Author's Notes: This story is based in the same universe as my ficlet Desire. It is not a sequel, rather it’s more of a brief glimpse into their lives. You don’t have to have read Desire to get this story (what is there to get? It is pretty PWP with a little angst thrown in for good measure), but if you want background info, that’s where it is.

Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings, and all of its characters clearly do not belong to me. They belong to the amazing J.R.R. Tolkien. I’m merely playing with their minds…(evil grin).

Feedback: Please, please, please…yes, I am begging! I would like to know what you think of it – love it, hate it, don’t get it- whatever! Just keep in mind that flames will be used to heat my very cold dorm room.


By Kitsune


The light is a muted golden glow created by the union of moonlight and a single candle. The night is clear and calm. The stars shine, neither bright nor dull, but patiently. They lie in wait amidst their soft silken blanket of cloud, occasionally peeking over as if to check if the one for whom they wait has arrived. A bird sings softly in the gardens beyond the balcony. A lark perhaps, or a nightingale. Its notes drift gently through the air and into the warmth-cast room like an idle caress.

There is a single occupant of the room, seated beside the window. He glows with amber effervesance. He exudes serenity, and one is given the sense that if all other sources of light were removed, the same soft light that emanates from him would continue to illuminate the room. His posture is relaxed, alluring, neither withdrawn nor actively seductive. He seems to be utterly content with what life has given, and taken from him. And yet…There is something in his eyes.

Eyes that flicker from the window to study me as I intrude upon his solitude. Hesitant footsteps that I try to make confident announce an unsolicited arrival. It is almost hard for me to come to him, but I cannot stay away. When the burdens that I carry weigh too heavily upon me, and threaten to push me down into the underworld – when all is bleak and bothersome and I must struggle to see the need to go on – it is to his warmth that I turn. He knows me entirely. He has seen the rips and seams in my soul, and manages to maintain his willingness to care for me. To welcome me into his company, his compassion, and into his bed. I know not how he can do this, every time, but I thank whatever gods are responsible for it from the bottom of my heart. For without this understanding I could not go on.

He remains perched on the chaise, waiting, as always, for me to come to him. His fine, perfectly sculpted features betray nothing accept welcome. My own angel fallen from the stars. How he can retain that perpetual innocence after the things that I have done to him, and with the knowledge of what I will do, is beyond me.

My body knows what my heart needs, even if my mind dallies, and hurries me across the threshold and into his space. I can feel the heat of his soul begin to leach into my skin. I reach out, and connect to that gentle flame, caressing the ivory skin with a not quite shaking hand. Oh, I need him. I have always needed him.

He tips his head back, arching slightly into my touch, and allows his eyes to drift shut, and his lips to part just a bit. There is no way in this world that I could deny such an invitation. My other hand affixes itself deep within the honeyed strands of his hair, and my own eyes close with the sensation of lips joining.

Relief floods my body at this simple contact. This is what I need. Reassurance that there is still good in the world. After bathing in orc blood, defending innocents from others who are supposed to be so also, after seeing the hurt and darkness that the shadows of the world offer, it is easy to slip into them myself. So easy to be pulled down into the filth and the muck, and to forget that there are places where the sun still shines on virgin ground.

I lower my body to his current height, sit haphazardly next to him, and partially on top of his folded legs. The hand that is wrapped within his hair drags his head back further, and I lick at the softly rounded flesh against my mouth, begging him to let me in, to share some of his purity with me.

A soft sigh escapes his lips as they open fully, and he sucks my tongue into his mouth. I could lose myself forever in this. Hot, wet, deep, mysterious, and oh so clean. As I entreat his tongue to play with mine – mock duels in which each wins and is the prize- He shifts his legs, opening them, and hands come up from his lap to tug me into place. I go more than willingly, sliding against him until I feel as though I could almost fit inside him. One of his hands wanders up my back, over my shoulder, and to my collar, where deft fingers begin to undo the intricate lacings. The other curves around the base of my skull, gripping the curve of my head as though he is holding a cup of fine wine that he intends to savor.

I left my boots at the door, after carrying them up the stairs. They have wondered over far too much bloody ground to be allowed to trespass in so scared a place. I draw my legs up, and fit myself even more securely within the curve of his embrace. My body begins to burn with palpable need. Need for release of tension, need for a purging. The need to find my solace within him, and be cleansed, body and soul.

He withdraws his tongue from the back of my throat, nips my lower lip gently, and laughs quietly against my mouth. The breath released from him tingles against my parted lips, flows across my tongue, and I swallow it, desperate to catch what I can of him. I open my eyes to find that he is regarding me with the most alluring mixture of subtle amusement and soul-deep hunger. It reassures me to know that after all this time, he still wants this. That he is doing more than accepting my advances out of the kindness of his heart. For some reason, entirely unbeknownst to me, he wants this, wants me, as much as I need it.

“You’re going to push me out the window.” It is a mild rebuke, and any sting it might have had is removed as he stands, gathers me in his arms, and carries me to his bed. His strength always amazes me. He looks so frail, almost delicate, yet he can lift my sturdy body without strain, and carry the burdens that are too heavy for me.

He moves away for a moment, and, haloed in the tawny haze of the room, pulls the silver tunic gently and slowly up and over his head, revealing the perfection of his chest and torso. I can see each individual wiry muscle, and think briefly that I always underestimate him. With such a finely honed body, he could carry the whole world. The soft doe-skin breeches follow the tunic to the floor, and I can have no more of mere looking. He is a god, and angel made substantial, and I need to touch. I need to take hold of the beauty and make it a part of me. Through lips suddenly to dry to allow clear speech, I manage to choke a haggard, “Please…”

For a moment I think that he will not come. That for the first time he will reject me, tell me that I should learn to carry my own burdens. There is a flash of something alien and hard in those smoky eyes, and he hesitates.

“Please…Legolas…I need…” Dear Gods, don’t let him deny me now! I would do anything to prevent that. I am not above getting down on my knees and begging, if that is what he wants. Anything.

Perhaps some of my desperation shows on my face, for the hard edge flees his eyes, and is replaced with…pity? Surely not. But, whatever the unidentified emotion is, it encourages him to walk back to the bed, and to touch the rough and stubbled side of my face with something approaching reverence. A soft, questing thumb runs over my chin, and explores my lips. I open them, slightly, just enough for the tip of my tongue to dart out and caress the soft pad. His eyes flutter closed, and he breathes out heavily. I want to keep my eyes affixed to his face, to see the goodness and the compassion, but they insist on running down his body. Oh! His arousal assaults me with a need redoubled. I place a hesitant hand on his hip, smoothing my own thumb over the sharp curve of the bone that is so near to the skin that I can almost see it. I pull the tip of his thumb into my mouth, and suck gently. His taste is overwhelming. Sweet – almost cloying – and heady. Nothing at all like the metallic tang of blood. I cannot move my gaze from the thick member that is already jutting at a right angle out from the junction of his legs. So beautiful.

I begin to feel dizzy – there are so many contraries colliding in my brain and my body. I want to stay in this moment forever, to know in my heart that a creature whose very definition is goodness could want me so much. I also want to bring him to me and tumble him into the bed, to own him, to take him. To let it all go. But…no. Not tonight. Tonight, I want him to share his nature with me, not to rip his essence from him.

So I release his thumb, and bending over, take his insistent flesh into my mouth. His heat scorches me, and his cry marks a fiery trail through the cobwebs in my brain as I begin to suck, to caress, and run my tongue over the underside of his cock. I am good at this. I should be, for it was he who taught me. With the utmost patience and trust. So I know exactly what pleases him the most. Exactly how far to pull him in before letting him escape to thrust anew. Precisely where to lick to wring desperate whimpers from his throat. Exactly how to breathe so that his whole body trembles in reaction.

So intent am I upon my task that it takes me a moment to figure out what happened when he is no longer in my mouth and down my throat. He has wrenched himself away, and is taking a moment to collect himself before he pierces me with his intent look. No words are necessary as his hands make their way to my shoulders and firmly ease me back onto the bed. Somehow my shirt and leggings have disappeared. I have never been so distracted and affected by pleasing another. His reactions to me just seem to build up in my soul until they send the heat of their force racing through my body. I want him. I need this.

He crawls unto the bed, and up my prone, but shaking, figure, careful not to touch until we are eye to eye. Then he sits back carefully upon my thighs, and runs a trembling hand from the side of my neck to a pale nipple. From this vantage point, I can see my own moisture on his cock, mixing and combining with the wet produced by his body. It is possibly the most erotic thing that I have ever seen. Then his fingers close in a pinch and my hips buck unconsciously, and I care no more for what I can see. I want to feel. My eyes are closed, so it is a jolting surprise when harsh fingers are replaced with a moist and apologetic mouth on my nipple. A groan tears itself from my chest, and I thrash wildly, desperate for more.

He holds me down, once again employing that cursed strength so that I can find none of the contact that my body craves. I hear my own voice crashing into the air as if it is coming from the deepest of the dwarven mines. “Oh! Please!…Need…I need you. Now!” He hears my cries, and lifts his mouth, and I can refocus once more. His lips are red as berries, and swollen. He is beautiful. And his eyes are dilated with desire. He gives me back his hand, to lick and suck. I know what comes next, and do as I am commanded with great willingness. As my mouth is occupied, he runs his other hand down my arm, and tangles his fingers with mine. My other hand again creeps forward, as I lock our eyes, and stroke delicately along his length. He gasps, and jerks his fingers out of my mouth. Good. Because I need so very much.

His now thoroughly moistened hand travels downward as he jerks his hips out of my reach, and carefully he spreads my thighs with his knees. He avoids any contact with my very obvious, and desperate need, and journeys further still, in search of the entrance to my body. I cannot withhold my scream as a single finger breaches the starburst cluster of skin. But my cry is blocked, sucked up greedily into his mouth, as he covers mine. Our tongues rejoin with greater force than before as he searches within me, and my lower body jerks and thrusts in desperation. Then the fingertip finds a particularly sensitive spot and presses down. I am paralyzed in a world of bursting colors and sensations, my body frozen in the air, mid-way through a seeking thrust. It is pain and pleasure so intricately woven that I cannot understand who the two have ever been separate within my mind.

He holds the exquisite agony for heart-stopping moments, then removes his finger, only to enter me anew, this time with two that stretch and scissor, and pull hungry cries from me. His other hand strokes me softly at first, then faster, swirling the softest touch over the tip of my desire, sending flashes of brilliance through my soul and body. A third finger plunges into me, and I lose track of what words are flowing out of my mouth, encouraging, begging, blessing, and… Then the fingers are gone, and something much larger, hotter, and Oh gods!, better takes their place. He lowers his body so very slowly, breeching me by centimeters, and finally comes to rest stretched out atop me, every inch connecting, and so much a part of me that, as with the pain and pleasure he again sends deep within me, I cannot imagine that we have ever been separate.

We stay, caught in this moment of pure beauty, until I can no longer be still, and rock my hips against his, forcing him to thrust. He cries into my mouth, and pounds against me. We are caught in a physical wave of passion desire, lust, and…something more… something that I dare not define. But as he breaks, and, sobbing, releases himself into me, I can see the light of his soul pouring into mine, flooding into all of the nooks and clearing away all that is dirty, and wrong. I think that I bite his shoulder as I am swept away with the cleansing tide.

He lies still atop me, and my hands are tangled in his hair again. He starts to move away with a gentle sigh. But I stop him, hold him where he is with my hands, my mouth, and my soul. He has given me some measure of solace, and taken some of my pain. But as long as we are separate beings, there are burdens that I must bear alone, that cannot be passed off with the others. So I keep him a part of me for as long as I can. I know that tomorrow I shall return to the path that stretches out before me, long and unrewarding, and my soul shall be lighter until I trudge again through the blood and debris of the world. But, for tonight…tonight, I just want to be a part of his beauty…



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