Invasion of Privacy

** ARAGORN'S POINT OF VIEW**


They return sooner than I had expected and at first I think this has to mean that nothing has “happened” between them this time, but when they finally are so close that I can see their faces I understand that I’m mistaken. I cast only a very discreet glance towards Boromir, long enough to notice that the man’s face is still faintly flushed from whegolegolas must have done to him, but too short to catch the precise expression on his features. At the elf I look longer. A lot longer. I didn’t intend to, but I can’t tear my eyes away from him once I gaze more closely.

The soft lips slightly parted, he breathes through his mouth. As if he was still catching his breath and drawing it through the nose wasn’t sufficient enough to provide the needed air. And his eyes… Glazed over with heavy emotion, somewhat cloudy, yet they contradictorily shine and shimmer even more than normal. He seems very relaxed, almost a little exhausted. His skin is nearly as pale as ever, only his high, sculptured cheekbones sport shades of a delicate pink, and there are absolutely no traces of sweat, but for some reason that I cannot grasp he looks incredibly warm. Warm, spent and satisfied.

*Beautiful…*

I catch myself wondering what he looks like when engaged in carnal activities. When lust and pleasure consume him completely. Does he make love with his eyes closed or open? Where and how deeply is his marble skin flushed from the arousal, and what does it feel like? Soft and damp? Slick and hot? What does it look like when he writhes, sweats, moans, blushes, tenses… when he climaxes? I don’t think the word ‘beautiful’ would do him justice in that exquisite moment. Not even nearly.

*No, not beautiful. Far beyond beautiful…*

I feel an uncomfortaemotemotion – maybe envy though I won’t admit it – stir in my belly as I realize that Boromir knows the answers to all these questions that are nagging at me. He has seen Legolas in the throes of total passion. And he has not only been witness as the elf reached the pinnacle of pleasure and ecstasy. Boromir has been the reason. Is the reason. Will be the reason.

Our gazes meet. From the way the clear blue of Legolas’ eyes sparkles I can tell that he notices my inner turmoil. We hold each other’s stare as he approaches and I slip out the tip of my tongue, slowly running it along my lower lip, though for moistening my skin or for provoking Legolas I do not know. However, the tiny motion affects him. His lids drop a little as his gaze shifts lower and he stares at my mouth, eyes following the lazy track of my tongue. If we had been alone, he surely would have lunged at me. I can see it in his eyes, the greed and desire. I don’t know how I would react if he made unambiguous advances to me, whether I would yield or refuse. But since we aren’t alone and Legolas doesn’t come to me I don’t waste any more thoughts on it.

While our archer settles down next to Gandalf and quickly is engaged in a quiet conversation, I turn my head and find myself staring directly at Boromir’s face. The man from Gondor instantly lowers his gaze, lashes fluttering down to cover his eyes, but he isn’t fast enough to hide them from my seeking glance. I clearly saw it. The despair. The shame. The anguish. This is the first time I look at Boromir and don’t see a bold, arrogant soldier, but a vulnerable, stricken man.

*Alas, Legolas, what have you done…?*


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"Did you enjoy what you saw?" Legolas asks me the next day when the fellowship is resuming the journey. I hadn’t seen or sensed him approaching me and his bold question that comes out of nowhere startles me. My heart starts beating faster, but I doubt that this is only because of the scare he gave me.

"I have no idea what you are talking about," I lie stubbornly and quicken my pace in order to leave my elven comrade behind, but Legolas modifies his own steps and easily keeps up with me.

"You've always been a very poor liar, Estel. I know you were watching. I saw you," he continues in a low voice. I’m lost, I don’t know what to say, and so I just remain silent. When Legolas understands that I won’t reply, he adds, "Why don't you just admit that you are jealous? I know you are."

Finally, I turn my head to throw a fierce, warning glare at Legolas, but the elf doesn't recoil.

"I'm not jealous! How often do I need to tell you?!" I hiss under my breath, refusing to spill out my true emotions, to surrender to my actual feelings, to admit my secret, deepest cravings.

"You envy Boromir," the elf states. It doesn’t surprise me that he sees through me. It rather annoys me.

"Surely not. If anything I pity the poor man!" I snap, provoked. Now that is something Legolas obviously hadn't expected to hear as he falls silent for a short moment.

"He became a slave to you and isn't capable of evading your sick lusting anymore. There's nothing to envy about that," I continue. When the image of Boromir’s distraught face sneaks into my memory, I can almost believe in the words I throw at Legolas’ face. Almost.

"At least you admit you snooped on us," Legolas says, ignoring my previous comment.

"I wouldn't call it snooping. Really, if you're working on him in the middle of the camp one does not have to spy on you to notice what's going on," I say without thinking, not noticing that Legolas managed to bring our heated conversation round to the topic he wishes to discuss.

"Now that you acknowledged that you watched, you may very well answer my question. Did you like what you saw?" he asks, cracking a sly smile at me. Oh how I want to slap that small, provoking grin from his face! But instead of punching him with my fist, I take a deep breath and release a vocal attack.

"If it means so much to you I will tell you what I think of it. I am disgusted. Not by the intimacy you two share, but by your cruelty, Legolas. I feel repelled because of your ruthless selfishness, your roughness. By no means am I jealous of Boromir. If I were him, I would give you a thrashing so severe that you would crawl on all fours for the rest of this quest.”

Legolas’ stupid grin dies away. Good.

“You think I’m selfish and rough?” he then asks, almost perplexed.

“You’re definitely not very carand and gentle with Boromir. You don’t want him, you only lust after his body. You don’t have feelings for him,” I remind him. He knows that I watched him bringing Boromir to release, he may very well know that I as well listened to the words he told him afterwards. He swallows, slowly, digesting what I just had said, and then responds with surprising softness in his voice. His answer isn’t at all what I expected and catches me off guard.

“And if I had? If I was?” Legolas wants to know and quickly gets hold of my shoulder when I try to turn away in order to evade his suggestive questions. “Aragorn, what if I was caring and gentle? Would you then envy Boromir?”

“Let go of me,” I hiss, my voice as well as my body tense.

“I don’t have to be rough. I can be a tender lover. Maybe you would prefer to watch that? Would you prefer to watch me making love to Boromir, sweetly, slowly and devotedly?”

I feel blood surge to my face when his whispered words sink in and successfully manage to suppress a tiny sound that catches in my throat. I’m grateful that I didn’t let it slip, although things couldn’t get much worse anyhow. Legolas knows my thoughts, even without that embarassing groan that I choked back. My heated face gives me away.

“Or maybe you’d rather join us?” he suggests in a low, meaningful voice, his hand still clasped to my clothes. I feel my mouth drop slightly open as I stare at the elf in pure disbelief and shock. Before I regain my composure and manage to respond, Legolas continues.

“Listen. Boromir and I will excuse ourselves when we settle down for rest tomorrow noon. Feel free to follow us,” he adds softly, his voice barely more than a whisper.

“Why should I?” I re fin finally finding my voice again. My tone is gruff, hiding the faint tremble in my voice.

“Because I want you. I want to feel you. And you want to feel me,” the archer states, his intense gaze penetrating me who returns the stare. I’ve lost control over my boiling blood, but not over my gaze. My cheeks are flaming, but my eyes are cold. I don’t want him to see how excited I am. I don’t want him to see how tempted I am.

“You need to learn that not every being that lays eyes on you is bewitched by your oh so perfect beauty and oh so scintillating wits,” I say, but I can’t help thinking that I try to persuade me with these words rather than the elf. “You can't always have your will, Legolas."

He doesn’t respond to this. He just lets go of my shoulder, slows down and silently allows me to put more distance between us. He already knows what I am too proud to admit to myself yet. He just won me over.


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I tremble. Only slightly, but I do. I tremble, I forget to breathe, and my heart is in my mouth as I watch. The last minutes I had lived through like in a haze, enveloped by thick mists that clouded my vision and mind. I don’t really understand why I’m here. How I got here. It is as though another man had been in command of my body, following Legolas and Boromir to this place they had withdrawn to. But the man that stands here now and watches his comrades, half hidden behind a tree, is me. It’s my pulse that throbs madly, my mouth that is completely dry, my palms that turn sweaty. And my body that trembles.

The scenery I’m confronted with is breathtakingly beautiful – a small clearing dominated by lush green and kissed by the warming sun – but I’m oblivious to these simple yet awesome wonders of nature. I haves fes for only them who stand in the middle of the little glade, bodies pressing close and mouths linked in something that looks like the mother of all kisses to me. It’s slow yet fervent. Very seductive. Deep. Every now and then I catch a glimpse of their tongues that gently probe, gyrate and caress, advancing or yielding. I can see the glistening moisture on and around their kiss-swollen lips as they break apart and Boromir lowers his head to dip the tip of his tongue in the soft hollow of Legolas’ neck where his collarbones meet. He lazily draws his tongue up along the milky throat, leaving a sheen of saliva on the marble skin, until he laps over the edge of the delicate chin and finally slides over Legolas’ lower lip to dive back into the warm cave of his mouth. I didn’t know witnessing a kiss could be so arousing...

I force myself to rip my gaze from their faces when I feel my member stir with need. I can’t get myself to turn away completely, and so I just shift my eyes to Boromir’s back where one of Legolas’ hands is roaming. Since both males are stripped to the waist, the elf caresses and massages naked, sun-tanned skin. I watch as Legolas’ slender fingers follow Boromir’s spine, glide over strong shoulder blades, stroke over ribs and carefully trace a long, light scar that runs across the small of the man’s back – a souvenir from one of the many battles he doubtlessly fought. I see that Legolas didn’t lie. If he wants, he can indeed be gentle, considerate, giving. But it eats away at me that the loving tenderness he presents Boromir with is only a means to an end. These are feigned emotions. Are they not?

Intending to search for any indications of Legolas’ genuine feelings I turn my gaze back to the elf’s face. I can’t supress a low gasp when I find him staring right into my eyes, his lips still locked with Boromir’s eager mouth. I tightly press my lips together as soon as I feel the sound slip out, but it’s too late. The man from Gondor, always alert and vigilant, breaks from the kiss and twirls into my direction. First we just stare at one another in deadly silence, both of us frozen and holding our breaths. Boromir is the first to make a move. His eyes narrow in wrath as he’s lunging out. I brace myself for his attack, preparing to defend and strike back, but our brawl never comes to pass as Legolas catches Boromir from behind, keeping him from jumping at me.

“Are you not ashamed?!” my human comrade yells at me while he struggles against Legolas’ relentless embrace. Of course I am ashamed. In fact more than I ever had been in my life so far, but who am I to beg for forgiveness from an insolent captain who hasn’t shown a modicum of respect yet, not even for his own rightful king?

“It is new to me that it’s prohibited to walk these woods,” I reply as calmly as I can.

“This is no walk in the woods!” Boromir hisses, his eyes darting right through me. “This is invasion of privacy!”

There is something about the way he accentuates his cocky speech, something that never ceases to enrage me. My hands curl to fists as I return his icy stare and snort in a most scoffing way.

“What a funny thing to hear this expression tumble from your mouth, my Lord Boromir, for I believe it was you who didn’t have any inhibitions when our friend Legolas fondled you to completion amidst the assembled fellowship! Besides, I am not entirely unwelcome here.”

“Don’t speak in such riddles!” Boromir demands angrily but stops fighting Legolas’ arms that still hold him back.

“Why don’t you ask your lover to help you solve them? I’m sure he can give you a hint,” I reply, casting a glare at Legolas who hasn’t said a word so far. It seems that the elf isn’t planning to give any explanations as he simply starts to slide his hands from Boromir’s heaving chest to his flat, muscular stomach. I follow the track of his slender hand with hungry eyes, catching myself wishing that it was my body he touched. Before the archer can prolong his intimate caress, Boromir clamps one large hand over Legolas’ and holds it in place, pressing it against his sun-tanned skin.

“What is this supposed to mean?” he asks, his voice revealing his growing discomfort and bewilderment.

“Are you really this dimwitted or are you playing coy now?” Legolas answers his lover’s question with another question. I have never before heard so much impatience and annoyance in his usually calm, even-tempered voice, but my great surprise is outdone by Boromir’s astonishment. His face expresses pure shock as he slowly understands Legolas’ intentions. I probably would have smiled, maybe even snickered at the uncommon sight of a thunderstruck Boromir if the atmosphere hadn’t been so stifingly tense.

“Don’t tell me you invited him here,” Boromir says in disbelief, his eyes locked with mine.

“I promise you we are going to have a good time,” Legolas assures him, again attempting to bring his hand past the man’s waistband, but Boromir again stops him.

“I am definitely not going to engange in any carnal activities with this man!” Boromir presses, tightening his grip on the elf’s hand in such a strong way that Legolas winces. “Nor am I willing to share with him! It’s either me or the ranger!”

“Have you already forgotten what I told you?!” Legolas hisses, his tone unexpectedly aggressive, as he rips his hand from Boromir’s hard grasp. He quickly grabs a fistful of Boromir’s dirtyblond hair at the back of his head and pulls, forcing the man to his knees. I gape, mouth slightly open, as the fellowship’s second human gasps in pain and unsuccessfully tries to get rid of the harming elven hand. Legolas is unyielding.

“This man is your king!” he yells at Boromir and I feel my stomach clenching painfully at his words. I doubt I would manage to rein him back this time, like I did at the council of Elrond. I’m not sure I want to, hones “Yo “You must not shun or exclude him! Now demonstrate the allegiance you know you owe him!”

With these harsh words, Legolas deals Boromir an even harsher push, making him slump forward to his hands. The son of the Steward kneels there in front of me, head hanging, gaze lowered, fingers digging into the earth as they curl, shoulders trembling with either wrath or humiliation – or both. I am too shocked to say anything. I am too shocked to even breathe.

After a little eternity, the first word falls.

“Fine…”

Much to Boromir’s credit, he manages to develop a steady, firm voice. I have to admit that I admire him for that. A little.

“If this is what you both wish, it shall be done,” the son of the steward continues as he rises to his feet again, straigthening his stance as soon as he stands upright. “But my offer is subject to a condition.”

I swallow hard, wondering what it will be, while Legolas demands, “Bring it forward, that condition of yours. We will see whether it is acceptable.”

“I will pull the strings,” he states, simply.

“And what exactly is this supposed to mean?” I ask, interfering in the conversation.

“It means that you will behave yourself until I tell you otherwise!” Boromir explains sharply, cold eyes stabbing right through me. “You won’t touch him until I allow you so, and you won’t stick any parts of your body into him until I permit it.”

“Oh, *please*!” I sigh, rolling my eyes, and then look at Legolas, seeking his support.

“As long as we are more than companions in arms, I don’t want him to have his way with you without my approval,” Boromir states, now addressing Legolas. “Either leave yourself and Aragorn to my command for the duration of this… agreement, or choose him over me and resign yourself to never again taking advantage of my flesh. Take your choice.”

I can’t blame Boromir for coming up with this stupid condition, after all it is his desperate attempt to safe the last bit of dignity he has left, but I’m not at all delighted by the terms he set up.

"He is not your property!" I hiss before Legolas has the chance to speak, my dark eyes glaring at the other human. The angry words come fast and I can’t do anything to stop them from falling. "You had him more than enough!"

"He didn't complain yet!" Boromir spits, returning the fierce stare, drags Legolas closer and wraps one arm around him possessively, provokingly.

"Would you two stop quarreling!" Legolas demands and I notice that the annoyed tone in his voice gave way to light amusement. He’s enjoying this, how Boromir and I court his favour like two rutting animals. This makes me so angry that for a short moment I am inclined to return to the campsite and leave those two to themselves, but then Legolas suddenly bends his head and places a gentle yet determined kiss on Boromir's lips to smother the next tantrum, and I take root. The human deepens the kiss instantly. Marks his territory with a hasty, ardent tongue and rough, demanding lips. Legolas doesn't back away but gives in to the passion and returns the kiss with similar fervour.

Before I manage to pick up courage again, Boromir looks up without disconnecting from Legolas' lips. Our gazes lock immediately. I know he can see the fury and humiliation in my eyes, but also the desire and arousal. I feel laughed at and abashed, but I can’t force myself to turn and leave. I am enthralled, captivated… This very moment, to watch seems to be of a greater necessity than breathing.

Suddenly Boromir’s eyelids flutter close and I hear a tiny, guttural sound escaping his throat. As I drop my gaze I see that Legolas’ hand finally made its way into the man’s breeches and this time Boromir willingly grants him access. The slow, fluid strokes Legolas bestows bring me to full hardness, as though it was me he was touching, and driven by need and want I start to move towards them. As soon as I’m close enough I reach out for the elf, but before my fingertips make contact with his silky hair Boromir’s strong hand wraps around my wrist and stops me.

I growl in frustration, not capable of civilized speech anymore, and Legolas promptly breaks from Boromir’s plundering mouth and turns in his embrace to face me. He frames my face with hands so gentle and delicate that I have to close my eyes, relishing the whole extent of this beautiful sensation. A split second later his mouth is on mine, so soft, so luscious, so perfect. It is not so much a full kiss, but rather a faint brush of his lips, almost like theess ess of a feather.

“Sit down, Estel,” he whispers, his hot breath tickling my face. A tiny, protesting whimper slips from my throat. I had been hoping Legolas wouldn’t agree to Boromir’s condition. Now as I have tasted and felt him, I can understand that the son of the steward didn’t want to share. I don’t want to share either, but it seems that I don’t have a choice.

“Do as Boromir wishes and I shall be yours when the time has come,” Legolas mutters under his breath and leans in to place a harder kiss on my mouth. His tongue is slow, teasing and delicious as it slips between my lips and my head starts to spin as my erection grows even harder which I thought impossible. When I push in, starting to explore him in return, I taste the masculine, raw flavour of Boromir in the sweetness of his mouth, and I find it a strange thing that this only adds to my arousal. I groan weakly and involuntarily as Legolas disconnects from me but let him push me down to the ground until I sit on my heels.

“Patience, Aragorn,” are the last words Legolas whispers to me before he pulls away and concentrates on Boromir’s needs. I take a deep, shivering breath in a hopeless attempt to calm myself down. When I raise my head and start to watch and wait, I pray to heaven above that Boromir possesses less endurance than I do. If that’s not the casedon’don’t know how I will ever survive this.