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"Rúmil told you?" Elladan asked incredulously.
"Why did
Rúmil tell you? And who told him?"
"Pillow talk," Legolas admitted sheepishly. "Rúmil rather
fancies me, too. Actually, Haldir told him, claiming first hand
knowledge, as I understand it."
-- Princes Three: The Beginning, Chapter 3
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~Mirkwood 2088 III~
Legolas drew a shuddering breath, his head thrown back, his 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,’ Legolas 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?” 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, Legolas 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 shaft.
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 him he added, “And I shall soon ruin this game, my friend, if you do not quit.”
“That would be a shame, indeed,” Rúmil 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 Rúmil, bringing their bodies together tightly, Legolas claimed his lover'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 our play on a softer surface?” Rúmil nodded smugly and pulled away to lead Legolas from the balcony into the bed-chamber. Stretching out on the wide bed, he watched silently, biting back a smile as Legolas rummaged through the bed-table drawer.
“I know it was...” the prince began, frustrated, then he broke into a victorious grin as he sat a small bottle of oil on the tabletop. Dropping to the bed, Legolas reached for Rúmil, raising himself to lie partly atop his lover. His head lowered to nuzzle a tempting ear, he inhaled deeply, savoring the spicy-sweet scent that clung to Rúmil’s hair. Though the Lórien elf was but one of his friend-lovers, Legolas found Rúmil’s exotic coloring and almost feline bearing entrancing.
Rúmil turned his head obligingly, hissing as a teasing mouth licked and suckled its way down his neck and across his smoothly muscled chest, pausing to latch onto one pebbled nipple. Arching up, Rúmil tangled his fingers in the pale golden hair that slid maddeningly over his body. “Ai...Legolas...” Rúmil breathed, his voice deserting him as his lover 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, Legolas dribbled the viscous fluid over his own aching erection, biting his lip as he spread the cool oil. Slicking his fingers generously, he dropped a soft kiss to his lover’s twitching stomach before quickly engulfing Rúmil's shaft.
Rúmil shrieked loudly as the warm wetness enveloped him, opening his legs further in unspoken invitation. Raising himself on his elbows, he 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, Rúmil lifted off the bed, grinding his hips against his lover as Legolas moved up to suckle and nip at his swollen lips.
“Are you ready for me?” 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 Rúmil 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. Rúmil let go a wail as the hard shaft impaled him, his body arching and twisting under the pleasurable assault. “Harder...aye...like that...” he hissed, another forceful thrust rocking his body. “Faster..."
Spurred on by the broken pleas, Legolas pounded almost violently into the body beneath him, his rhythm becoming erratic as his groin tightened with impending release. “Rúmil,” he gasped harshly, “I cannot...”
“Go...ahead,” Rúmil panted, rising to meet each powerful thrust, “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, he lay against his lover’s chest for a moment before pulling out and sliding downward. Steadying the frantically rocking hips, he quickly took Rúmil’s weeping length in his mouth and swallowed. Rúmil howled, his back bowing off the bed as he thrust upward, spilling at once.
Dragging himself up to rest beside Rúmil, Legolas stretched one arm across his sometime-lover, toying affectionately with a silken strand of silver hair. Rúmil smiled, pressing a kiss to Legolas' wrist. “You are most enjoyable, my friend,” he said, eyes twinkling in his determinedly sober face. “It is...”
“...a shame that I am a blonde,” Legolas finished the standing joke with a chuckle. “Perhaps 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 Rúmil’s eyes roll. Legolas' 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 Rúmil 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?”
“My tongue?, Rúmil suggested, a dazzling grin splitting his face. “It is one of my better features.” His smile fading slightly, he continued, “I want to ask you something, Legolas.”
Raising his eyebrows questioningly, the prince waited. The query that came was completely unexpected.
“Have you bedded either of the twins?”
“Nay, I have not,” Legolas replied, surprised at the direction of he conversation. It was unlike the free-spirited Rúmil to concern himself with his lover’s other partners. “Why?”
Rúmil hesitated then said slowly, “There have long been rumors in Lórien 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, nonetheless.”
“Do not speak in riddles, Rúmil,” Legolas 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, my friend?”
“It is something Haldir told me,” Rúmil 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,” 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 closely, Rúmil 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. 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 such observations. But I do not doubt that it is true. It would 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?” Legolas asked curiously.
“Nay, he was not,” Rúmil 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 his companion. 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,” Legolas answered honestly, stilling his hand. “They are my friends, and that will not change.” Raising himself on one elbow, he leaned over his lover. “Satisfied now?” he asked with mock irritation, pressing a lingering kiss to Rúmil's mouth.
“Nay, I am not,” Rúmil shot back, his talented tongue flicking out temptingly. “But I feel sure you can remedy that, my friend.”
A smile spreading across his face, Legolas pulled Rúmil closer, nuzzling the elegantly arched neck. “Besides,” Legolas said suddenly, “it does explain why neither of the twins has ever tried to bed me. I had decided that they simply did not like blondes.”