WARNING: This is SLASH. In other words, an explicit sexual relationship and love between two men (well, one Man and one male Elf). If this bothers you, I am certainly not going to make you read it, and indeed kindly request that you take yourself elsewhere and read some of the lovely het works on ffnet. If you read the fic in spite of my warning, then donít complain to me!

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. Iím 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, like it, donít get it- whatever! Just keep in mind that flames will be used to heat my very cold dorm room. Though actually, it is warming up now, so I donít really need any additional heat.

Author's Notes: This is the promised epilogue from Double Edged, but you donít need to have read that in order to read this piece. Just know that our favorite man and elf have finally managed to express their love to each other. Erm... and Aragorn managed to collapse in a stream, which is why he is wearing Legolasí clothes. His were wet. Yummy... um... I mean, poor guy. ;) This is the happy fic. I felt that I owed them some after all of the angst I forced them to suffer through. Oh, and this is also pure smut. But very sweet smut - I hope. Enjoy.


Double Edged - Epilogue

By Kitsune


Night drifts gently into the embrace of the land. The sun sighs in relief as it sinks gently into oblivion, another dayís duty complete. The stars take cautious glimpses into the physical realm, then sidle into position, slowly growing in strength as the day relaxes her hold upon the world. There is a stillness in the air. Birds call softly for their mates, owls hoot idly, and the fire in the small pit crackles languorously, as though it knows that it shall flicker always unto eternity, and there is no need for a frantic flame.

The chilled body pressed against my naked chest shivers slightly, and the movement sends a matching shudder through my spine. I can feel the touch soaking into my soul. Even without my shirt, I am not cold. The weather has little affect on elfs, but it is not my bodily make-up that warms me now. It is the earth-deep and steadily pulsing flow of lava in my heart. How could I be cold when I am allowed to warm myself by his fire?

He shivers again, and I realize that he may well be cold, though I am not. After all, he did spend a fair amount of time ensconced within an ice cold stream. And though the sun shone brightly all day (as though blessing our joy with an affectionate regard), the air has remained chilled. Its icy fingers took hold of him even through my cloak and tunic. Earlier, I was able (by a very great strength of will) to detach myself from him long enough to return to last nightís campsite in order to collect our belongings. Our bedrolls lie in a pile on the other side of the fire. I could go and retrieve another blanket to wrap around his body. But... I do not want to let him go. So long we have spent apart (my soul sundered in two), and now... the thought of letting him out of my arms for even a moment scares me. What if I could not return him to my embrace?

Another shiver, and he ducks his head further into the curve between my neck and shoulder, arching under my hair. This will not do. I refuse to lose him to hypothermia. But I find it hard to voice my thoughts. After reveling in the pure joy of being together, silent, still, and connected, it is difficult to breach with words the thickness of the air which has crowded around us. I managed to cough slightly, clearing my throat.

His head tilts up in response, and the sweet feathers of breath flowing between his parted lips play at my skin as he mumbles, "What is it?" Sleepily. Naturally. I know that he has not slept well (my fault of course), and todayís events could not have helped. But... though my heart would claim to be content, my body is suggesting that there are better things to do this eve than sleep.

I press my lips into his hair, and manage to whisper, "It grows cold. I think that perhaps we should move to our blankets. For they have refused my commands to come to us." He laughs slightly at the mild joke. Really just a brief exhale of air with a slight aspiration. But the exhale is against the sensitive skin directly beneath and behind my ear, and suddenly I do not feel quite so languid. Yes, moving to the beds would be a very good idea. But, that does not mean that I intend to let go of him. I tighten my grip around his arms, and slide my other hand under his legs, then rise carefully. He has never been a large man, more wiry strength than brutish power. It will not be a challenge to carry him a few feet. But the plans that are rapidly forming in my mind would not likely benefit by my dropping him in carelessness. As I sweep him up, and secure my footing, his head emerges from under my neck and the dark eyes pierce into mine.

"What are you doing?" The words are growled, not asked, and it is my turn to laugh lightly, and brush my cheek to his. "I do not want to let go of you." I hope that is enough of an explanation, because I am having increasing difficulty with forming words as his fingers curl around the base of my neck. He seems to accept my words, and the other hand drifts up to caress the underside of my chin, just above my throat, and under my ear. I gasp, but am proud not to stumble. Thank the Stars that I was in such haste to return to him earlier that I did not roll up and bind the blankets closed. I am able now to kick them into an attempt at order that will suffice. Kneeling with care, I deposit my precious cargo upon the roughly hewn makeshift bed. His eyes are dancing, sparkling, and I can am reassured by the sudden knowledge that he had not wanted me to let him go, even if it meant he had to suffer being carried.

His hand has followed my arm down, and he entwines our fingers. I am mesmerized by the sight of beauty, love, and carefully coiled strength beneath me. A wintry brush of wind flitters over my now unprotected chest, and I shiver. Again, it is not from the cold. He smiles suddenly, and I could swear that the sun has reversed its nature and reappeared. He tugs lightly at my hand, and whispers, "It is very cold. I do not think that I will be warm enough alone... Wonít you join me?"

The husky words coil around the base of my spine and converge into a pool of heat in the small of my back and the bottom of my stomach. I quench an overwhelming desire to giggle at the artless insinuation, and silently lower my body to the blankets next to my love. His other arm instantly snakes around me, and, as the fingers swirl over my back, eases me closer to him, until our bodies are flush against each other. I allow my free hand to rest on his slender hip, and take a deep breath. I can smell something on the air. Something full of cinnamon and cloves, and red-warm colors. I nudge his shoulder with my nose, and recognize the scent of arousal that soaks through his skin, and the cloth which separates us. Apparently he is not so tired after all.

I pull away from him long enough to gather more blankets, and tug them into place over our bodies. But, when I try to return to my place at his side, he shakes off any remaining lethargy, and, in a series of movements so quick that I cannot follow them, he shifts me over and under. And now his body is pressed deliciously against mine, and I feel as though the heat and the weight should cause my bones to melt and sink into the earth. I am gasping, and somewhat short of breath as he releases my hand and cups my face between his palms, with the weight of his upper body resting on the elbows that have carefully been positioned on either side of my neck. The weight of his lower body, however, remains firmly in place atop my legs and hips. He grins, full and mischievous, and his eyes are darker than I have ever seen them. Darker than the night above us, deeper than the mines of the dwarves, or the remotest reaches of the sea. And he seems quite amused by my sudden inability to breath.

As my mind stumbles to catch up to the unexpected maneuvers, I slowly become aware of a singularly intense presence of heat pressing insistently at base of my hip. As I realize exactly what that heat owes its origins to, the feeling in my arms and legs disappear with my blood to center at the junction of my thighs, and I cannot contain a gasp. Aragornís smile switches instantly from playfully aroused to predatory, and he very purposefully rotates his hips. The solid warmth grinds against me, and he exhales softly. My body is so tense at this moment, warring between the desire to possess him and the hunger to treasure this moment that I never truly believed would arrive, that my throat will hardly allow me to swallow.

He brings his lips to the sharp angle of my jawbone, sucks softly, then speaks into the skin words that I have dreamt and imagined. "I want you." His voice is deep and raw, and my hand move on their own accord, one wrapping behind his back to pull our hips closer, the other to his chest, which really should be closer to mine. My mouth opens, but words are slow to come. His lips, however, move quickly, and as his tongue enters my mouth, I think hazily that perhaps words are not necessary.

I am certain now that the gods meant for the two of us to be together. How else could we fit so perfectly? I feel as though all of my jagged edges are smoothed and polished by the heat of our joined bodies and the simple ease of our beings tremble in my soul. I can no longer control my body, nor do I wish to try. My legs part under his, my back tries to arch, as though my skin wishes to be inside of his, and the whimper that forms where the tip of his tongue touches the back of my throat sounds foreign to my ears.

Thoughts and worries, all of the doubt and self-hatred I have cherished, flee as the back of his hand smoothes over my check, then runs down my throat to rest on my chest. I can feel my heartbeat reflected through the pressure of his palm as it ghosts over my nipple. I no longer remember how we have reached this point, but such amazement reassures me that there is no way that we could not have come together some day. He is my heart, my soul, the fire that warms me, and the air that I breathe. I am nothing without this perfection.

He pulls away from my mouth with a lingering sigh, and my eyes open to catch his bemused perusal. "Gods... "I am not the only one panting for breath. I bring a hand up to cup his face and explore the stubble on his cheek. The light from the fire is reflected and magnified in his eyes, and he looks at me as though he has never seen a living being before. As though he has never seen me. I feel my face flush, and the warm bulge that presses against the heart of my desire seems to have become harder. "You... you are beautiful. I donít deserve... " His voice is stopped as I place a finger over his lips. After the time that we have lost because of our insecurities, I have little patience for his slighted opinion of his worth, and even less for the exaggerated view of mine. Though... that he should believe himself the lucky one. Irony indeed. Elves and beauty are many in this world, but a Man, with all of the passion and strength of life that the race grants, and a truly noble spirit - heartbreakingly kingly - that is rare indeed. His eyes dart between my lips and my eyes as I shush him, and tell him with my gaze that what lies between us needs no words to be expressed.

He smiles at me, then pulls way, and somehow time disappears as he removes my tunic from his body, and follows with his leggings, then mine, too are gone, and I am still wondering how such perfection can have a physical form. He is light and dark, storm and sun, the embodiment of every powerful extreme. And... He is mine. Because he loves me. Dear Gods. Suddenly I cannot stand to be separated from him even by the air, so I reach up, and pull him back down to me, back to where he belongs. He mumbles what sounds like a protest, but transforms into a sigh as he fits himself between my legs, and our erections meet, the burning desire quickly doubling. Why admire from afar when there is touch and taste, soft rasps of tongue on sweat-drenched skin, and half-coherent whispers of pure longing?

I maneuver one hand between our bodies, and find his pulsing desire. It burns my flesh as I circle the tip with my thumb and he cries out and arches against me. His hips thrust against mine, and his ragged cry breaks and turns into a desperate sob as I catch the fingers of his other hand in my mouth, suckling and licking. It has been long since I have desired the pleasures offered by any body other than his, and longer still since I have indulged in such joys. But my body remembers, and responds accordingly. One of my legs curls and snakes over him, at once opening myself further and urging him closer. I know that we have time, but I have waited long enough for this beauty.

I release his hand from the humid cavern of my mouth, and allow him to pull away far enough to trail the damp fingers down my body and between my legs. They settle briefly on my erection, and, Gods! he is so good... so beautiful... and this is so right... I hear a thin wail jerked from my throat as my hips rocket skyward, and I seek for more. Then the fingers travel farther down, until they are aligned with the entrance to my body, and I cannot move because the tremors that are racing through my veins hold me securely in a net of desperate anticipation. It is all I can do to force my eyes to open and seek his. Why is he waiting!?

I find his eyes in the darkness, and the desire that wracks my body is reflected in his gaze. Desire... and caution. He is afraid of hurting me. I can feel the silent question, and answer him, not with words, for those have long forsaken me, but by releasing my hold on him, moving my hand to rest atop his, then urging it down and forward, as I stare at him with a maelstrom of emotions naked in my eyes. This must be enough of a reply, for he no longer awaits my guidance, but carefully presses in, and... Gods! starbursts and suns are creating and exploding behind my eyes. I think I must cry out, but I cannot hear anything beyond the pounding colors of my frantic heart. He pushes in further, his gaze fixed on my face, and my saliva easing the way. One finger has sunken in to the knuckle, and the back of his hand grazes against the sensitive sacks of skin between my legs. My body will not cease shuddering, and my hips are thrusting up desperately. He works in a second finger, then a third, and searches inside of me. The fingertips graze a place that pulls a howl from my throat, and I think that he must be touching my very soul, the deepest and most hidden part of me. He thrusts shallowly, with drawing just enough to gain the leverage to attack that sensitive spot again and again. I know that this should hurt, but I have lost the ability to differentiate between pain and pleasure. There is only him. And he should be inside of me. He should be a part of me. Now.

The word forces its way through my sensation-addled brain, and falls from my lips as a harsh and broken mixture of begging and command. He laughs raggedly, then his mouth cleaves to mine, and I am left gapingly empty as his hand pulls away. I am not bereft for long, as his pure solid heat nudges at me, opens me, and flows into me. I think that he must be all around me, or I must be entirely around him, and if I could think I might worry that we would drown in each other. But his hand wraps around my frantic, leaking length of flesh and fire, and he is somehow controlled enough to tighten his grasp just so, and to caress with downward pressure exactly as he thrusts into me, and scrapes deliciously against the hidden flame. I know that I must be screaming, and think that perhaps he is too, but I am swallowing the sound because it is a part of him, and I want as much of him inside of me as is possible.

He flexes his hips, thrusts again as he strokes his hand over me, and our lips tangle. This must be how the world was created. In a miasma of sound and strength, and desperate burning pleasure. He withdraws almost entirely, then pushes in hard and long, and hot. His thumb swirls over the tip of my erection, and I can feel his moan thundering in my heart. Light spreads in scorching ripples outwards from all of the bright places inside of me, sweeps through my brain, and I am frozen, convulsed around him, inside of him, our souls have lost distinction. I am him and he is me, and there is only us. And it is perfect.

He collapses on top of me, and even our breath is coordinated. I am no longer Legolas. He is no longer Aragorn. We are what we are meant to be forever. Together. Nothing shall ever tear us apart now that we are one. His heart slows, and we can both breath again. I feel more than hear the whispered words that fall into my hair from his lips. "I love you." Then he is still, and the world is complete. A soft smile creases my lips as I return the words, and feel him drift into sleep, still on top of me, still inside of me, still a part of me. As it will forever be. I hold him close to me, close my eyes, and seek to join him in my dreams.


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