Seascapes

SEASCAPES

Chapter 5

Imrahil woke to chill air on his face in the early morning. The beach lay in the shadow of the mountains behind, although the sun was already sparkling on the waters of the bay. He shifted a little on the hard ground, missing the warmth beside him, and felt a sudden rush of excitement as memories of the previous day came into clear focus.

He rolled on his side and pushed himself up onto one elbow, looking about him. Was it relief that he felt at the sight of Legolas, glimmering silver-gold, standing unmoving at the water’s edge? The elf was gazing out to sea, of course, small waves breaking over his feet, arms at his sides. Yet again, Imrahil found himself desperately curious about the thoughts that were occupying his lover so.

His lover.

He fell back onto the makeshift bed as his body responded to the notion, even as his mind struggled to comprehend it. How could this have happened? He had long ago resigned himself to the fact that what he and the elf had shared in Cormallen had been nothing more than a moment of madness, such as is known to occur in the aftermath of battle. But this, this was something altogether different, a gift of such magnitude that he barely knew how to accept it. That such a perfect being should seek him out, should choose him as Legolas had apparently done, was enough to inspire awe and gratitude in the man. It was quite obvious, however, that the elf himself desired no such response; and as before, Imrahil was determined to give Legolas what he wanted.

He rolled over between the blankets to watch the elf, who had walked across the bay towards the jetty and now stood in deeper water, peering down, presumably at the fish swimming about him. Imrahil yawned and stretched, seeking a more comfortable position on the ground, and became aware of a definite lingering soreness, the legacy of last night’s activity. He shut his eyes, as a shiver ran through him at the recollection of Legolas, lithe and strong, fucking him with such masterful thoroughness that he had been left utterly, blissfully, unmanned.

In all his fantasies of passionate trysts with Legolas, Imrahil had never imagined himself as the one being taken. However, in spite of the novelty of the idea and his anxious reservations, when the moment came he discovered that he was quite unable to refuse. The very act of acquiese wae was thrilling, and as the elf used one hand to raise his legs and ran the other down the backs of his thighs, he thought that perhaps he understood why Legolas had initially chosen to submit to him.

The elf had been gentle with him at first, no doubt conscious of his inexperience, patiently preparing him with oil-coated fingers – a refinement that had not occurred to Imrahil, who had flushed at the thought of his own inept approach. When he had flinched at the unfamiliarn, Ln, Legolas had whispered to him, half singing, until his muscles seemed to relax of their own accord. Still, when the final entry began, Imrahil found he had cause to be grateful for the fact that the elf’s cock, like Legolas himself, was slender and smooth; surely anything bulkier would be impossible to bear.

What he had not been prepared for was the shocking physical pleasure of the coupling itself, each stab of the elf’s cock a searing flash of bliss lighting him from the inside. Somehow, Legolas had made it last an eternity, driving Imrahil far beyond the limits of coherent thought or speech. When the end finally came, he had clutched the elf’s arms in a state akin to panic, staring into the searching blue eyes while Legolas plunged into him one last time and held himself there, tensed for his own release. Imrahil had felt his flesh begin to clench against the impaling hardness of the elf as his orgasm erupted, and the ecstasy had at last overwhelmed him. He could remember little more.

Even the partial memory of the encounter was enough to bring the man out in a sweat, and to direct his hand to his erection. He turned onto his back and shut his eyes again, as the gentle movements became firmer, more rhythmic.

Before he could achieve his end, the elf’s clear voice rang out across the sand.

“Imrahil! Will you not join me?”

Jolted back into the present, Imrahil stilled his hand and looked down the beach. Legolas stood in the water, staring towards him, hair flying loose about his face. Guiltily aware of the other’s keen eyesight, yet happy to be reminded that there were more rewarding ways to assuage his lust, the man rolled over once more, and crawled out from beneath the blankets. Aching and stiff as he was, he did not run to his lover’s side, but walked slowly, enjoying the cool air on his naked skin and the growing excitement he felt under the other’s gaze.

Legolas made no move as he approached, but his smile caused Imrahil’s heart to swell with joy. Up to his thighs in the bracingly cold water he stopped, and waited for the other to speak.

“Good morning, my friend,” said the elf. “I see you are . . .” he raised an eyebrow as his glance dropped deliberately down Imrahil’s body, “ . . . fully awake.”

Imrahil could have made a witty retort, to the effect that Legolas himself was quite obviously no less aroused; instead he grinned, covered the remaining three feet between them, placed his hands on the elf’s damp shoulders, and murmured his own greeting into the warm, willing mouth.

Legolas returned the kiss with considerable enthusiasm, but after a while pulled away, sliding his hands down Imrahil’s back to rest them lightly on his waist.

“I have a better idea,” he said, and turned around. “Come.”

With a single undulating movement, he sprang up and dived into the clear water.rahirahil watched as his pale form moved sleekly, just below the surface, heading out towards the open sea. There seemed little alternative but to follow, so the man threw himself forwards, exhaling sharply as the water hit his chest, and set off in the elf’s wake with a powerful overarm stroke.

Ah, but it felt good, the sun’s warmth beginning to make itself known on his back, the keen air filling his lungs as he raised his head for breath, the chill, refreshing water sliding past his unfettered skin. Since boyhood he had loved nothing more than to swim naked in the summer sea, and now, his aches and pains forgotten, he revelled in the strength of his body, and the rhythm of his movements.

Once he sensed the lower temperatures of the deep currents, Imrahil paused and looked around, treading water lazily, leaning back into the swell. His lover was nowhere to be seen. After a moment, he felt a faint note of anxiety creeping into his mind – elf or no elf, surely Legolas should have surfaced by now? Just as his fear began an ominous crescendo, a sudden rush of movement below the surface threatened to tip him backwards, and the elf appeared in front of him, laughing and spluttering, shaking his head to remove the long locks of wet blond hair from his eyes.

“You are a fine swimmer, Imrahil!” he said. “I had to work to keep up, for all that I had the start on you.”

Imrahil felt an unholy sense of satisfaction at this admission.

“And you are a merciless tease,” he responded. “I had begun to think I had lost you.”

“Nay!” replied Legolas, innocently. “Do not think badly of me. I simply prefer to swim underwater – it is . . . quieter, and I like to watch the fish.”

The man could not resist a smile at the strangely childlike words.

“Then you must have phenomenal lung control,” he rejoined, wryly.

He watched a grin, which could only be described as lascivious, spread across Legolas’s face, and wondered what had become of the legendary formality of the First-born.

“I find it to be a most useful attribute . . .” the elf said, and disappeared once more below the water.

Imrahil drew air through gritted teeth, narrowly avoiding a mouthful of brine, as he felt the cool hands on his thighs and the warm lips on his cock. Parting his legs to allow Legolas better access, he floundered for a moment, before establishing a stabilising motion with his arms. The contrast between the cold of the water on his skin, and the eager heat of Legolas’s mouth around him, was astonishing. No less stimulating was the sight of the elf’s silvery body, tantalisingly distorted by the water’s lens, and the cloud of flaxen hair that floated around his busy head.

He knew he would not last long; perhaps the elf could really manage to . . . he groaned loudly as the golden head shot up from the water and Legolas gasped for breath, replacing his mouth with a frantically working hand. Imrahil shouted as he came, struggling to stay afloat, swallowing salt as he forgot to paddle in his excitement.

“I am sorry,” Legolas said to him, once he had regained his equilibrium. “I will serve you better when we are on dry land.”

Imrahil moved behind the elf aurneurned him round, reclining into the waves with Legolas in his arms, back towards him and head against his chest. So they floated, an occasional kick or rotation of an arm all that was needed to keep them stable.

“Say no such thing. That was . . . this is . . . perfect,” Imrahil said. Indeed, he knew that this was no exaggeration; for the first time in many months, he felt at peace.

Later, on the beach, after a good meal of freshly caught fish grilled over a driftwood fire, Imrahil judged that the time had come for his questions.

They had spent the day idly, pleasuring each other with gentle, playful passion and lazing in the sun before cooling their sated bodies in the sea. In the afternoon, given the blessing of a fair wind, they had taken the boat out into the deeper waters. Their talk had covered many subjects, though none too personal or testing; throughout the long hours of cloudless heat, it seemed that neither had the heart to raise more serious matters. When the prow had turned towards the open sea, Legolas had fallen into quiet contemplation once more.

For his part, Imrahil had been content simply to bask in the twin delights of the elf’s company and the sheer beauty of the day. The cares of his life seemed far dnt, nt, and he was keen for them to remain that way, for a few days at least. He had no wish to disturb this brief and fragile happiness by probing it too deeply, but as the sun’st rat rays sank into the dusk, he realised that he did need some answers from his companion.

He turned to Legolas, who was sitting cross legged beside him, gazing, as ever, out across the waves.

“Are you happy?” he asked gently.

A moment passed before the elf replied, almost as if he was examining his thoughts for the truth.

“Happier than I had thought possible on this side of the sea,” he said at last, in a grave voice.
ey sey stared at each other in the fading light; Legolas’s expression solemn, Imrahil’s mind engaged in forming his next question.

“I do not wish to tread indelicately,” he said, “but there is something I would ask you about… how it is between us.”

“Then ask; we are adults and friends; there is no need for bashfulness.”

“When we – when we lay together years ago, after the battle, there was something strange between us, a link; it seemed I knew your thoughts, although I have no idea how it came to be. Yet now, when we have time and freedom together, the link is no longer there. I do not understand it.”

“I am afraid I do.” The elf fixed his eyes on the horizon once more. “It was my doing, though it shames me to say it. The intrusion was unforgivable, and I should have controlled myself better from the start, once I realised that you could feel my thoughts. But I was too distraught, too involved in my misery to think what I was doing or to consider the effect on you, and for that I am deeply sorry.”

Imrahil watched in amazement as Legolas turned towards him again, his look of contrition clearly visible, even in the half dark.

“No!” he said, quickly. “It was not an intrusion – I meant no criticism; I merely hoped to comprehend it. You should not regret anything about that night on my behalf.”

He felt a stab of dismay when Legolas let out a weary sigh.

“I am not proud of the way I used you, fair prince of men,” the elf said. “Littlence nce did I give you to resist my seduction. I sought comfort and pleasure from you with no thought to the strictures of your life. You told me you were married and I ignored the fact, leaving you to cope with your guilt.”

“It was no hardship to me,” the man interjected.

This was not strictly true, of course. Guilt there had been aplenty, at first, and later, after every night of lonely fantasy. However, Imrahil had the pragmatic soul of a seasoned soldier, and had decided early on that regrets could not change history, and were therefore largely worthless. Besides, if he had been asked to choose between a life of remorse on the one hand, or foregoing his memories of Legolas on the other, he knew quite well that he would opt for the former, every time.

“You ached so, for loss of him,” he said tentatively, returning to his original line of thought, “yet it was not just grief. You wanted comfort, but feared to seek it.”

“You see how I made myself vulnerable, by failing to control my thoughts?” asked the elf, bitterly. “One night of indiscretion and my secrets were known to you.”

Imrahil was stung by the words, but tried not to let his voice betray him. He placed a cautious hand on Legolas’s arm.

“Does it cause you great anxiety, the fact that I know?” he asked, softly.

There was a long pause, then the elf placed a hand over his, and squeezed it gently.

“No, Imrahil, forgive me, I am merely angry with myself,” he turned to fix his gaze on the man. “I find it easy to trust you. It is one of the reasons why I am here.”

‘One of . . . ?’ Imrahil thought, but did not ask. That question would have to wait.

“I cannot read your thoughts now, but I would wager that the fear has gone. There is no longer any guilt in your heart when you lie in my arms. Something has changed.”

Even as he said the words, Imrahil wondered where such boldness had come from. Yet remembering his own relief when the had had encouraged him to talk at last, he knew that he was offering Legolas a gift, should the other choose to take it.

Legolas kept hold of his hand while he replied, slowly:

“Something has indeed changed, although you must know that my feelings for him have not. It is I who am different now. I made a decision, Imrahil, to live my life here on Middle Earth, not as a miserable broken-hearted wretch, but as one who can still take pleasure in beauty where he finds it. If I am to be judged for flouting the limits of my bond, it is a price I am willing to pay. Yet in my heart I cannot feel that what we do is wrong.”

“The gods would not be so cruel,” said Imrahil simply, knowing no other words to say, and he moved to kiss the elf gently.

As Legolas responded, his tongue lightly following the curve of the man’s parted lips, Imrahil sensomesomething more than the growing arousal of his body. A warm tide of affection filled him, as he realised that he was being allowed to feel the merest hint of the elf’s own contentment and desire. He held Legolas close, and marvelled once more at his fortune.

When they broke apart, Imrahil raised a hand and stroked the elf’s hair, rinsed free of salt in the stream’s clear waters, soft to his touch. Something about the moment led him to throw caution to the wind, and he finally asked the question that had plagued him for so long.

“Why me, Legolas? What have I done to merit this?”

“Can you not know?” the elf smiled. “You are a prize indeed, so tall and fair, and strong in body and spirit.”

“You flatter me, friend,” replied Imrahil. “Yet all those words may be applied, with far more accuracy, to any one out of hundreds of your kin.”

“And you wonder why I sought you out, when I am daily in their presence?”

Imrahil said nothing.

“Men live by more flexible rules than do my kind.” Legolas brought his hand to the man’s face and traced its lines as he spoke. “You can accept my commitment to another, and desire to be with me still, as another elf could not. Yet it is more than that. There is a quickness to your passion, a vitality in your spirit, that I would not find amongst my brethren; and I must admit that it pleases me greatly. It may have been your elven blood that drew me to you in Cormallen, but it is the man in you that delights me now.”

“Whatever twist of fate brought you to me,” Imrahil breathed, leaning into the gentle touch, “it has proved a blessing to us both.”

“You surprised me then, Imrahil, and touched me in ways you could not have known. I will admit that I have longed to come here, but felt that I should not; I had no wish to intrude on your life again. When Lothiriel spoke to me in Edoras, I felt that I was being offered a second chance, a chance that I knew I must take, but with great care.”

Imrahil pulled his head away, and looked long at his friend and lover.

“I thought that you were teasing me by holding back,” he said.

“Nay, not teasing. I had resolved to offer you friendship, to make amends, nothing more. But once I realised what you wanted, I had to be sure it was real, and more than a momentary weakness.”

The man moved a hand to caress the elf’s cheek, softly.

“Do you not know how lucky I count myself, to have this time with you? If this is a weakness, it runs through me to my very soul,” he said, quietly.

Legolas again lifted a hand to cover his.

“I consider myself to be the lucky one,” he said. “for I had not thought to find such ease for my heart. I thank you, my friend, for giving me this.”

Imrahil found himself to be greatly moved by the elf’s words. He realised that he wanted to enfold Legolas, soothe him, to show him the truth of his own heart. Gently wrapping his arms around his lover, he pulled him down, to lie in his embrace on the blanket.

“Gladly will I give you what you seek, Legolas, if I am able,” he whispered into the strangely shaped ear, so symbolic of all the differences between them. “For you too have given me something that I had thought was lost to me. You have shown me that beauty and joy are still to be found in my life.”

Legolas turned to him then, and their lips met again in a long, gentle kiss. At last the elf’s head fell to Imrahil’s shoulder and for a while they lay quietly, listening only to the relentless voice of the sea.