

“I'm glad that you are on this quest, together with me. And I like to be with you. But I am not in love with you. I can offer to share my body with you, like you share yours with me, but not my heart and soul,” I tell him, gently stroking dirty strands of hair from his moist forehead. I’m beyond relief when he tells me that this is fine with him. I can see that he’s disappointed, though he won’t admit it, but the last glimpses of the little remorse, pity and bad conscience that were left in me die away a few moment later when I finally get up to resume my watch and feel it happening: Boromir notices that Aragorn is watching. At last! I had almost stopped to hope for it.

The memorable event happens behind my back, but I can feel it with every fibre of my body. I sense the great tension between them as they glare at each other in a silent staring contest. Sparks fly between them in such an intense way that a smile graces my features. They are both so passionate in their dislike towards each other, so full of ferocity and fire… I almost don’t dare imagine what it would be like to unleash this almost painful tension.

I will have them both. They just don’t know it yet. I will have them and I will make them convert their hate into blazing passion I know they both carry inside.

* ~ * ~ *

The next day starts like every other day on this journey. We get up, pack our belongings and set out. Most of the time I’m marching next to Gandalf who’s entertaining me with some stories, perfectly distracting me from my musings over Boromir and Aragorn. My thoughts only drift back to those mortal objects of my desire when we settle down for our meal.

"I'm going yonder, to see to my armour. I think my chain-mail needs a fix," Boromir tells us and walks off awkwardly. What a lame excuse, I think to myself as I stare after him. When he finally vanishes in deeper parts of the forest, I quickly put down my food and rise. Aragorn’s head snaps up and he glares at me. He doesn’t say a word, but his eyes are so easy to read. I smirk at him.

“A chain-mail is tricky to fix. He might need help,” I say, causing the colour of Aragorn’s eyes to darken.

“Sit and eat, Legolas,” he commands quietly.

“None of us should stroll through the woods all on his own,” I reply matter-of-factly.

“Legolas is right, Strider,” Pippin interferes in our private little combat, “And you wouldn’t want anything to happen to Boromir. Right, Strider?”

"Right,” Aragorn agrees dryly and from the innocent expression on Pippin’s small face I know that he doesn’t notice the ranger’s sarcastic undertone.

“Don’t worry, Pippin. Boromir will be sound and safe,” I assure the halfling and then shift my gaze back to Aragorn. My eyes bore into him and he holds my intense stare as I say: “I will take very good care of him.”

He doesn’t bat an eyelid at my comment, but I believe his ears have turned a light red. I smirk again and then break our hard gazes to head after Boromir. He has gone unexpectedly deep into the woods but finally I find him. He stands, leaning on a large tree, his eyes closed as if he tries to regain lost composure. I approach him silently and as I reach out for his shoulders his eyes shoot open, regarding me with a strange expression. Is he… *startled* to see me? But he expected me, didn’t he? Why did he make up this excuse to withdraw to the forest if not to spend time with me? He practically invited me to follow him when he threw me that meaningful gaze, just before he wandered off… didn’t he? I move forwards in order to push him against the tree but suddenly find myself atop him, on the forest ground.

"Get off me!" he demands gruffly, his voice full of fury and denial. Now it’s my turn to be startled and for a second I can’t do anything but stare at him in shock. I’m at a total loss, utterly confused by his aggressiveness. In my helplessness I simply ignore what he just said and lean in, attempting to force him into a kiss. But again he surprises me with unexpected resistance and even tries to shake me off. He turns and wriggles underneath me but I’m not willing to let him get away.

"No, Legolas... let go of me," he pleads when he finds himself captured in the lock of my arms. He struggles against my embrace, but his protests are too weak to be taken seriously. He’s just playing.

"You want me to stop?" I ask him, but I’m not really expecting an answer. Quickly, before he can say any more, I run my hand down his stomach, heading for the centre of his lust. Two can play this game…

Boromir bends forward abruptly, trying to break out of my resolute hug, and when he bows the promising swell of his backside shoves into my groin. Delightfully distracted for a second, I almost let him slip from my arms. But only almost. Just when he is about to drop from my touch, I snatch him back.

I yank his body against mine, gathering his form into my arms with even more tenacity than before. From the way he goes completely still all of sudden, I can tell he feels my erection that had sprung to full attention. I hold him, as close and tightly as possible, and press against the muscular curve that nestles against my groin. He doesn't react. I press harder. In fact a little too hard. My solid member hurts from being wedged so firmly between my own stomach and Boromir's perfect rear, but it affects him at last and that is worth the pain. He tenses. I start to move against his admirable buttocks with slow yet domineering rubs, causing the solid muscles there to tauten even more.

He gasps, finally. It’s such a soft, low pant that slips from his mouth, but it’s one of the most erotic sounds I have ever heard.

I need to take him. Right here, right now.

Hastily, I open the buckle of his belt and tug down his clothes only enough to lay bare his bottom. Within seconds my garments are down as well and I’m more than grateful that Boromir doesn’t try to flee when I take my hands off his body to release my aching erection. I can hardly suppress a sigh when we make contact again, now naked skin on naked skin, and I push my hips forward in search for the wonderful, addictive feeling that always conquers me when I am this close to him.

I move rhythmically, rubbing the full length of my aching member along the inviting chink of his backside. Soon, my desire for hotter and harder friction can't be ignored anymore, so I take hold of myself and guide my erection into another position until the tip is hovering over his opening. When I push a little forward, touching him gently, he pants and I can hear how excited he is. I want to ram into him so badly, but manage to restrain myself. Instead of plunging into him, I move the tip of my member over his tight entrance, tenderly smearing my pre-cum against and into the tiny orifice that is waiting for me to widen it.

After a few moments of lubricating him with the small amount of slippery fluid that's leaking from me, I angle my hips to get better access and then lean in. He tenses again. Not as badly as the first time I had taken him, but there is still enough resistance to keep me from sliding in effortlessly. I push with more force, trying my best to be energetic and heedful at the same time, but he obviously can't get his muscles to relax. The resistance I am confronted with only gets worse the stronger I push. Determined to eventually invade him, I grab his hips and pull him back into my thrust. I can't help gasping softly when the unbelievably tight ring finally gives way and grants me entrance. I feel Boromir jerk under me, but all I can do is hold him tighter and proceed. Once I have broken through the firm barrier, it is easy to slide up into him all the way, into his tight and slick inner heat. He feels amazing, better than anybody I ever had in my whole long life, and for a split second I catch myself wondering whether Aragorn would feel just as breathtakingly wonderful around me. Then my mind turns hazy from unbearable pleasures and I don’t think of anything anymore while I hurtle towards my climax…

After I spent myself in my comrade’s body and my ability to think returns to me, the first thing that comes to my mind is that I wasn’t gentle with him and that in the end he didn’t complain at all. That he completely stopped to resist. He stopped to struggle against me. But he also stopped to move with me, like he used to during our previous intimate encounters. He stopped to take part in this. He’s *just there*. Tolerating my sexual onslaught in total passivity. This is definitely not the way I had wanted this to be.

While we stride through the forest together, wordlessly heading back to camp, I come to the conclusion that it would be best if I just dropped my plans and left Boromir alone unless I want to ruin the poor man.

But then I see the expression on Aragorn’s face when we reach the others at the campsite. That envious look in his eyes feeds the flames of my desire and as they grow larger and hotter, my compassion for Boromir shrinks and then, when Aragorn lazily moistens his lips with the tip of his tongue, dies away completely.