Hair of sunlit gold fell forward, obscuring his face, hiding emerald-dark eyes and cheeks flushed with passion. He was only vaguely aware that his hands stroked his lover’s hips, or that Haldir was murmuring soothingly, the sound both calming and desperately arousing.
Mesmerized, Legolas stared at their joined bodies - at the hard plane of his own stomach pressed tightly against the ivory swell of the Galadhel’s buttocks. Surrounded by the snug warmth that was nearly too much to bear, he slowly realized that his lover’s whispers had become one word, repeated like a mantra, steadily increasing in volume.
“Move, pen neth. Move. Move.”