A and B, with, hmmmm 10, 17, and/or 28?
Send me a number and (a) letter(s)
10 - Deephroat / 17 - Mirror sex / 28 - scars | A - Legolas / B - Aragorn
"I’m pretty sure, ada didn’t mean to insu...”
“I love you, Legolas, but if you finish that sentence, I’ll have to cut your throat while you sleep.”
Legolas gave a resigned sigh and followed Aragorn silently to his chambers, not even bothering to tell his father he'd be gone for the night.
Thranduil had long given up trying to discourage him from his entanglements with that Dúnadan anyway.
Partly, surely, because Aragorn was betrothed and would wed Elrond’s daughter someday, and whatever Legolas and he were up to at those rare opportunities when they were alone a little, would end someday. Until then, Arwen was happy about Legolas helping Aragorn relax a little from his demanding duties, and Legolas …
Well, getting fucked into his mattress every now and then was maybe not all he had ever wanted or expected from a relationship with anyone. But it was better than spending another century or two without any physical attention at all because there just didn’t seem to be an elf or she-elf left in these realms that he was interested in.
More than that, though, Elrond’s step-son had become a real friend to him, not to mention an extremely capable combat partner who’d just kept him from getting eaten by an especially ugly spider.
Legolas might know that when his father told Aragorn that he really needed to get himself cleaned up and that he should stop by the tailors, that it really meant Thank you for saving my stupid son’s behind yet again, now get some rest while make clothes for you without holes in them for a change, but not everyone was fluent in Cynical Elvenking.
And after that long day of bathing in orc intestines, burning countless webs and destroying two nests, Legolas was simply too exhausted to try and explain.
Aragorn was already in the hot grotto adjacent to his bedroom by the time he was finally finished pulling and cutting his spider blood-drenched clothes and boots off his body - very grudgingly, because the latter had been fucking expensive to make.
The faint bubbling on the surface from the water constantly flowing through the pool was hiding most of his friend’s tanned body, and Legolas found himself being grateful for it, because he was even too exhausted for that tonight.
Even more than he’d realized, apparently, because by the time, the thick veil of nothing in front of his eyes dissolved next, he was laying on his bed, wrapped in a thick towel, and his hunting partner was just busy wrapping a thin bandage around his right shoulder. Right. The water had turned a slightly unhealthy shade of red when Legolas had got in earlier ... Maybe he’d not exactly fallen asleep, actually.
He moved his arm cautiously and grimaced at the hated, taut sensation of a fresh stitch. “Oh.”
“Oh.” He could see Aragorn roll his eyes without turning his head, could feel him shift on the mattress as he put away his healer’s bag, one of the blankets protecting his frail Secondborn body from the too-low temperatures inside the mountain.
“You know, your father is just really annoying. You are a walking plague.”
“I love you too,” Legolas grumbled, and maybe he meant it a little.
“If you did, you’d stop trying to kill yourself.” Aragorn pulled the towel down Legolas’ back just enough to reveal a number of faint, crisscrossing lines between his shoulder blades that had still not vanished completely. Valar-damned orc poison. “Mind telling me when that happened?”
“‘t was just a little lashing,” Legolas murmured, his shoulders tightening instinctively. “Nothing else happened, alright? Stop fretting. Just didn’t watch out for a moment. Had to pull my captain out of there and ran into a blade.”
“I said, when.”
Legolas gave another of those exasperated sighs that seemed to become the dominant form of communication between them today and turned aside as if that could make anything better now. “You were travelling in the east. I didn’t want you to worry.”
“Well, someone needs to. You apparently long stopped caring.” His lips tight, Aragorn made a move to get off the bed, the muscles playing under the equally scarred skin of his broad back looking like steel cords. A few drops of water ran down from the short tail he’d braided his dark curls into that Legolas suddenly really wanted to lick off.
Their eyes met in the mirror opposite the bed when he came up behind his lover, wrapping his legs around Aragorn’s to keep him in place, and the other gave a semi-annoyed grunt.
But there was also real, deep worry in his beautiful grey eyes, a hint of pain, of grief for all the people the maybe-future King had had to let go in his life already. “You almost died on me today, Legolas.” Aragorn leaned his head back with a sigh when Legolas nibbled on his neck, his ear, pushing his tongue inside.
Apparently, his body had suddenly decided not to be too tired for a little fun, after all. “I’ll never do it again, alright?”
“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.” Aragorn reached back between them without letting go of his gaze in the reflection, biting his lip when he could both see and feel Legolas shudder from the tight grip of his hand on his quickly hardening cock.
“Can we stop talking about this when I really feel like fucking you senseless?” Legolas returned the favor by running his fingertips slowly up and down Aragorn’s chiseled chest, nails scraping lightly through the thin layer of fuzz he loved to bury his head against so much before he took his lover’s nipples in a tight grasp. “Put that damn blanket away. I want to see you.”
“Who says you’re the one who gets to do the fucking? I had to save you, remember? Victor’s merits.” Aragorn was apparently still in a pouting mood, but he obeyed, revealing the throbbing hardness between his legs in the mirror for Legolas’ hungry eyes.
Legolas twisted his nipples only harder, watching hungrily how a first drop of white collected at the head of his lover’s cock, a sight that had him lick his lips in anticipation. “Tell you something. You make it through five minutes of having my mouth on you without coming, then you can do with me whatever you want.”
“You’re selling yourself a little cheap, my dear elvish Princeling.” Aragorn grabbed him harder, visibly revelling in Legolas’ unrestrained moan. “In five minutes, I’m not even warm.”
“We’ll see about that.” Legolas wrapped his arms firmly around his chest and yanked him backwards on the bed a little, only to pull away then and kneel down in front of Aragorn instead, his legs spread widely so that his lover would get a very unambiguous view of his ass in that mirror. Grabbing Aragorn’s firm butt cheeks tightly, he lowered his head to lick a first broad stripe over his length.
He just enjoyed both his lover’s breathless groan and his well-known, grounded taste for a few long seconds, getting familiar again, finally, with the heavy weight of a mannish cock on his tongue, the heat filling his mouth and his body, his tongue dancing over every pumping vein, every ridge. He sucked both of his lover’s balls in his mouth and still managed to grin triumphantly when Aragorn yelped and buried both hands in his messy braids for purchase, whispering his name.
Five minutes had actually been quite generous.
Legolas backed away only long enough to look up, provocatively licking his lips, then he thrust his head down in one long, smooth motion, taking his lover’s cock in to the hilt.
He was very thankful that his chambers were quite soundproof, otherwise his father would probably have heard Aragorn’s scream all the way down in the throne room. Those large, calloused hands tightened in his hair, holding him right where he was while Aragorn bucked against him, fucking even deeper into his throat until Legolas’ face was nestled into the soft hair of his groin and all he could taste and smell and feel was his lover.
“You practiced,” Aragorn somehow managed to groan out.
Legolas gave a nonchalant, one sided shrug and swallowed only harder around the head of his cock, ignoring the beginning tightness in his chest in favor of stretching out his tongue more, bathing Aragorn’s spit-slick balls further. He’d held his breath longer than five minutes.
His skin was too tight, and heat was pooling in his middle, just from imagining, feeling that beautiful length not only spearing his throat open at some point this night. Not in the first round, of course, there was no way he would lose that game. He couldn’t resist letting go of his lover with one hand, reaching between his own legs. He made very sure to angle his hips in a way so that Aragorn could watch two of his fingers, glistening with thick drops of precum, circle his hole before slowly pushing in.
The little show was supposed to turn his lover on even more, and indeed he could feel Aragorn’s cock jerk in his mouth while he was moaning obscenely around him, moving his head up and down as much as his lover’s tight grip allowed it.
Unfortunately, the sight also seemed to distract the other far too much from what Legolas was doing with his mouth. The desperate moans on Aragorn’s lips turned into an appreciative growl, and he actually pulled Legolas’ head away a little so that all Legolas could do now was lick the sweet drops from the head of his cock if he stretched his tongue far enough.
“Very thoughtful of you to prepare yourself for me already,” Aragorn whispered hoarsely, his eyes shining with mirth when Legolas looked up at him in defiance and struggled to get his head back on his twitching length that was just out of reach. “Come on, my Prince, one more, then you can have my cock again. Don’t you want to show me how gorgeous you are, fucking yourself on your own hand?”
Legolas gave a protesting whine, but fuck, his own cock was rock-hard and also leaking enough for a little more slick, and his hole was too damn empty, besides, he always loved to please Aragorn, especially in bed.
Also, his time was almost up. “Cheater,” he growled, not unkindly, and then threw his head back with a lustful cry as he was stretching himself further open, while Aragorn’s gaze was fixed at that mirror.
His lover was licking his too-dry lips, his skin flushed from his broad chest to his groin, his dripping length straining against his leg. It was most possibly the prettiest thing on all of Middle-earth.
Legolas had hardly even opened his mouth for another needy mewl when Aragorn pulled him towards him again with a jerk, impaling his mouth on his length, Legolas’ braids wrapped around his hands now in a way that hardly left him a chance to free himself, even if he’d wanted to. His lover really wasn’t playing around now anymore, fucking his throat hard and fast, his swollen balls slapping against Legolas’ chin, and still the bastard just didn’t come.
“You’re not the only one who practiced,” Aragorn murmured to him between two especially loud moans. “But who knows? You could try to sing a little again for me, my sweet bird. That might help you win after all. Fuck yourself harder, come on. Show me how that tight little hole of yours will look when you’ll ride my cock.”
Tears were prickling at the corners of Legolas’ eyes from the lack of air and from the humiliation that he loved to hate so much but he didn’t hesitate for even a second shoving his fingers deeper, ignoring the delicious burn and stretch. Soon enough, they rubbed just the right place inside himself and he screamed around his lover’s cock, hips bucking when he came over his stomach and the bed before he knew.
His head dizzy, his body heavy, he only realized with half a thought that Aragorn was gently pushing him away, straightening out his braids in a tender gesture. Then his lover leaned forward to give his ass a harsh, admonishing slap, right on his swollen, twitching hole, leaving no doubt that this game was far from over yet. “Up. And turn around. I want to see how beautiful you look impaled on my cock, my sweet Prince.”
Well, so much for his bet.
Even while he was scrambling to obey, on shaking knees, still turned on beyond belief and actually half-hard again already, Legolas made a mental note that, should Aragorn and he ever happen to embark on some quest together, he should better leave the planning to his friend.
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