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A Fiery Passion by Naledi

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Written for Melethen's "Elrohir whispering bawdy taunts" challenge on LJ.


“You look particularly breathtaking tonight.”

Legolas started, not having noticed Elrohir slide onto the couch next to him, so absorbed had he been with his thoughts. He had arrived in Imladris only that afternoon after an absence of almost thirty years. Thirty years in which he had yearned incessantly for Elrohir’s presence, not only in his bed, but by his side as his cherished companion. Instead, he had had to watch his beloved Greenwood slide further into darkness without the strength and support of the one most dear to him. It had been a long, lonely, heartbreaking time.

Ignoring his lover, he returned his gaze to the crackling fire and sighed. He had dreamt of his reunion with Elrohir all the way on the journey to Imladris. He had intended to break his thirty-year fast by gorging on his lover’s delectable flesh from the moment he arrived, preferably not emerging from their chambers for some days. Instead, he had been forced to endure a meeting with Elrond and his advisors, detailing the rise of shadow in his once fair wood. Then he was required to attend a sumptuous feast, nothing like the altogether more intimate feast he had planned. And now, instead of being allowed to retire to Elrohir’s chambers and show him just how ardently he had longed for this reunion, here he was, sitting in the crowded Hall of Fire, for what looked like being one of the Last Homely House’s famous all-night celebrations. This was not at all how he had planned his return!

What rankled most of all, though, was that Elrohir had not once tried to put a stop to the impromptu feasting or expressed a desire to be alone with Legolas. For the first time in their long relationship, Legolas wondered if Elrohir truly loved him as much as he loved Elrohir. Despite the roaring fire in the hall, he shuddered suddenly as an icy chill crept into his bones.

“Of course, you would look even more lovely were you were naked and astride my thighs.”

It was barely even a whisper, so softly had Elrohir breathed those words, yet it was as though all the voices raised in song about the hall were abruptly hushed. Nothing else could be heard, except those tantalising words. Legolas made to turn his head to regard his beloved, but his movement was stilled when Elrohir whispered once again, his lips so close to Legolas’ ear that the prince could feel the warm, moist air of his breath caress the sensitive skin.

“No, do not turn your eyes upon me. Just look into the flames and see the images that I would paint for you. I promise you that the heat of yonder fire is as nothing compared to the conflagration that you have lit in my heart. Later, when we are finally alone, I will endeavour to prove that to you.”

Legolas shivered once more: this time not from the cold.

“That is how I have pictured you through our long, lonely separation,” continued Elrohir in the same scarce-heard whisper. “You are truly magnificent when you are in the throes of passion. Each night I have imagined you thus: straddling my lap, head thrown back so that your hair grazes my legs, your skin rosy with arousal, your eyes glazed with lust as you take me deep into your body.”

Gazing into the fire as instructed, Legolas could indeed see images of himself and his lover forming in the flickering flames, in exactly the pose that Elrohir described. So real did they look that he glanced around at the other Elves in the room to see if they had remarked the writhing figures, joined in passion amid the blaze. No one else was gazing into the fire in slack-jawed amazement however, so Legolas decided that the erotic images were all in his mind. He himself could not tear his eyes away from the flames, so engrossed was he in watching the fiery lovers therein.

“Ah, you can see them!” Elrohir crooned. “Just look at how wantonly you receive me. How I love to see your joy as you willingly sheathe me. Can you not feel me inside you? Stroking you from within?”

And suddenly, Legolas was overcome with the sensation of being filled. He could not suppress a sharp gasp as he felt hard, heated flesh caressing him deep within, moving in exactly the same rhythm as the lovers he was watching in the flames. Yet Elrohir was not even touching him! How was this possible? He wanted to turn and question his lover, but he was transfixed by what he could see within the flames: phantasms brought into being by Elrohir’s words. Every word his lover breathed was vividly enacted in the flames and felt by Legolas’ now thoroughly aroused and sensate body. Thank the Valar he had donned loose robes over his leggings and shirt that evening, rather than his usual figure-hugging tunic!

“Oh yes, now, beloved! Now you are so close! Do you see how I reach out and stroke your arousal? Just enough to bring you to the brink, but not quite enough to send you crashing over the edge.”

Legolas bit down sharply on his lip to prevent a groan as he simultaneously watched the fiery Elf-knight ply his double’s shaft with languid strokes and felt it at the same time. His double in the flames arched his back violently at the touch. It took all his willpower to prevent himself from mirroring the ecstatic writhing. Clenching his fingers tightly in the fabric of his robes, he bit down even harder on his lip to prevent himself from giving way to the urge to cry out at the intensity of the sensations he was experiencing. The coppery tang of blood flooded his mouth as Elrohir continued his torment.

“Ah yes! The sweetest sound of them all: you crying out in ecstasy!”

Legolas found his tongue at last. “Whatever you are doing, Elrohir, put an end to it now!” he gasped.

“With pleasure, my love! I know how you like it: I will take you hard and deep and fast until you reach completion, screaming my name.”

Even as Elrohir breathed the words into his ear, Elrohir’s double grasped his lover’s hips and pull him down hard as he simultaneously thrust up into his writhing body. At the same time, Legolas felt the sensation of hard flesh pounding deep inside him, unerringly striking his centre of pleasure with each thrust. The rapture spiralled until Legolas could take no more.

His climax blazed through him just as he saw the fiery Wood-elf open his mouth in an impassioned cry. He collapsed back limply upon the couch. Several heartbeats passed before he noticed that all eyes in the busy hall were upon him, wide in shock. It was only then that it dawned on him that he must have screamed his lover’s name out loud.

“I – I do beg your pardon,” he stammered, blushing furiously, scarcely able to force his trembling body into a more upright posture. He desperately racked his dazed brains for a suitable explanation. “I think I must have been dreaming.”

Elrond turned concerned eyes upon his guest. “I do apologise, Legolas. I did not consider how tired you must be feeling after your long journey.” He glanced at the younger twin. “Elrohir, perhaps you should show Legolas to his rooms.”

“Of course, Father. With pleasure,” replied Elrohir smoothly, with just the hint of a wicked grin tugging at his lips. With a firm arm supporting the still rather stunned prince, Elrohir led him from the hall.

As soon as they were out of earshot, Legolas rallied his senses and turned to his lover. “What was that?” he asked in an awed tone. “I saw everything … I felt everything you were saying!”

Elrohir chuckled huskily, sending a shiver down Legolas’ spine. “On my last visit to Lórien, my grandmother discerned that I had inherited some of her abilities. She spent some time training me to use them.” At Legolas’ shocked expression, Elrohir laughed. “Nay, she did not teach me that! But when I sensed how frustrated you were becoming, it suddenly occurred to me that my skills could be used that way. And from the way you cried my name, it worked, did it not?”

“Aye, that it did!” agreed Legolas emphatically. “But I have no desire to ever have to explain again to your father’s entire household why I screamed your name like that. If you don’t mind, I would prefer we stick with the more traditional ways of pleasuring from now on.”

“If you wish, beloved. But do you not wonder,” purred Elrohir with an insinuating squeeze to Legolas’ rear, “what it would be like to employ both methods at once? The possibilities are…intriguing!” With a firm hold on his suddenly very light-headed lover, Elrohir led the way to his chambers with determined steps.

The End