Lunch is Served A/L (R sex comedy)

Lunch is Served A/L (R sex comedy)
Author/Email: sandyg writearts2@earthlink.net
Pairing: A/L
Special Guest Watcher, err, Star: Elrond
Rating: R
Summary: Manly Aragorn, arrogant defender of all Middle Earth, receives a secret lunch invite. But from whom? Could it be from his pristine perfect pale Prince? Could this mean... hot wet sex???
Feedback: Please and thank you
Content: BE WARNED! This is a silly piss-take on everyone. If you don’t like sarcasm and major character bashing this just ain’t for you.
Disclaimer: Please, I so wish this happened but no go and I don’t own them or make a profit ... blah, blah, blah...

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Aragorn carefully studied his colorful elegant clothing. Ha, good of cranky old Elrond not to toss the fancy stuff out. Well, Aragorn hadn’t pissed off Mr. High and Mighty in a long time so foster Poppa Elrond didn’t toss his duds over the railing. That had happened a few times in the past. Grr.

Hmm, the only time that Aragorn wore such fussy clothing was here at Rivendell, where everyone always looked too damned ethereal and perfect, like there was a huge "oooo, how wonderful am I" competition going on. Ohhh, mirror, mirror, who was lovelier this century? Pfft, vain bunch of ancient flakes. Poppa Elrond led the pack in his oh so perfectly creasnd cnd crisp velvets and fussy embroidered get-ups. Ha! Well, when you were that ancient what else could you do for fun? Watch the big trees grow older?

Come on, marching about over hill and dale chasing Middlrth’rth’s evil villains didn’t call for fine velvets and silks. Well hell, Aragorn could wear them but he would look distinctly silly fighting against Orcs clad in smooth black velvet. Oh no, his rugged manly reputation as defender of the helpless might be a wee bit compromised if he started swanning around looking less than utterly butch.

Hmm, so what to wear for this mysterious lunch date? Aragorn felt fairly positive he knew who had invited him to lunch. He certainly knew who he didn’t want it to be: Arwen. If he saw that tall, powerful Elven female in the Tarve’nt pavilion he’d turn and run the other way, yes, he’d probably run all the way to Gondor. Maybe even to Mordor. He’d be safer hiding in Mt. Doom than tangling with that big strong babe.

Yes, pushy hot to trot Arwen was really twanging Aragorn’s already stressed nerves. Manly Aragorn hated, oooh, he detested serious romantic confrontation, especially with a powerful, tall female Elf known for her wicked bitchy temper and dangerous skill with a curved sword, but soon Aragorn was going to have to tell Arwen to back the hell off.

Cowardly Aragorn considered even telling tight-assed Poppa Elrond but errr, damn, that just didn’t seem very, well, manly. "Err, well, excuse me, my dear old foster Poppa, but could you keep your annoyingly panting daughter, aka my foster sis, away from my precious cock?" No, yikes, that didn’t sound good coming from the man who was supposed to be the future, all-powerful king of Middle Earth. That’s the only reason eager Arwen tried so hard for Aragorn; he knew the thought of being Queen of all Middle Earth made Arwen positively drool in giddy delight. She’d command more respect than sour old Galadriel, which made the lofty position all the sweeter. Nothing like a little healthy feminine competition for most Important Queen in the Land. Yuck, talk about an ugly cat fight straight from Mordor!

Oh ho, no way in hell, no, not in any Middle Earth age was Aragorn traveling down that lost dusty road. Urgh, Aragorn shuddered at the nasty thought. No, he knew the gentle lunch invite wasn’t from Arwen; that pushy female always doused her demanding messages with her distinctive cloying gardenia scent. This message was a definite coy invite, not a command.

Picking up the note Aragorn waved the parchment under his eager nostrils, he smiling confidently. No, he felt positive he knew who had sent him this simple request. The elegant note smelled like the individual’s long hair; during their recent meetings Aragorn slyly stood downwind and sniffed his fill of his sexy prey. He just hoped no one caught him doing it, although he did catch paranoid Boromir staring at him oddly. Nosy bastard.

Aragorn blinked in dismay before he shook his handsome head. No, this invite definitely wasn’t from brawny Boromir. Aragorn thought he had already nipped the handsome Gondorian’s drooling fawning lust in the bud and beside, picky old Poppa Elrond wouldn’t rent his exotic pavilion to anyone but a pure Elf. Nope, no worries about lunch with chubby-chin Boromir.

Gods, sometimes Aragorn felt everyone was after his tight ass; well, everyone except maybe Gandalf. Ha, sometimes he had his doubts about that sly old man’s affections. When dispensing arcane advice Gandalf definitely acted way too touchy-feely. Yuck. At least Poppa Elrond didn’t want him; well, err, no. That was gross. Foster Poppa shouldn’t lust after his boy. Urrgh. Nope, although Aragorn could understand Poppa Elrond’s lust. How could he help it?

Please, Aragorn wasn’t sure if it was his strikingly handsome, rugged manly looks or his royal future that attracted the relentless chase. Moving before the mirror Aragorn posed slightly, he flexing his naked, well-defined muscles. Yes, ha, definitely option A: damn, he was one fine, strikingly handsome manly man. Preening in satisfaction Aragorn stroked his hard, lightly furred chest, he lovingly running his fingers down his incredible six-mead jar abs. Oh yes, very, very oh so perfectly manly. Aragorn’s strong fingers slid lower, they happily gripping his thick long cock. What beloved familiar territory. Mmmm yes, oh ho ho. Aragorn smirked in smug satisfaction; yes, he was quite manly where it really counted.

Humming in physical satisfaction Aragorn turned back tbatibating over his outing’s outfit. Yes, that sleeveless green silk tunic enhanced his lovely eyes. Good call. Even better the tight silk clung to Aragorn’s muscular frame and let the world know how buff his strong arms were. They better be cut after all this relentless fighting. It wasn’t easy hacking through hundreds of smelly nasty Orcs. Damn fine exercise and yes, sometimes Aragorn loved the smell of Orc blood in the morning.

Posing again Aragorn nodded in confident contentment. Yes, one might as well display the manly goods. Simple black leggings completed Aragorn’s understated look. No undergarb; if this special lunch went as Aragorn planned underwear would just get in the way.

Oh, come on, quick, time to march up the narrow valley. The Tarve’nt pavilion hid in a high clearing about 15 minutes down a mysterious dark river valley, a minor river compared to the rest of the roaring spectacles surrounding Poppa Elrond’s home for aging Elves. Aragorn certainly didn’t want to rush and work up a nasty, stinky sweat. No, he wanted his long wavy hair fluffy and flowing as befitted a handsome king in the making. Bad enough that recently Aragorn spent all his time feeling sticky and sweaty when chased or chasing over the entire damned brutal Middle Earth landscape. No thank you, today Aragorn planned on strolling and keeping blissfully dry, well, until the expected sweet wet ‘n wild sex. Yeeeehah.

Whistling softly Aragorn set off, he cheerfully waving to a few holier than thou Elves roaming the fussy old complex. No, sorry, my tottering old friends, no time for idle chat; I’ve got a hopefully hot lunch date with one extremely sexy young, well, relatively speaking, Elf.

Yes, what a spectacularly warm spring day. Aragorn truly felt wonderful; it was good to be the future king. OK, yes, right, first they had a shitload of heroics to pull off but Aragorn had faith in their group; well, hell, be honest, the prot oft of traveling over said nasty hill and dale protecting a bunch of helpless Hobbits wasn’t what he’d choose for fun. At least Gandalf was coming with; as far as Aragorn was concerned Gandalf should take care of poor innocent Frodo. By the Gods, that poor simple Hobbit didn’t know the nasty trouble he was going to face. Poor innocent twit. Clever Bilbo had definitely shafted the stupid trusting dweeb. It was like a game of lethal hot potato; here, you take the fucking Ring! I am outta here!

Arrogant, greedy, grasping Boromir and the short, opinionated, cranky midget, oh, pardon, Dwarf, could look after the other three useless fleshy lumps of small dead weight. Why they were coming with was anyone’s guess; ha, blame wily Poppa Elrond for that silly lunacy. Hell, slick Poppa wasn’t going on this dangerous trip so what did he care how stupid the concept was? Oh sure, what a hilarious idea: let’s have all the silly, not fit for anything but eating, singing and drinking Hobbits travel with the deadly Ring. Yes indeedy, one helluva of a brilliant idea. Bah, Poppa Elrond must be getting senile. Or even worse, he thought it was funny. Yeah, foster Poppa was warped that way.

Aragorn’s manly fists clenched in futile annoyance. Unfortunately no one argued with touchy old Poppa Elrond, not unless you wanted to deal with his nasty mother-in-law Galadriel. Ha, if anything went wrong whiny Elrond instantly tattled to powerful Galadriel and at that point you might as well crawl down a deep dark bolthole and hide for oh, say a century until the charming Lady simmered down.

Aragorn knew this from personal experience. He didn’t run off and become a lone Ranger just for fun, hell no, he was hiding from irritated Poppa Elrond and Galadriel. All he did was borrow one of Poppa’s precious raunchy Elven poem books and err, OK, Aragorn messed up the ink on a few pretty hot illustrations. Bad move. Hey, he was young and those poems were great help with a youthful hard-on. Splat, whoops, yikes, time to hide for a century! Hell, how was Aragorn to know that Poppa Elrond had borrowed that book from Galadriel’s private smut collection? Geez! Who knew stately Galadriel enjoyed such physical fun? Quick, hide!

Oh la te da, tish-tosh, enough thinking on the whimsical past. Mmm, since Boromir, the hairy grumpy et aet and Gandalf were busy watching over the merry little twits Aragorn could personally watch the last member of the mismatched Fellowship; oh yes, that was one lean slender body he planned on guarding as closely as he could. Mmm-hmm.

Ack, suddenly Aragorn’s leggings felt a little tighter. Down, boy, down. He didn’t want to arrive at lunch looking like a horny teenager being pulled around by his own wild woody.

Crossing the last intricate wooden bridge Aragorn paused, he staring up at the Tarve’nt pavilion glistening in the flickering golden sunlight glimmering through the ancient trees. The elegant structure perched on the crest of a bizarre spur crafted from black volcanic rock. Legend said it was named after the poor young Elf who had tumbled from the pavilion after one particularly active romp with randy old Poppa Elrond. Sly secretive Poppa wasn’t talking about that eventful day but everyone knew that for some bizarre reason the pavilion’s curious atmosphere made for mind-blowing sex. Elves flocked from all over Middle Earth to rent the special pavilion for a few nights, mainly when they were joining with their eternal mates. Tight-wad Poppa Elrond made a tidy sum off the extreme rent he charged; what a calculating businessman. Aragorn thought that Poppa should open a chain of Tarve’nt pavilions; he’de a e a mint. The horny, legend-loving Hobbits would go wild for them.

Wait, hold on... oh my, woooo; low silvery singing drifted from the pavilion’s open windows. The amazingly sweet sound clamped its seductive musical notes directly on Aragorn’s already ready to rumble cock. Wow! ZZZing!

Aragorn’s sensual mouth hung open in complete drooling, dazed lust. (If a sudden pop vote of confidence for Middle Earth’s future king was held that second Aragorn would lose based on his incredibly dim-witted expression.) The oh so manly Ranger normally wasn’t of a poetic turn but his suddenly feverish mind thought "hmm, yes, that’s what the twinkling of the pretty bright stars would sound like if you floated near them." Hey, great, that was a classy line; remember it and use it again in a few minutes.

Down, boy, come on, please stay down for just a few more minutes. Pluuuuze.

Gritting his teeth in repressed oozing lust Aragorn assaulted the 100 stairs leading up to the fantastic silver and glass structure. 97, 96, 9


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Giggling wildly Legolas rolled on the fluffy silken cushions, he finishing off a fourth bottle of potent Elven mead. Deeee-licious. Gods, how could lumbering Aragorn track anything when you could hear him coming a mile away? Ha, hee, judging from the way Aragorn’s heart was beating the tense Ranger might be coming sooner than he liked. As he giggled again Legolas’ slender fingers caressed his own hot, not too long, not too thick but completely perfect cock. No, before anyone did any coming first there must be a little tender courtship.

Come now, Legolas didn’t get all dressed up for nothing. He wasn’t removing his beautiful, pale blue, see through silk tunic until after they ate. Honest. Really. The ankle-length tunic was a really sexy outfit and Legolas wanted to score prime mileage from it. Legolas looked completely marvelous and he knew it. Elrond certainly thought so; when Legolas modeled this outfit for him with the strict rule that Elrond couldn’t touch the goods gasping Elrond passed out from hyperventilation. Poor old Elf. Legolas giggled; he could be such a tease!

Yet Elrond’s annoying me, me, me daughter thought she was going to be Queen of Middle Earth. "Ha," snorted Legolas under his breath, "I don’t think so, honey. Back off, you big-boned bitch, the oh so manly future king is allll mine. Even your Daddy supports my bid so there."

Smirking in triumphant delight Legolas opened the fifth bottle of mead. After gulping back a mouthful the elegant Prince decided maybe he’d look a little classier if he poured the thick liquid into the tall crystal goblets. There, wasn’t that oh so civilized? Legolas thought "oh very pretty but nowhere near as sparkly as my own divine eternal beauty." Once a winner, always a winner. Oh yes.

Whoops, quick, put the bottle down; time to adopt the Wanton Yet Oh So Pure Legolas Display mode. It always paid to make a killer first impression, even on a Ranger with little aesthetic taste. Legolas already knew he didn’t want Aragorn for his taste, no sir. Maybe for how the tall strong virile male tasted; ha, yum, now that was a different story entirely. Oh yes... Legolas shivered in delight.

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Catching his panting breath Aragorn halted before the pavilion, he clearing his suddenly tight throat. His right hand patted his cock. Good boy, stay down. Hmm, the dark green silk drapes obscured his view into the pavilion’s shadowy interior. Huh? A slight movement caused him to glance right; was someone watching? Naw, don’t be silly. Strict Poppa Elrond wouldn’t allow such nonsense; only the invited drew near this precious space. A few archers armed with nasty sharp arrows made sure of that fact.

Deciding to be formal Aragorn trotted out his best manly man voice. "May I enter?"

A melodic sweet low voice caressed Aragorn’s burning ears. "Please, Aragorn, come in."

Aragorn rolled his eyes heavenwards before thrusting both his thumbs up into the warm air. Yes, thank you, sexual jackpot. Pushing past the flowing drapery Aragorn straightened up, his trained keen eyes adjusting to the dimmer light.

They almost dropped out of his overheated head. The most amazingly erotic sight in the entire known universe lay sprawled across the silver silk cushions. Ha, forget telling the boy to stay down; this sight was too much for the eager little devil.

Legolas posed like a seasoned grade-A slut, his sculpted pale body wrapped in a sheer, long, light blue tunic. His thick golden hair, usually tamed by those stupid little braids, flowed behind him like a glittering silken flag. Oh dear Gods the languid relaxed Elf was the dictionary definition of shimmering dripping wet sex. Ouch. Errh. Arrrgh.

Aragorn almost whimpered in drooling lust; yes, he almost stomped his feet, danced in a wild lusty circle and flung himself on the delectable slender confection spread out before him. No, come on, there were rules here although Aragorn was 99% on his way to forgetting everything but his straining hard cock. He knew the glorious Elf was wickedly beautiful but this incredible sight was too much to believe.

If a raging heart attack claimed Aragorn right that second he wouldn’t be stunned, no, he’d drop right on the Elf’s perfect pale body and die one helluva happy future king. Splat.

Controlling his drunken giggles Legolas smiled in seductive welcome, the sweet expression making his beauty even more wonderfully radiant. Mmm, how funny; usu usually stoic Aragorn looked like someone had just hit him in the skull with an iron battering ram. Yes, the silly expression was hilarious but it certainly did make the handsome future king look like his IQ had dropped to about oooh, say negative 45. Hmm, Legolas wasn’t interested in Aragorn’s IQ, either. Ho ho, Legolas’ good first impression concept was obviously a wet winner. Yes, good breeding always won. Take that, Arwen, you bitchy, big boned cow.

Rising gracefully, (thank the Gods that even when drunk Elves still retained their elegant balance), Legolas held out his refined pale hands to his next sexual victim, err, be nice, his extra special guest. Before this lunch the Elf had soaked his pale hands in honey and sweet cream for hours; those pesky calluses from handling the bow were such an annoyance! "Aragorn! How delightful of you to make it here just for me. I wanted to surprise you with a special lunch for us. During all the brutal stress we’ve hardly had any time to be alone with each other. I find that so sad since I value our close, dear friendship." Legolas gently gripped Aragorn’s strong, callused, oh so rough manly fingers in his own long, pale, smooth as a baby’s ass fingers. "Are you pleasantly surprised by my little invite? Please say yes!"

Aragorn almost drooled like a helpless infant. Goo goo ga ga duh. Come on, you idiot, talk! "Err, umm, ahh, yes, this, well, yes, Legolas, this is a lovely surprise." Oh good going, idiot.

Legolas somehow restrained his teasing laughter. Oh, my, my, my, being so tremendously beautiful was so much fun! "Well now, let’s sit so you can enjoy yourself. I’m afraid I’ve been naughty and already started on the mead. I hope you don’t think me too wicked." Batting his thick dark lashes Legolas glanced coyly up at Aragorn’s lusting face.

Goo ga ga. A flushed Aragorn numbly let Legolas pull him to the soft cushions. He could barely think let alone speak, yes, any remaining intelligence was firmly embedded in his aching hard cock. "Oh, really oh, OK, no problem, fine."

Legolas mentally frowned. Dear Gods, did his Aragorn fall and wack his handsome hard head on the way up? Legolas had never seen his potential virile lover acting like such a babbling useless idiot. Oh well, as long as it didn’t affect Aragorn’s obviously healthy cock who cared; Aragorn could drool all he wanted. Aragorn’s lust was sorta cute and definitely very good for Legolas’ healthy ego.

A shocked Aragorn felt like every coherent brain cell he owned suddenly melted into one big throbbing "take the Elf NOW" message, they hooting and stomping in primal "nail the pretty pale Elf’s ass" lust. Madness. No. Get a fucking grip here! Aragorn mentally smacked himself. Have some control, you so-called king. So Legolas was possibly the most seductive, erotically glorious being in the universe; did that mean Aragorn should turn into a mewling, lovesick puppy?

Aragorn’s lecherous mind grinned in merry abandonment. Oh afraid so, old man. This pretty Elf has grabbed you firmly by your swinging balls. You are in deep lover boy shit here. You are his helpless toy.

Can’t think. Can’t breathe. Food. Eat food. Clearing his clenched throat again Aragorn managed coherent words. "Well, Legolas, err, this lunch all looks extremely delicious. I appreciate your special effort."

Legolas cocked his elegant head, he smiling in sunny seductive delight. His long dark lasworkworked overtime batting toward his high perfect cheekbones. "Why Aragorn, thank you so very much. I wanted to make you extremely happy so I asked dear Elrond if sweet Chef Mrantik would pretty please make trays of small food for our special lunch. Of course Elrond said yes. He’s sooo cute and sweet." And a little too quick with his hands. "Little food is so much easier to eat, eh? Oh yes, tasty, succulent, bite-sized little food is mmm, sooo much fun to eat." As he spoke Legolas slowly ran his adorable pink tongue over his lower ripe red lip. Yes, cunning Legolas knew just how precious he looked when he licked his pretty sculpted lips. He had practiced the look in the mirror plenty of times.

A strange dull roar suddenly attacked Aragorn’s acute hearing, the noise cutting him off from reality. It was probably his blood screaming to his raging cock or that fatal heart attack on the way.

No. Rules. Please follow the silly courtship rules for just a few more minutes.

"Yes, why how clever of you, Legolas." Aragorn slowly, carefully reached out his strong fingers. Hurrah, instead of clamping his trembling fingers on Legolas’ perfectly displayed cock he managed to grasp a stuffed mushroom cap. Very, very well done. What a champ. Now bring it to the mouth, chew. How accomplished! Reach out, no, bad boy, keep your hand away from the Elf’s glowing pale, delicious, sweet flesh... come on, hold the toast point loaded with herbs and cheese and send it to your own mouth. Excellent. Chew. Very good. Drink mead. Gooooood boy. Set the goblet down and repeat.

Humming sweetly under his breath Legolas sat as close to Aragorn as he could, he lightly brushing his pale shoulder against the Ranger’s muscular upper arm. Mmm, so warm, so hard, so firm. Ha, judging from Legolas’ quick sly glance something much lower on Aragorn’s wonderful body was acting the same. Lovely.

Ha, go find your own future king, Arwen. Nayh-nayh, this handsome one was m-i-n-e and sweet old Elrond supported me here so you were fucked. Go get stuffed, you big bitch. Chase Boromir or even Merry or Pippin. Ha, supposedly big things came in small packages, right?

My word, that meant Gimli must really be packing stiff iron. Legolas blinked at the stunning thought. Hmm. No, well, maybe someday he might enjoy a quick peek.

Deciding to give poor overheated Aragorn a little breather Legolas blissfully concentrated on his eating. Mmm, these savory treats were all his favorites; yes, Legolas could eat this exotic food all day long. When Legolas was Aragorn’s beloved consort that’s exactly what he planned to do: lounge around, eat all day long and wait for virile Aragorn to molest him. To hell with filthy battles and all that nasty violent arrow shooting.

OK, great, Legolas excelled at killing things but the damned bowstring broke his lovely long nails and ruined his perfect skin. Ha, once all this gruesome trauma was taken care of Legolas planned on being the most pampered Elf on the planet. The simple concept suited his incredibly glamorous beauty. Pooh, being a lean, mean fighting machine didn’t work for Legolas anymore. Since he approached 3000 Legolas wanted to keep his soft, smooth white skin pretty and nasty bloody battles just weren’t the logical answer. Thick black Orc blood couldn’t be good for the complexion, eeeygh no. Blleahgh.

Legolas blinked in sudden confusion. Hold on, dear Aragorn actually spoke coherent words? Time to concentrate. Smiling radiantly Legolas gazed longingly into Aragorn’s wide light eyes. "Oh my Aragorn, please forgive me I... oh my, I think the mead caught up with me. What did you say?" Lightly fanning his perfect face with his long fingers Legolas artfully supplied Aragorn with a few dramatic blinks, he opening his big dark blue eyes wide. Perrrrfect.

Poor Aragorn almost moaned in fresh drooling lust. Come on, idiot boy, repeat what you said! "I... err, I commented that Arwen is going to be furious with us."

Forgetting himself Legolas almost snarled in hissing fury. Oh no, that wouldn’t be pretty. No wrinkles must show. Compressing his lips Legolas soulfully stared into Aragorn’s dazed eyes. "And why is that?"

Aragorn smirked in manly arrogant contemplation. "Well, you realize Arwen wants to be my Queen. Not that I blame her for wanting me but the trouble is she never asked me first."

Legolas quickly experienced a brief sick panic attack. Damn, had he been over confident? Had that black-tressed, black-souled, big-boned Elven bitch already corrupted his manly king? Did Elrond steer him wrong? Oh no, that wasn’t going to be the case. This little battle was being won here and now.

Recovering from his frantic panic Legolas carefully pursed his ripe red lips, he fixing his stunning shimmering blue gaze on Aragorn’s face. Time for the all out level 10 sexual attack.

Legolas caressed his precious pink tongue against his lips again. He dropped his voice to a seductive whisper. "Well, dear Aragorn, do you really need a... mere Queen?"

Smiling seductively Aragorn deliberately ran his wide lusty eyes over Legolas’ slender pale body. Wow, yes, this was even better than he could ever imagine. The final countdown was near; they both knew it. "Hmm, well, I could be convinced not to settle for a mere Queen."

Panting softly Legolas arched his back slightly, he pushing his already tight dark pink nipples against the sheer blue silk. "Oh reallllly now?"

Aragorn’s wide lusting eyes almost crossed. "Oh, erm, I think so."

Let the games begin! Showtime! Leaning forward Legolas knocked Aragorn to the silvery cushions, his red ripe lips consuming Aragorn’s full sensual lips, devouring, nibbling, and tonguing. His strong slim fingers ran across Aragorn’s muscular arms, redefining those cut muscles.

Just when Aragorn was about to pop Legolas drew back, he dramatically ripping the sheer silk from his own slender body. His fair flesh smoothly moved over his taut muscles. "So, Aragorn, could this perfect, pale, pristine Princely flesh convince you?" Smiling in delight Legolas quickly directed a wink toward the pavilion’s open doors. Watching, old one? Get ready for action.

The dull roar filled Aragorn’s dizzy head again. He lunged forward, slamming his beautiful Elf into the bouncy cushions. His large hands helped themselves to that luscious pale skin; oh, he could eat this beautiful pale confection alive. Moaning in near delirium Aragorn buried his nose into Legolas’ thick golden hair, he inhaling to his heart’s delight. Yes, that sensational smell, that ageless timeless special smell spiced with moonlight and mossy deep woods filled his eager lungs. Aragorn thought his swollen cock might burst in delight. Paradise.

Legolas giggled in stunned surprise, he rolling under Aragorn’s heavy muscular body. Mmm, ha, he liked having his hair sniffed. How weirdly obsessive and ultimately flattering! Wait, hold on... Legolas quickly pushed up.

Aragorn blinked in shock, he finding himself on his back, his silken tunic being ripped from his body by a pale whirlwind. Golden hair spilled across his sweating flesh. Sharp nails flashing in the dim light easily rent his tight leggings. Before he could comprehend the sudden change Aragorn found himself back on top of a madly writhing Legolas.

Whoa, yeah, there was definitely something crazy sexy about having your clothing ripped off by a beautiful Elf gripped by wet lust. Panting in heady desire Aragorn pressed his face against Legolas’ smooth cheek. "Can I please have dessert now?"

Legolas trilled in wild joy, his long fingers skillfully massaging Aragorn’s ass, he applying subtle pressure to sensitive spots. "Big boy, I want you to treat yourself to as many helpings as you can handle."

Aragorn almost came but he managed to find one last ounce of control. Come on, you crazybeautifulsexyelf open that tight puckered gate to me... ohhhh yesssss....

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Oh. Oh dead Gods in Valar, Mordor and in every last fucking ancient tree across every last standing forest in all the lands. Oh. Ohhh. Woooooow.

Aragorn really wanted to see if his precious cock still functioned in one piece but right now his aching, over ambitious flesh was still embedded deeply in Legolas’ tight grasping hole. Unfortunately Aragorn felt too exhausted to move. Even if Sauron suddenly appeared Aragorn couldn’t do a damned thing except lay here panting in delicious pleasure.

Feeling the warm breeze on his sweating feet Aragorn realized that their legs dangout out the back window. Hell, no wonder poor Tarve’nt plunged to his death. Aragorn bet anything he went down laughing in sexy glee. Tarve’nt probably thought he was still rolling under Poppa Elrond or perhaps riding on top of Poppa, although that seemed unlikely. Poppa Elrond didn’t seem like a bottom. Oh hell, whatever the case Aragorn felt positive Tarve’nt died happy. Ha, if Legolas threw Aragorn from the window he felt secure he’d sail down laughing.

Aragorn never felt so completely satisfied, not even after killing off a few hundred Orcs. Oh shit, was this real love? How sick. He felt completely trapped, intoxicated, struck dumb. He was in deep emotional shit.

Damn, Elves were fucking dangerous or more accurately dangerous fucking. But Gods, what an erotic afternoon!

A purring Legolas coyly smiled up at him, he still looking springtime fresh, his thick golden hair forming a brilliant backdrop to his achingly beautiful face. Only a light sweat sheen on Legolas’ perfect dewy upper lip told Aragorn that they’d been fucking like mad bunnies for oh shit, hours. The ache flowing across Aragorn’s heavy hard muscles told him he might be ready for traction. Oh Gods. How sad; Legolas might have to carry him back to Rivendell. That would be mighty embarrassing and definitely unmanly.

Giggling sweetly Legolas uttered three teasing words. "Done so soon?"

What the hell? Aragorn snorted in exhausted disbelief, his amazed eyes meeting Legolas’ limpid deep blue gaze. "Soon? You crazy bitch, you call this soon? I just managed to achieve an impressive hard-on nine times in a fuckin’ row! You’ve drained me, you mad Elf! I am finished!"

Legolas continued smiling up at him, he once again batting his thick dark lashes over his wide blue eyes in a completely fetching manner. "Why Aragorn, honey, you’re telling me this was a particularly grand performance for you?"

Aragorn almost growled in frustrated fury, his strong fingers gripping Legolas’ smooth willowy shoulders. "Look, my sweet beautiful Elf, I’m telling you you’d best be happy or I think I’ll throw you out the window so you can play with Tarve’nt. If my so-called performance wasn’t enough for you then we’re done."

Winking coyly Legolas purred in complete pleasure. "Oh, come off your high Rohan horse, my handsome half human. I’m perfectly satisfied. You were totally astonishing. Yes, I think I might be in love." Well, maybe Legolas could coax Elladan or Elrohir to roll over for him. He still had a bit of a deep itch.

Stretching under Aragorn he waggled his long fingers at the door. His keen Elven hearing sensed a muffled chuckle. How cute.

Ahh, admit it, you randy Elf, Aragorn was one spectacular lover. Mmm, yes, it would be great fun to be the royal consort. With a little more training Aragorn would be sheer brutal perfection; hell, he already could last for sweet sweaty hours. How divinely thrilling. Mmm, yes, Legolas couldn’t wait to lay in their grand bed and wait for his King’s eager cock. Now that was the sensual life. Eat, drink and be fucked to one’s hearts content. Heavenly. It was just a matter of time.

Oh dear, was he really in love?

Well, love, lust, whatever, as long as Legolas felt supremely happy that’s all that mattered to him. But this moment felt suspiciously like real love. How frightening. How unnatural.

Moaning softly Aragorn shook his long sweaty hair. Arggh, keeping this amazingly high-maintenance Elf satisfied was going to be a demanding full time job. Ouch. But the beautiful intoxicating Elf was well worth it. Smiling in supreme satisfaction Aragorn collapsed against Legolas’ pale muscular chest, his nose nuzzling a tight pink nipple. Oh, just Legolas’ enchanting special smell alone could keep him hard for hours.

Shit, Aragorn was truly in love with someone other than himself. How dangerous. How wrong. How unmanly.

Oh too bad. Aragorn was one happy future king. Now about that damned stupid Ring...

*************************************************

Outside the pavilion a stunned Elrond choked back an amazed laugh. In exchange for using the pavilion the divine young Legolas had promised him one amazing sex show and yes, sweet sexy Legolas definitely delivered the sensual action. Astonishing. Elrond wished that he had something to capture the fun with; yes, hmm, someone should invent such a useful device.

Gods, he envied his foster son. Lucky human bastard. If Elrond begged nicely perhaps he could at least just touch Legolas again without getting slapped. Was there an ancient Elven custom where the Father-in-law could at least savor a piece of the bride? Ha, Elrond could make one up. Yes, hmm, he could casually "discover" an ancient parchment from Gil-Galad decreeing such fun. Sounded like a little project, oh yes. So what that Elrond was just a foster Da and Legolas wasn’t truly a bride? Mere trivial technicalities.

Catching his panting breath Elrond carefully rangeanged his black velvet robe over his spent cock. How funny; his long strong fingers had cramps from all the physical fun. Voyeurism had its points; Elrond didn’t have to think about anyone but himself. That’s exactly the way he liked it.

Yes, he hadn’t enjoyed such a wonderfully sexy afternoon since poor Tarve’nt went flying into space. That pretty lad was such a pathetic idiot. Elrond had warned him not to try that back flip move.

Pity. Yes, he should get out more. Being wise and regal all the time was growing quite dull. He should leave that nonsense to his all-powerful mother-in-law. If bitchy old Galadriel wanted to be Middle Earth’s favorite den mother so be it. Elrond wanted a little more fun out of his long immortal life. Yes, time to lighten up. Personally he thought foisting those damned annoying Hobbits off on the Fellowship was one of his funnier little jokes. Old Gandalf almost pissed himself in anger. Lovely.

Grinning in fresh delight Elrond rubbed his aching hands together. Yes, ha, just wait until bitchy Arwen heard about this lively little afternoon delight. Ha, seeing his annoyingly bossy daughter’s dramatic temper tantrum might be even more fun. Hmm, time to think of a way to indirectly let Arwen in on the hilarious news that she was shoved out of the Queen race.

Galadriel. Yes, that gossipy old crow couldn’t keep a secret for longer than a microsecond. How wonderful! Chucking softly the Elf lord gracefully raced down the steep stone stairs.

Hmm, come to think of it, Elrond did have a little lust left in him. Maybe before he talked to Galadriel one of his slutty sons could roll over for him.

One Ring or not, life was good.

FIN... but there will be a sequel... I wanna see a good bitchy cat fight between Legolas and Arwen!!!