Twilight Tales - More Than a Gift

Title: More than a Gift

Author: Eressë (eresse21@yahoo.com)

Rating: R

Pairing: Legolas/Elrohir

Summary: What kind of a gift does one give to a friend who has become more than just a friend?

Disclaimer: I write for the sheer enjoyment of it. Everything else belongs to the grand old wizard of tale spinning, JRR Tolkien.

Author’s note: This was written in response to a challenge on the elrohir_legolas_slash group to come up with a story with the sentences "Timing is everything." and "Is it too tight?" I’ve expanded the original story, which was constrained by a rule limiting the number of words to 1000 max.

More Than a Gift

“Timing is everything.”



Legolas watched as Elrohir instructed a rapt group of Elves in the execution of a stroke that, if performed correctly, would gut an orc’s belly before the creature ever saw it coming. They were out on the drill yard beside the barracks of Rivendell and Elrohir was tending to the greenest group of fighters to grace the ranks of Imladris’ forces. These were raw younglings, some still a few years short of their majority. But given the exigencies of the times, potential soldiers were trained in the battle-arts soonest. In this, Elrond’s twin sons excelled and oft lent their mastery of said arts to the formation of would-be warriors.



Legolas eyed the Elf-knight intently, wondering what in Arda he could gift him with on his upcoming begetting day.



In all their years of friendship, he had always known what to give Elrohir in celebration of the day he and Elladan had been jointly conceived. But this year was different. This year he did not know for he no longer looked at the warrior with the eyes of a friend.



Legolas sighed dolefully. Why did things have to get so complicated? With all the comely Elves who sought his favor, why had he fallen in love with his best friend? Because he is beautiful, valorous, kind, and so much more, he answered his own question. In short, everything he looked for in a mate and found in no one else but Elrond’s younger son.



“Is it too tight?”



He was sharply roused from his reverie by the question Elrohir had uttered. The warrior was adjusting a youngster’s leather wrist bracers. But to the archer’s fevered mind, the innocent query suggested something else. Color flooded his cheeks as he realized he had the answer to his problem about what to gift Elrohir with.



But did he dare give it? More to the point, would Elrohir accept it?

********

The evening of the twins’ begetting day celebration was a merry one. The halls of the Last Homely House rang with song and laughter and witty repartee. One had to give credit to the brethren of Rivendell. When a party was thrown in their honor, one could safely assume that the guests would enjoy themselves to the hilt. The twins would have it no other way and always took an active part in the preparations.



At one point, the two retreated to the garden porch beside which lay the lush patch where Celebrian’s collection of exotic blooms flourished. Few noted their discreet withdrawal from the merriment, among these the Mirkwood prince. Losing interest in a lively discussion between Elrond and an Elf from the Havens, Legolas observed them a little anxiously as Elladan proudly showed his brother the knife he had received from the archer. The Wood-elves of Mirkwood were renowned throughout Elfdom for their beautifully wrought knives. Elrohir smiled then frowned in puzzlement. He glanced fleetingly in Legolas’ direction before turning his attention back to Elladan.



The prince knew what he was thinking. Why had Legolas not presented him with anything as yet? It was not that Elrohir craved such tokens but rather that he saw every gift exchanged between the Sindarin prince and himself as renewed confirmation of their abiding friendship. Legolas hoped the Elf-knight would not be so offended by his seeming neglect that he would refuse to speak with him later.



His heart was thudding like a Southron drum when he went to Elrohir’s room hours after the last guest had retired for the night. He knocked on the warrior’s door.



Elrohir opened it and stared at him in surprise. Both were attired for repose, which, in Legolas’ case meant a loose shirt and night-trousers, and in Elrohir’s, naught but a robe that he would doff when he went to sleep.



“May I come in?” the archer said. “I wish to present my gift to you.”



Elrohir’s eyes widened in belated enlightenment. “So that was why—” He chuckled softly. “I confess I thought I had wronged you in some way,” he admitted. “But of course, ernilen”—my prince—“come in.”



“If I did not give it earlier, ‘tis because I wanted to do so in private,” Legolas explained as he entered the room. He gulped nervously when he heard the door close behind them.



How often had he lounged in this chamber with the twin? Even slept beside him in the wide bed that dominated the room. But tonight…



“Elrohir, do you recall why I have never taken an ellon to my bed?” he abruptly asked, fearing to lose his nerve if he delayed any further.



Elrohir was startled by the unexpected query. “You told me that you thought it demeaning to render yourself vulnerable in the arms of a fellow ellon”—male Elf—he said. When Legolas remained silent, he continued, repeating the archer’s words to him in the past. “You said you thought you could bring yourself to take another but that it would not be right to be unable to yield in turn and so it would be better not to lie with any at all.” At Legolas’ slight nod, he added: “Why did you bring that up?”



Legolas swallowed hard. “Because I have changed my mind,” he muttered. At Elrohir’s raised eyebrows, he hastened on. “I have found one whom I trust so dearly I would submit to him if he would have me.” The twin’s eyebrows rose even higher in astonishment. He drew a deep breath. “I would make a gift of my yielding to – to you, Elrohir.”



The Elf-knight stared at him in – what? Legolas did not know what to make of his friend’s expression.



At length, Elrohir murmured: “I cannot accept your gift if ‘tis only for this night. It would be too painful to give you up come morning.”



It was Legolas’ turn to stare. “What do you mean?” he gasped.



The grey eyes regarded him somberly. “I can take others in mere lust for they do not hold my heart. But with the one who does, I cannot bear a mere tumble when I yearn for so much more.” He looked at the prince keenly. “Why have you offered me this, Legolas?”



Something akin to a sob of relief escaped the archer. “Because I love you, stubborn Peredhel!” he exclaimed. “And if you do not take me here and now, I will depart Imladris tomorrow and never return. My grief and shame would be too great.”



He did not get to say another word for in the next instant, Elrohir had him down on his bed. With startling deftness, Legolas found himself swiftly unwrapped. What followed next would forever be a glorious jumble of sensation and image and sound in his mind.



Kissed, caressed and suckled to within a figurative inch of his immortal life, he was soon reduced to a mass of shivery, ecstatically singing nerves incapable of producing more than moans and gasps and an occasional bleat of the warrior’s name. And he blushed more often and deeply in this one night than in all his long years in response to the deliciously wicked things Elrohir drawlingly told him he would do then did.



When Elrohir at last took the gift he offered, he unraveled completely and blissfully. He groaned in utter rapture with each slow-burning thrust into his body and each covetous stroke of his rampantly needful length. Completion came with gale-intensity. And the sight of his own seed spilling copiously over Elrohir’s fist followed by the sensation of liquid heat flooding his very core wrought him an extended climax the length of which he had not previously experienced. He barely registered the gentle uncoupling of their bodies in his pleasure-induced haze and only came back to his senses when warm arms enfolded him.



As he lay exhaustedly in Elrohir’s embrace in the wake of his undoing, he happily nuzzled his new lover’s neck. Elrohir laughed at the affectionate gesture.



“And just when were you going to tell me you loved me?” the warrior inquired, stroking the archer’s shining locks.



“I could ask the same of you,” Legolas retorted good-naturedly.



“Ah, but I never declared to all and sundry that I would never yield to another ellon,” Elrohir reminded him to Legolas’ abashment. “Had I known you were no longer averse to lying with one, I would have wooed you years ago.”



“Plague take my unruly tongue,” Legolas groaned. He pressed a kiss to his Elf-knight’s lips. His Elf-knight! He felt almost giddy with the knowledge that he owned the warrior’s heart.



“I am not certain who received a gift this night,” he remarked. “I feel as though I have been on the receiving end of one as well.”



“You will be on the receiving end of more than a gift if you are truly mine,” Elrohir rakishly informed him. “Think you can bear it?”



Legolas smirked and nestled further into Elrohir’s embrace. “Always, melethron”—lover—he sighed contentedly. “Always.”



The end