One Good Turn

*Title: One Good Turn
(Written for the Slashy Santa exchange, Dec. 2005)

*Author: Minuial Nuwing

*Contact: minuial_nuwing@yahoo.com

*Website: First Light - http://geocities.com/minuial_nuwing

*Rating: NC-17

*Type: FPS

*Pairing: Elladan/Elrohir/Legolas

*Warning: Shameless PWP, non-graphic violence, implied twincest

*Archive: slashysanta.com first, then First Light, AFF.net, LoM, OEAM;

Others: I would be honored - Just let me know, please!

*Feedback: Makes me smile, and write faster…

*Summary: The Peredhil twins are ambushed by orcs at the edge of Mirkwood,

and Legolas saves the day.

*Beta: Fimbrethiel (hugs), who is also responsible for the title (smooches)

*Notes: Italics indicate mindspeak or thoughts, when not used for simple

emphasis. In plain-text, stars (**) indicate italics. One star (*blah*) for emphasis,

two stars (**blah**) for mindspeak or thoughts.

*Disclaimer: Only the quirks and perversions are mine. Everything else

belongs to the creator-god of Middle Earth, J.R.R. Tolkien. I am awed by his gifts and

humbled by his vision. I promise to clean them all up and return them with smiles on

their faces when I am done playing!

*A/N: Request:

Pairing: Elladan/Elrohir/Legolas or Legolas/Aragorn

Rating: NC-17

Request (please try to include the elements listed here):
Action/adventure with wild sex afterwards

Squicks (do NOT include any of the elements listed here): NO
Erestor/Glorfindel, NO obscure Elves, no rape, non-con, BDSM, NO
FLUFF, Hobbit, Wizard or Men unless it's Aragorn/Legolas

A/N 2: These are not my usual elves, obviously. I wasn’t even aware that

Elladan knew that word!

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

One Good Turn

The attack had taken them by surprise. So close to the eaves of the great forest,

their thoughts had been focused more on fire, food and shelter than defense, and they had

ridden into the clever ambush as lambs to the slaughter.

Knocked from his mount by the sudden swarm of fell vermin, Elladan retreated to the

very edge of the wood, forced to trust his back to the massive trunks rather than the

keen of an elven blade. Sensing an advantage, the attackers surged toward the unseated

elf, fleeing the mithril-shod hooves of the rampaging war-horses.

Time seemed to slow to a crawl as Elrohir struggled toward his brother. The orcs

multiplied as if by magic, each foul creature he dispatched replaced by two. Bile rose

in the elf-knight’s throat as his mount trampled yet another bloody carcass. His arrows

spent, he leaped to the ground, wielding his sword in manic desperation, hacking a path

toward the embattled elder twin.

He would be too late. The advancing orc was but a few steps from Elladan, moving with

uncharacteristic stealth toward his vulnerable back. Already the monstrous arm was drawn

back, the cruel curved blade poised for a decapitating swing.

Elrohir howled in impotent fury as he hewed the axe-arm from the creature blocking his

path, his second stroke opening the monster’s belly. He stared in horror as Elladan

slipped in the black blood that covered the ground, the elder twin’s sword leaping from

his slick hand to fall ringing on the tumbled boulders that marked the forest’s edge.

“Sweet Elbereth, please...’Dan! No...no...” The elf-knight let go a keening wail

of denial, unable to tear his eyes from the nightmare unfolding before him.

Then he heard the sharp hiss of a bowstring, and two brown-fletched arrows appeared in

the orc’s neck as if in answer to his prayer. There was a flash of green and gold, and

the creature fell headless at his brother’s feet. A heartbeat later a small group of

Silvan elves burst into view, bows singing.

Elladan looked stunned into the blue-green eyes of his savior, who retrieved the

dropped blade, presenting it with a cheeky grin. “Welcome to Mirkwood,” the

golden-haired elf chuckled, then turned his attention to the battle at hand.

Elrohir cleaved a path to his twin, sparing but a moment to brush Elladan’s arm before

resuming his grim task, grateful for the familiar presence of his brother at his back.

They would not be separated again.

The Mirkwood elves had put away their bows, fighting instead with their trademark

knives, carried in pairs and lethal whether thrown or wielded by hand. Elladan’s gaze

strayed repeatedly to the elf who had come to his rescue, admiring the lithe yet strong

form and the cool, graceful efficiency with which the wood-elf dealt out death to the

besieging orcs. White knives flashed like starlight on water as he spun, his face set

in fierce concentration, his hair now streaked dark with blood.

The golden elf seemed strangely familiar, but realization danced just out of reach,

both frustrating and intriguing the elder twin. Surely he would remember one of such

beauty and skill had they met before...and yet he somehow felt certain that he did

know...

“Save your musings for your bedroll, tôren,” Elrohir barked sharply, skewering an orc

that seemed intent on removing his brother’s sword arm. “We are engaged here, if the

fact has slipped your mind.”

“It has not,” Elladan retorted without rancor, kicking aside a beheaded body to hew

the legs from beneath another. “Though the sport grows old.”

“Then let us end it,” the elf-knight growled, his eyes dark and flickering with the

lust of battle. “Agreed?”

“Aye,” the elder twin breathed, and they threw themselves on the remaining orcs as one

elf, slashing and hacking their way toward the scattered Silvan warriors. Seeing that

the tide had turned against them, a group of orcs tried to flee toward the shelter of the

mountains, their escape thwarted by the thud of elven arrows as the Mirkwood elves gave

chase.

Elladan gutted a final opponent with a triumphant cry and turned to find his brother

similarly unencumbered. “It seems the game is over,” the elder twin said with a feral

grin, wiping a splash of gore from his cheek. “And we...”

A strangled gasp interrupted the jest and Elladan whirled toward the sound, his

stomach lurching as he took in the scene. A lone orc had slipped from the cover of the

trees. One monstrous hand clutched the throat of the golden-haired elf, pinning him

against a massive trunk. The other was drawn back, the black blade already descending

toward his victim’s chest.

Instinct honed by centuries of questing came to Elladan’s aid. His mind was still

weighing the options – to sever the knife hand, and risk the beast throttling the

wood-elf, or behead the orc and risk the blade’s fall – as his sword sliced upwardly

through the creature’s forearm and continued its arc, cleaving the loathsome head in

twain.

The Mirkwood elf rubbed his neck, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “We

are even, then, Peredhel. What brings you back to the Wood? I have not...”

“Legolas!” A grateful cry cut through the golden elf’s words as members of the

Silvan party returned. “Praise the Valar! “ the eldest warrior said with a heartfelt

sigh. “When I saw that you were not with us, I feared...I feared...I am glad to see you

whole, ernilen.”

“Whole and near unscathed,” the woodland prince answered, clasping his friend’s arm

reassuringly. “Though things might have been quite different had Elladan not come to my

rescue. ‘Twas a grace that I saved his hide earlier, hmm?” Turning twinkling eyes on

the elder twin, Legolas was surprised to find him staring in amazement..

“Legolas? Legolas Thranduilion?”

The golden-haired elf snorted, his lips twitching in amusement. “You did not

recognize me? I am deeply offended.”

Elladan’s eyes raked over the smoothly muscled form and sharply angled face, comparing

the skilled warrior before him to the slight, fragile-appearing youngling of memory. His

battle-roused body tightening in approval, the elder twin’s glance lingered on sleekly

muscled thighs and straining laces before meeting the darkened gaze. “You have grown,

pen neth.”

“I have, indeed,” Legolas agreed, his eyes roaming in blatant appraisal over Elladan’s

body, then subjecting Elrohir to equal scrutiny. “In many ways. ’Twould be a pleasure

to renew our acquaintance.”

“’Twould be a great pleasure,” the elf-knight purred. “Shall we scout for

stragglers?”

Turning to his warriors, the woodland prince bade them start for the Halls. “You are

in charge, captain,” he said, slapping the back of his second. “We will follow shortly.

I would have a look around.”

“But, ernilen,” the appointed elf began, his eyes narrowed knowingly, “the vermin have

retreated. And ’tis likely unwise...”

“I will keep my own counsel, soldier,” Legolas snapped dismissively. “You have your

orders.”

“Very well, híren,” his captain agreed, reluctantly turning to go. “We will await you

in the first clearing.”

The last of the warriors had scarce passed from view before Legolas found himself

pinned against the selfsame tree, the elder twin’s hands burrowing in his tangled hair.

“Are there likely to be stragglers?” Elladan asked hoarsely, his leg pressing between

the prince’s thighs.

“Nay,” Legolas rasped, shifting his hips forward, increasing the friction. “If there

were, we would surely hear the horses.”

“That is well,” the dark elf growled, nipping sharply at one ear. “Because I intend

to fuck you, princeling. Now.”

One golden eyebrow arched in mock affront as the woodland prince caught Elladan’s

single heavy braid, winding it around one hand. “Without so much as a kiss? I think

not.”

Without waiting for a reply, Legolas tugged sharply on the ebony strands, pulling the

elder twin into a fiery kiss. Tongues wrestled wetly for control, teeth nipping and

clashing as though the battle still raged.

Legolas wrenched away from the punishing kiss and slid one leg around the dark elf’s

thigh, his eyes fluttering closed as their swollen shafts rubbed together, still trapped

beneath leather leggings. Meeting Elladan’s obsidian dark gaze, he lowered his leg and

reached for the stretched lacings. “You made a promise, Peredhel. Keep it.”

“With pleasure,” the elder twin rasped, stepping away from the tree as Legolas tugged

open his own leggings, then turned and raised his arms to brace himself against the

massive trunk.

“And what would you have of me, ernilen?” Elrohir murmured, slipping between the

prince’s outstretched arms. “I am at your service. For the moment.”

“Your mouth,” Legolas breathed, his words turning to a guttural moan as Elrohir’s hand

closed around his throbbing cock. “Put your mouth on me.”

The elf-knight dropped to his knees, jerking the scuffed leather leggings to the

ground. Catching Legolas’ hips firmly he opened his mouth and engulfed the wood-elf in

one smooth glide.

A wordless howl ripped through the still air of the forest as the prince struggled

against the restraining grip, desperate to push further in to the wet heat. His fingers

curling into the rough bark, Legolas let his head fall forward and spread his legs

further in eager invitation, straining against the leather leggings that were pooled

around his ankles.

Elladan watched in silence for a moment, one hand moving over his leaking arousal,

spreading the slick fluid. Moving behind the golden elf, he ran a hand lightly from nape

to bottom, then quickly pressed two fingers inside in a cursory preparation. Positioning

himself at the puckered entrance, the elder twin gripped the slim hips, covering

Elrohir’s hands with his own. “Are you ready, princeling?”

“Do it,” Legolas spat out hoarsely, his legs trembling from both the strain of

his position and the magic of the elf-knight’s mouth. A split second later he let go a

sharp yelp, his teeth drawing blood from his own lower lip as his body was breached and

filled with one powerful thrust.

A deep growl sounded in the dark elf’s chest as he stood motionless, fighting the urge

to move until the near painful tightness eased. Pulling back, he slammed forward again,

burying himself completely in the silken passage. Legolas answered with an eager moan,

his body arching even in the elf-knight’s strong grip, and the last of Elladan’s control

slipped away. Bracing himself against the tree with one hand, he twined the other in the

fall of golden braids and began pounding savagely into the prince’s body.

Legolas bucked wildly, caught between the swirling warmth of Elrohir’s skilled tongue

and the pain-edged pleasure of the hard shaft moving inside him. “Gods, yes...”

he gasped as the beginnings of a fierce climax coiled in his belly,

“harder...unh...coming...coming...”

Elrohir pulled away and quickly pinched the base of the wood-elf’s arousal, stemming

the threatened orgasm. “Not yet, maethoren vain,” the elf-knight chided, a wicked smile

curling the corners of his mouth as he slowly stroked his own cock. “Not yet.”

Elladan hissed as the already snug sheath tightened, the rippling muscles squeezing

him almost painfully. Pushing aside the prince’s hair, he sank his teeth into the

revealed neck and rammed home once more, letting go a hoarse groan as his release flooded

the clenching passage.

The elder twin sagged against Legolas and lapped soothingly at the bite he had

inflicted, his body still trembling with the aftershocks of his climax.

A moment later he was shoved unceremoniously aside as Elrohir took his place, pushing

into the seed-slick channel with a feral growl. Wrapping one hand firmly around the

prince’s arousal, the elf-knight moved in slow, deep thrusts, matching each with a quick

twist of his fist. “Now you may come, princeling,” he rasped, pulling Legolas’

head back to catch his mouth in a pillaging kiss.

The woodland prince shuddered as he spilled copiously over Elrohir’s hand, his knees

so weak that he would have fallen had Elladan not thrown out a supporting arm. The hot

rush of the elf-knight’s release set him trembling again, and Legolas clung gratefully to

the elder twin, pulling him into a loose embrace as Elrohir withdrew carefully.

A long silence followed, broken only by harsh breathing and the faint squeak and rub

of leather on leather. Extricating himself from the cradle of the twins’ bodies, Legolas

looked himself and his companions over soberly. Half-dressed, skin and clothing smeared

with both blood and the leavings of their rutting, hair tangled and splattered with

gore...

“Are you well, ernilen?” Elladan asked cautiously, suddenly aware anew of the woodland

prince’s relative youth, and his own less than gentle approach. There was a moment of

unease as all three tugged at stiff leggings and damp laces, then Legolas raised his head

to meet the concerned grey gazes, a broad grin spreading across his face.

“We are alive, are we not?” the wood-elf replied, his eyes twinkling. “All of us.”

Elvish Translations:

tôren – my brother

ernilen – my prince

pen neth - young one

híren – my lord

maethoren vain – my beautiful warrior