Firefly

Jaded Scorpio

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Legolas/Imrahil
November 2, 2002

Summary: After the Battle of Pelennor Fields, before the host marches on Mordor, Legolas and Prince Imrahil seek solace in each other’s arms.

Author’s Note: I left the color of Legolas’ hair ambiguous. I lean to the dark haired crowd myself, but this way you can imagine him however you want. This is my first finished LOTR story.
Kudos to my pal G for betaing—even if she did make me go back and capitalize all the Elfs and Mans “the proper Tolkien way’.
Disclaimer: This is a work of my imagination. No copyright infringement is intended. I make no profit from this, save for the enjoyment of writing it.

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He watched his companions sleep, silent and unmoving in the dark rooms. He had thought that this would bring him a measure of peace, to do what he had done for nearly a year, guard the children as they roamed in the unpredictable dreamscape of mortals. How often had he stood, wondering at how they could sleep with their eyes closed to the world? How many times had he pondered the differences between their kinds while the stars turned overhead? He had thought it might ease him, might distract him enough to leave the pain naught but a dull ache in his belly.

But it would not leave him be. He paced restlessly for a moment before making up his mind to go out. He closed the door softly behind him. They would never even know he’d been there.

He found his way to one of the outer walls, slipping silently past sentries without conscious thought. There it lay. Vast and unknowable, it called him like a siren. No peace would he ever have again in leaf or tree. She was a cruel mistress, the Sea.

He leaned on the wall. Good stone, Gimli would have said. The skin around his eyes crinkled with the thought, but he was not sure if it was a grin or a wince.

The Prince of Dol Amroth approached the solemn figure slowly. He paused, uncertain, before curiosity drove him forth. He went to the wall, looking out over the great plain and the silver waters of the Anduin.

Imrahil strained his eyes to the sea, towards home. Much stood between them, but that didn’t discourage him from trying to catch some glimpse of something familiar. It eased the restlessness in his heart. He missed the constant background sound of the waves, and could not sleep with the din of silence in the grim city.

He turned to the Elf, who was leaning on the wall, locked in silent contemplation. His eyes also sought the sea, it seemed. His glossy hair hung unbound over his broad shoulders like a cloak.

The Elf’s brow creased suddenly, and he dropped his eyes to his folded hands, Imrahil’s instinctively following. When Imrahil raised his eyes from those fair hands, he found he was being studied.

The Elf’s eyes were unfathomable, both young and terribly old, full of more power and brilliance than should ever be bound in flesh. The man could not bear the gaze for long and sought the plain below the walls. He felt the eyes on him still, not unfriendly, but piercing...knowing. He was certain they could turn him inside out and wring out all his darkest secrets if they so wished. It was not something he was used to feeling.

An urge welled in him suddenly, and he found himself speaking before he’d even thought. “Do all your people require so little sleep?” His voice was very loud after the silence that had hung so heavily between them.

“And you? Do you not need sleep?” The Elf’s voice was light.

Imrahil searched his eyes. Was there curiosity there?

“I could not rest.” They stood there for a long minute, their eyes trained on the horizon. “I look to my homeland. Though the land blurs ere my eyes can reach her.”

The expression on the face before him was incomprehensible. He wondered if the Elves were aware of how little Men could read them sometimes, and if they preferred it that way.

“It is said the eyes of Elves are sharp. Do they pierce the haze all the way to the shore and beyond?”

“Mercifully no....” The Elf leaned hard on the wall, and spoke very softly to himself, beyond a pure-bred man’s ears, “Alas for Legolas Thranduilion! He understood the Lady’s words too late.”
Imrahil was pondering this when Legolas turned his attention to him again, “Does your Elven blood feel the call of the sea as well?”

Understanding dawned on him. And when next he spoke it was in the Noble Tongue.

“It calls to me more perhaps than other mortal men. Often times my governess thought I’d drown myself as a child. I find the presence at once distracting and consoling. But the sea seeks not to lead me from these lands.”

The Elf smiled. “It has been far too long since I have heard the fair speech.”

Imrahil chanced a smile back at him, “Anyone of Gondor worth anything knows the speech of the fair ones. But it takes more than that to speak it to one of them.”

Legolas gave a short laugh. “I suppose it does indeed.” He cocked his head, inquisitively, “Am I so terrible?”

“Nay!” Imrahil said quickly.

Legolas smiled brilliantly. He stepped close, studying his face again. “I can see the mark of my people in you.”

“Your people? I don’t understand.”

“I think you do.” He circled him, his manner playful now. “You are built like an Elf, and you do not have a beard like your brethren, Dunedain.” He reached out and touched his jaw. “And that is little of what I see.” He walked around him again.

Imrahil linked his hands behind his back, standing tall like the lord of men he was. “Wonder not the ways of the Elves, for they are strange and unfathomable.” That earned him a bell-like laugh.

He found his gaze caught in the Legolas’ bright eyes again. He whispered softly, “What do you see?”

“I see the sea in your eyes.”

“It calls you away from here.”

Legolas ducked his head. “I may have wished to stay and fade with the rest of my kin. Now that choice has been taken away from me. There will be no rest for me until I make the crossing, never to set foot in this land again.” He turned his gaze back to the horizon, “This war will leave none of us untouched. None may brush evil and return unscathed.” His brow furrowed with pain. “I was prepared to die. I knew there was little chance of returning from our task. But this longing, this slow torture, I was not prepared for.”

“I know some of the sorrow of the Elves, as much as a mortal man can fathom it.”

“A mortal man...” Legolas said softly, his long fingers closing around Imrahil’s hand and turned it to study the palm. “We don’t often form close associations with mortals, for that are taken from us so quickly, we who remember and must endure forever. In the end it can bring only pain. You are like fireflies to us, burning brilliantly and winking out in an eyeblink.” He placed their hands palm to palm. “It grieves me to think that people like you won’t always be here.”

“Fireflies....” Imrahil echoed, stepping forward so that they nearly touched. “You are as a young god to me.” He clasped Legolas’ other hand. “Of another world you come. Yet, you feel real. I feel the pulse in your wrist, and know that it is not mine, for it does not gallop so...and your breath is sweet....” Their lips brushed, and Imrahil quickly stepped back, but Legolas held his hands.

He raised the Man’s hand and pressed his lips to the palm, sliding it across his cheek and down his throat till it rested over his heart. “Does it gallop now?”

Imrahil took a panting breath. “It is at least a canter....” He reached up boldly and caressed the side of Legolas’ face, running his fingers through thick hair like frayed satin. The Elf leaned into his hand, his lashes fluttering on his cheeks.

The Elf’s lips parted. “Touch me again.” And this time the Man reached up with both hands, combing the hair back from the fine-featured face. Legolas made no move to stop him, so he traced the elegantly arched brows, and the high-sculpted cheekbones, the soft mouth quirking at him, even as the Elf’s hands traveled over his own face.

“You can pity a Man, you can befriend a Man, but can you learn to desire a Man, Legolas of the Fair folk?” He kissed each of the Elf’s fingers. “We know not if the sun will ever shine on this city again, or if the darkness will cover all this land and wipe out all that the free peoples have wrought. Would you let me make love to you, comfort you, for you shine even on this darkest night?”

Legolas closed his eyes. “I will not make love with you. We only love one other in all our long lives, the one we bind ourselves to till the end of Arda. But I will lie with you. May we drown in each other till the light comes again or the darkness smothers us.”

And he led Legolas, Prince of Mirkwood, to the chambers he, Prince Imrahil, acting Steward of the city, had been given. Legolas went to the windows and threw back the heavy shutters, letting in the night. If there were stars in the sky, one would need an Elf’s eyes to see them, but the wind was fresh and blowing still from the south.

The Elf sat on the bed, his long legs tucked under him, watching him with interest. Imrahil found that someone had thought to bring him wine, and he poured a goblet for each of them. He paused at the edge of the bed, with the Elf staring up at him bewitchingly, and bent down, slowly pressing his lips to Legolas’. Soft and sweet it started, till the Elf wrapped a hand around the back of his neck and pulled him close.

The wine sloshed perilously and Imrahil put a knee on the bed for better purchase, teasing the lush mouth open with his tongue. Legolas’ tongue unfurled and twisted around his, before he broke away. Legolas pulled a goblet from him, swished it around under his nose, and sipped. “We shouldn’t waste such fortune,” he smiled.

Imrahil drained half his goblet. It was a decent vintage, better than he expected. He set it on the floor and unclasped his cloak. Legolas pulled him close, his hands tracing over his back, kissing him hard. He could taste the sour wine in his mouth. He inched back, till the Man was kneeling on the bed between his knees. “I want to see you.”

The Man unfastened his belt and pulled his tunic over his head. Legolas watched with undisguised curiosity, leaning back on one arm. The Elf sipped his wine as he sized up Imrahil like a stallion he had a mind to buy. Or to ride.

Legolas set the goblet aside and eagerly rose onto his knees, tracing the path of his eyes with his hands. He impulsively bent and rubbed his cheek against the Man’s chest. Imrahil made a low sound in his throat, and Legolas chuckled.

Imrahil grew impatient, and tugged at the Elf’s green garb. “Now you.” Between the two of them they quickly removed the tunic, and the brown long-sleeved garment he wore underneath. The Elf warrior’s flesh was fair, untouched by sun, hard muscled, yet slender and without excess. The form of a Man, made beautiful.

His skin was smooth under his fingers, and he was exquisitely responsive as he flicked his tiny nipples. Imrahil kissed his throat, brushing back the Elf’s mane to lick and nip. He flicked his tongue behind an elegantly pointed ear, smiling when the Elf gasped and clawed at his back. “You like that?” he murmured huskily into his ear, running his tongue along it. The Elf let out a groan.

Legolas let himself be pushed onto his back, settling down on the quilts. Imrahil straddled his slim hips, still running his hands over that lithe body. He couldn’t seem to stop touching the Elf’s silky flesh.

The Elf rolled on top of him, showing surprising strength. When he leaned down to kiss him his hair swung forward like a curtain around them. He nipped his lips and moved down, licking a path down his chest, following the fine trail of downe on his stomach. He hooked his fingers under the waistband of the man’s breaches. “We’re going to have to do something about these.”

He pulled them off, having to stop and remove the man’s boots as well. “You have fur,” he said, wide-eyed, “Down there....” He started to reach out to the man’s nether region, but checked himself.

“No need to be shy,” Imrahil reached for his hand, but Legolas drew back.

“One moment...” The Elf kicked off his own shoes, and stood up, towering over him. He was lean and moved like a cat. Broad shoulders tapered to a tight waist with narrow hips, and his legs were long and slender. He shimmied slowly out his leggings, letting the man look his fill. Imrahil quickly realized that except for his head, the Elf was smooth and hairless, and if he didn’t get his hands on him soon, he would go mad...

He pounced on Legolas, pushing him flat, and lowered himself onto him. He ground his hips against him, letting him *feel* him, drinking in the Elf’s gasp as he thrust his tongue into that sweet mouth. He pushed his hand between their bodies, felt the taut belly heave against his palm, before finally curling his hand around the root of the Elf’s cock.

Imrahil’s fingers danced over him, learning his shape, finding a rhythm. Legolas tightened his fingers in his dark hair, whispering and panting into his ear in his own tongue. “Make my blood roar till it drowns out the sounds of the waves. Make me keen so loud that the cry of the gulls cannot pierce my ears.”

Legolas nibbled his earlobe, alternately licking his neck maddeningly. Imrahil rose up on his arms, smiling at Legolas’ groan of dismay when he released his aching flesh. Then it was his turn to groan as the Elf’s nimble fingers snaked down his belly, to his groin, threading through the fur he found there. “And even these...” he murmured, wonderingly, hefting the man’s sac, ignoring the man’s guttural groan. Imrahil straddled his waist at his urging, watching him intently as the Elf’s hands explored his body. The long fingers brushed over his lightly downed thighs, traveled up to his ribs and stroked down the powerful muscles of his back, squeezing the curved muscles of his rear, teasingly dipping into the crevasse. He nearly shouted when the fair hands finally wrapped around his straining flesh, stroking him hard, rubbing the head with each pass.

He was trembling hard when with great effort he pulled the hands from him. “I do not wish this to end just yet...I would worship you a bit more....” He said as he leaned down and claimed that lush mouth again. Legs wove together as their tongues met, hips grinding insistently.

They were both gasping when they pulled away. Imrahil closed his eyes to salvage some semblance of control. Legolas reclaimed his wine, spilling it when Imrahil suddenly began sucking a spot on his inner thigh. “Mmm...” he purred, eyes slitted in pleasure, as the man eagerly lapped up all the drops on his chest.

Imrahil pressed a kiss to the tip of the Elf’s nose, and reached for something on the table. “I hadn’t expected to be so...fortunate tonight.” Legolas stretched out expectantly beneath him, arms twining in the sheets above his head.

“What is that?”

“Something fishermen use, to soften their hands. I have little else here.....”

Legolas smiled brightly, wrapping his long legs around the man’s waist, offering himself. Imrahil knew then that that humble bed had become an altar, and his heartbeat was a chorus in his ears, driving him on. Molten velvet Legolas was inside, he thought, scissoring his fingers, watching the slender body arch and writhe beneath him.

Then he couldn’t wait anymore, and settled sinuously on top of the Elf. Legolas raised a leg for him, and cried out as Imrahil suddenly clamped down on his ear. Then Imrahil was inside him, and little else mattered. He wrapped both legs around him, urging him faster, harder... They moved as one, towards a single purpose, Imrahil kissing and nipping his lips and chest with each thrust forward. Legolas turned, fascinated by the sight of their shadows undulating on the wall. His hands clawed the man’s shoulders as he drew near. The room seemed to fade and yet grew brighter, and when the moment came they both cried as one.

Imrahil felt himself bleed out his sacrifice into the immortal flesh quivering beneath him. He withdrew and pulled Legolas close, mouthing his hairline, kissing his brows and cheeks, trying to calm his breathing enough to speak. By then his eyelids were too heavy to lift, and he laid his head down and slept deeply.

He woke when something thrust insistently against his thigh. He blinked. Reality suddenly slammed down on him when a warm wet tongue thrust into his ear. A taut leg wrapped around his knee, spreading his thighs. He rolled on his side to find Legolas watching him intently. His hair was rumpled, half-covering his face, and he looked delightfully sleepy, as if he had just woken as well. Imrahil searched for something clever to say, ending up only taking the Elf’s fine chin in hand and gently running his thumb across the pillow of his lower lip.

Legolas’ tongue snaked out, and he took his thumb in his mouth and sucked it. The man groaned, and moved, but not fast enough. The Elf pushed him down on his back, crawling on top of him. He perched on Imrahil’s thighs, tugging the sweaty curls around his cock, before turning his attention to fast-awakening flesh. “I see I have your attention.”

It was Imrahil’s turn to run his hands over his back, feeling the muscles ripple under his hands. What a finely made thing he is, the man thought, tangling his fingers now in the ropes of hair that spilled over his chest.

Legolas pinned his hands by his sides, and began an exploration of the man’s chest with his mouth. He nipped him sharply, then laved him with his long tongue, till the man was keening with desire and frustration.

He moved lower, lapping at the crease at the top of his thigh, coming teasingly close, stopping when the man tried to thrust himself at his mouth. He smiled bewitchingly, holding him down with ease. Slowly, he bent and swirled his tongue around the head of the man’s cock. He enclosed the tip with his mouth, then pulled back. “Do you want this?” he asked, and smiled at the curses flung at him. He took him in his mouth, grimacing at the taste of whatever the man had used on himself. He couldn’t bear it for long, slid down once more, and then pulled up and off with an audible pop.

Imrahil couldn’t help but laugh at the face he made. “Man not to your taste?”

“What do they put in that salve?”

“Rendered fat, fish oil....ah, I see,” he laughed. Imrahil got up on his knees, and kissed him to take the taste away. “I see,” he said again, and Legolas pressed his face into his shoulder, shaking with silent laughter.

“Where is that vile vial?” Imrahil turned around, hunting, aware of the appreciative gaze that followed him. He found it uncapped, staining with grease the edge of the much-abused quilt. When he rocked back up on his knee an arm encircled his waist, pulling him against the taut body behind him.

“I think,” and here he thrust, eliciting a strangled moan, “I prefer you this way.” Imrahil turned his head to be kissed, wrapping his hands around the Elf’s wrists as his hands traveled over him. He moaned as a hand began to stroke him. A finger slid insidiously inside him, and he was trapped between the two. A second finger, and he rocked forward into the hand and back onto the Elf’s long fingers. Panting, he grabbed the headboard, widening his stance as he was impaled anew, shuddering. He clenched on him, feeling heat snake deep in his belly when the Elf groaned.

One hand stayed on his hip, and the other pinched his nipples as they found a rhythm. Legolas leaned over him, placing a hand on the headboard next to his. With each thrust he rocked back to meet him. He was close...so close... Sweat dripped from his chin, and pearl white teeth bit into his shoulder. And then the hand traveled down his hip and began to stroke him again, and he was lost. He felt Legolas’ shuddering release, felt it high and hot inside him, searing through him. He felt giddy, light.

They sagged down onto the mattress. The Elf’s mouth sought his, their tongues dueled languidly. Legolas curled around him and rested his head on his belly. He began to sing softly, sated and content. It was still black outside, the darkness hiding the stars that Varda had made to greet the Elves when they awoke. He had his own star, gleaming in the faint light of the last lamp, who raised their hands and pressed them palm to palm. Though he too burned brightly, for his own brief moment of brilliance. Like a firefly.

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End