The Early Years: Pillow Talk

The Early Years: Pillow Talk

Legolas drew a shuddering breath, his head thrown back, eyes firmly fixed

on the gently swaying green boughs above him…to no avail. Even with his

gaze averted, he knew what sight awaited should he look down. With his eyes

closed… ’Nay, definitely not closed,’ the woodland prince quickly

decided, as his mind supplied the images his eyes were denied. Arching

reflexively, he pressed his shoulders tight to the tree trunk at his back,

his hands clutching an overhead branch for support.

"Would you pretend I am another, ernilen?", a lilting voice

teased, the speaker’s breath ghosting over Legolas’ groin, causing his

widely braced legs to tremble threateningly. "You will not

watch?"

Groaning in resignation, he allowed his gaze to drop to the gleaming

silver hair that fell like moonlight over his thighs, the ends sliding

tantalizingly across sensitized skin. Sparkling eyes, green as a new leaf

and shot with streaks of silver, met his emerald-dark glance. A pale pink

tongue appeared, taking a cat-like swipe at the bead of clear fluid oozing

from his throbbing member.

The prince chuckled breathlessly. "’Tis hardly possible to pretend

you are another, Rúmil. Your tongue gives you away. No other is so

talented." Shivering as yet another stroke swirled wetly around the

weeping slit, he added, "And I shall soon ruin this game, mellonen, if

you do not quit."

"’Twould be a shame, indeed," the galadhel said with one last

lick, sliding smoothly up his partner’s body. "I have looked forward

to this game for many day's travel."

Wrapping his arms snugly around the Lorien elf, bringing their bodies

together tightly, the prince claimed the other’s mouth in a pillaging kiss,

his tongue sweeping aggressively through the velvety warmth. Pulling away

reluctantly, he whispered, "Shall we go inside and finish playing on a

softer surface?" Receiving a nod in answer, Legolas buried his face in

the silken hair before pulling away to lead his lover from the balcony into

the bed-chamber.

Rúmil stretched out gracefully on the wide bed and watched silently,

biting back a smile as the woodland prince rummaged through the bed-table

drawer. "I know it was…", the frustrated elf began, then broke

into a victorious grin as he sat a small bottle of oil on the tabletop.

Dropping to the bed, Legolas reached for the galadhel, raising himself to

lie partly atop the slightly smaller elf. His head lowered to nuzzle a

tempting ear, he inhaled deeply, savoring the spicy-sweet scent that clung

to his partner’s shimmering hair. Though the Lorien elf was but one of his

friend-lovers, the prince found the guardian’s exotic coloring and almost

feline bearing entrancing.

Rúmil turned his head obligingly, hissing as the teasing mouth licked and

suckled its way down his neck and across the smoothly muscled chest, pausing

to latch onto one pebbled nipple. The galadhel arched up, his fingers

tangling in the pale golden hair that slid like silk over his body as his

lover moved to nip and soothe the other rosy peak.

"Ai…Legolas…", the silver-haired elf breathed, his voice

deserting him as his partner descended, lapping at his navel, the tormenting

tongue pressing inward insistently, sending a stab straight to his groin.

Pausing to reach for the oil vial, the prince dribbled the viscous fluid

over his own aching erection, biting his lip as he spread the cool oil over

heated flesh. Slicking his fingers generously, he dropped a soft kiss to

his lover’s twitching stomach before quickly engulfing the galadhel’s

straining member.

Rúmil shrieked loudly as the warm wetness enveloped him, opening his legs

further in unspoken invitation. Raising himself on his elbows, the guardian

watched breathlessly as the golden head moved languidly, and the slick

fingers slowly breached his body, stretching gently before curling to firmly

stroke the familiar mound. Whimpering with pleasure, he lifted off the bed,

grinding his hips against his lover as the prince moved up to suckle and nip

the swollen lips.

"Are you ready for me, pen vain?", Legolas purred, his eyelids

fluttering as strong legs wrapped his waist, squeezing encouragingly.

Positioning himself, the prince pushed forward, groaning as he slipped into

the slick passage. Fully sheathed, he waited motionless until the Lorien

elf began to writhe impatiently beneath him.

"Please…now…", Rúmil gasped, rocking his hips insistently, his

fingers digging into his lover’s straining arms. "Please…"

Drawing a shuddering breath, Legolas pulled nearly free before thrusting

forward, burying himself in the clinging heat. The galadhel let go a wail

as the hard shaft brushed his sweet spot, his body arching and twisting

under the pleasurable assault. "Hard…aye…like that…", he hissed,

another forceful thrust rocking his body. "Faster…"

Spurred on by the broken pleas, the prince pounded almost violently into

the willing body, his rhythm becoming erratic as his groin tightened with

impending release. "Rú," he gasped harshly, "I

cannot…"

"Go…ahead," his partner panted, rising to meet each powerful

thrust. "’Tis fine…after…you can…".

Permission granted, Legolas slammed into the lithe body once more, a

guttural growl escaping as he climaxed, pressing down firmly on the grinding

hips beneath him. Gasping for air, the prince lay against his lover’s chest

for a moment before pulling out and sliding down the still-wound body.

Steadying the frantically rocking hips, he quickly took the other’s

weeping length in his mouth, and swallowed, his tongue moving over the

throbbing vein. Rúmil howled, his back bowing off the bed as he spilled

into the caressing warmth.

Dragging himself up to rest beside the Lorien elf, the prince stretched

one arm across his sometime-lover, toying affectionately with a silken

strand of silver hair. The galadhel smiled, pressing a kiss to the ivory

wrist. "You are most enjoyable, mellonen," he said, eyes

twinkling in his determinedly sober face. "’Tis…"

"…a shame that I am a blonde," Legolas finished the standing

joke with a chuckle. "Mayhap you should reconsider."

"Nay," Rúmil snickered, his leaf-green eyes glowing with

mirth. "I insist on a darker mate, to set off my unique

coloring."

"Barangolas would make a nice contrast," the prince teased,

mostly to watch the guardian’s eyes roll. His copper-haired younger brother

had suffered from a pre-majority crush on his friend, and Rúmil had yet to

recover. "Or are you still mooning over Elladan and Elrohir?"

"Aye, of course I am," the Lorien elf answered with a sigh.

"Either would be perfect. Perfect coloring, perfect size.

But…"

Legolas shook his head, a wry smile spreading across his fair face.

"Here you are, in my bed, discussing which of my friends would best fit

your requirements for a lover. Why do I put up with you, Rú?"

"My tongue?", Rúmil suggested, a dazzling grin splitting his

face. "’Tis one of my better features."
His smile fading slightly, he continued, "I want to ask you something,

Legolas, if you do not mind."

Raising his eyebrows questioningly, the prince waited. The query that

came was completely unexpected. "Have you bedded either of the twins,

mellonen?"

"Nay, I have not," Legolas replied, surprised at the direction

of he conversation. It was unlike the free-spirited galadhel to concern

himself with his lover’s other partners. "Why?"

Rúmil hesitated then said slowly, "There have long been rumors in

Lorien about them…about the bond they share. Not negative talk, you

understand. They are, after all, the grandsons of our new Lord and Lady…but

talk, none-the-less."

"Do not speak in riddles, Rúmil," the prince chided patiently,

brushing his thumb over still-reddened lips. "There is always talk,

and a title does naught but increase it. What rumor in particular has you

distressed, mellonen?"

"’Tis something Haldir told me," the guardian admitted,

"And he said he spoke from experience, so I am loath to believe it

untrue…but you know them well, and I thought perhaps he was simply mistaken,

and you could tell me…".

"Aye. Haldir would not lie, Rú," Legolas agreed. The elder

of Rúmil’s brothers was a force to be approached cautiously, in any

endeavor. "What did he say?"

Looking at his friend-lover closely, the guardian, answered, "He

says they are lovers…Elladan and Elrohir, I mean. That they are mates, as

well as brothers. Is it true?"

Legolas sat silently, his mind racing through over five centuries of

memories. Somewhat to his surprise, he found that the idea of two of his

friends being lovers, as well as twins, did not disturb him as much as one

might expect. And the idea, once considered, seemed to take root, weaving

together many small happenings into a rather impressive argument for its

veracity. "I cannot say that I know for sure," he said slowly,

"Most of my time with them has been in the wild, with few opportunities

for bed-play. But I do not doubt that it is true. ‘Twould explain many

trivial things I have thought strange, over the years. And if Haldir is

sure…"

Rúmil nodded soberly. "He seems quite sure."

"And what was his reaction? Was he bothered by the idea?", the

prince asked curiously.

"Nay, he was not," the silver-haired elf answered. "He

seemed quite at ease with the whole thing, and quite fond of the

twins."

"You shall have to turn your sights elsewhere, then, hmm?",

Legolas teased trying to break the sober mood that had fallen over the

Lorien elf. Flicking his tongue over a sensitive ear he chuckled.

"Barangolas is still available."

"How do you feel about it, Legolas?", Rúmil probed, refusing to

be distracted, even by the hand drawing slow circles around his navel.

"I am not overly disturbed," the prince answered honestly,

stilling his hand. "They are my friends, and that will not

change." Raising himself on one elbow, he leaned over the galadhel.

"Satisfied now?", he asked with mock irritation, pressing a

lingering kiss to the inviting mouth.

"Nay, I am not," Rúmil shot back, his talented tongue flicking

out temptingly. "But I feel sure you can remedy that,

mellonen."

A smile spreading across his face, Legolas pulled his lover closer,

nuzzling the elegantly arched neck. "Besides," the woodland

prince said suddenly, "It does explain why neither has tried to tumble

me. I had decided they simply did not like blondes."

***Finis***