Author's Notes: This is the third of what I am calling my “glimpses” into the universe of Acceptance and Desire. You don’t have to have read either of them to understand this fic, but the three do work together, and I am going to try and continue drawing a more complete picture of this world through these glimpses, so it might help to read the first two. This vignette is from Legolas’ interpretation of the events detailed in Desire.

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.

Embracing the Abyss

By Kitsune


There is a cold silver halo around the full moon that lights the sky this eve. I have never understood how it is possible that light could look cold. Light is ever the hope of living beings. All manner of things that are frightening, or indistinguishable, by night are revealed by the brightness of day. It is what allows us to face our fears, and alone engenders understanding. The very definition of light should rightly include an idea of comfort, and a sense of warmth. Yet there is neither in this haze that encircles the iridescent orb.

He comes tonight. The sentries reported his approach at dinner, but I knew of it this morning. The blood in my veins began to whisper with the dawn. The tiny hairs on the back of my neck have been standing on end since the world cleared its eyes of sleep. My heart has been beating at a tempo which is ever so slightly faster than normal.

I know these signs very well. I think that they have always heralded his entrance into my land, into my space, but it was only recently that I have begun to understand them, and therefore to watch for them. They are a warning. The very same warnings that my body gives me when it takes me into battle.

A lark trills in the garden beyond my window. Strange. Larks are creatures of the day, not often found after the sun has laid her weary head to rest. The staccato of hoof beats over grassy earth thunders a sturdy counterpoint to the bird’s song, and the answering thuds of my heart’s restless wanderings meander between the two. I feel my breath hitch in my throat, and my chest expand. He is coming to me. Heavy-hearted, weighed down by the filth that he finds in his world, and the belief that if he dallies in such muck for too long, he will become a part of it. And so he turns to me, to forget, to be able to imagine himself cleansed of his sins – of the sins of the world. He thinks that there is danger in facing the abyss, that if he faces it long enough, he will one day see himself staring back from the other side. I believe that the only danger is when you invite the abyss to come to you. When you beckon, and taunt. For one day, the calls shall be answered. The threat arises not when you peer cautiously into the darkness, but when you allow yourself to be drawn into seducing it.

He comes. His footsteps, silent as they may be for a man, are audible in the hallway. He is in a hurry tonight. And hesitant. He tries to make his sounds confident, knowing that I will hear them. And yet…

He enters the chamber, and I turn to look upon him. He stands in shadow, darkness obscuring his features in severe contrast to the light of the room. But as he comes closer the darkness dissolves, and I realize where the warmth of the moon has fled. For there is a fine amber mist in the chamber, and it circles around him, drawing him in. All of the warmth, the golden cast, of the moon, has sundered itself from its creator, and has flowed into the chamber, coagulated into a palpable net of acceptance. The light plays with his handsome features, tugs at his tangled hair, and flirts coyly with his eyes. He may not hold the ethereal beauty of my brethren, but he is so fully and completely alive. Even the light must respond to him. Even I must. My heart is drawn against its will to the fire of his soul, like a moth to the flame. How easy it would be to allow myself to let go of the tiny shreds of self-possession that I still hold. How easy to let myself be drawn in entirely…

And here again is my desire to toy with the void, when I know that darkness shall be the only return. I do not love him. I know him. He is not Good, in the truest sense of the world. Perhaps nothing is purely good, as nothing is purely bad. Supreme good could only be measured by complete lack of bad, and without the idea of the latter to use in measuring, there would be no meaning in good. There is no light without an understanding of darkness. Yet, he is noble. Truly a king of men. Willing to trudge through the blood and the evil that clog the world. And so strong – strong enough to accept that, though he would be the world’s salvation, he cannot be everything by himself. Strong enough to turn to me when he feels the purple blood of the shadows sinking through the cracks in his soul and pooling in the depths of his light. May the gods see to it that I am strong enough to help him feel as though he can be cleansed. Make me only strong enough to welcome him into my arms, and let him leave again when he is renewed. Let me hold together the fragments of my own fractured light, as they break again upon the dawn, and his exit.

He seems to struggle with inner turmoil, but his body makes the decision, and leaves his mind no argument. His feet propel him forward, and his hand reaches up to join our skin. His need tingles on his fingertips, and my face answers its call, leaning in to complete the contact. My eyes drift shut, and my mouth falls open as the passion within his soul overwhelms me. Again I issue my invitation to the abyss, and again it is answered as his lips meet mine with subtle desperation. Someday I shall lose myself. But not this day.

He seems to be trying to crawl in side my skin. He settles himself on top of my legs, and deepens the kiss, hands wrapping around to tangle themselves in my hair. He tastes so sweet. Like the metallic tang of blood mingled with the juice of some exotic fruit. So alive - his heartbeat trembles in his veins and sends miniature earthquakes through my skin. He drags my head back further, and licks softly at my lips, seeking entrance. I should resist his kisses. I know this. I should offer him comfort in body only, and not bring into play such dangerous emotions as kissing necessitates. I should act as any other whore. But it is not bodily release that he seeks from me. He could find that in so many other places. He needs me to allow him to insinuate himself into my heart. And I cannot refuse him.

But, even as he seeks to take from me, grace from my soul, and salvation from my body, I would have something from him. The mood that he brings with him this night is just a little different from our previous encounters. I think that tonight he is willing to give of himself, and to receive rather than to take. I find myself responding more intensely than is my wont. My body aches for his, and though I would usually wait to follow his lead, I allow my desire to spur my hands into action, tugging him closer to me as I pull his tongue into my mouth, and begin fighting with the laces on his tunic that keep his skin away from mine. Always I have answered his needs, suppressing my own wishes to enjoy more than just his body, as he does of me. Yet tonight, I find myself trying to drink the life from his lips, searching for just one small taste. I do not know if giving into my desires in such a way is an act of courage, or of weakness.

I pull back as I feel myself begin to slip into the darkness that he offers. The taste of his soul is heavy on my tongue. I catch his full bottom lips with my teeth, and laugh gently – betraying nothing but simple lust. For this moment, his eyes glazed with arousal and lips swollen and moist with my saliva, he is as enchanting as anything I have seen. He may not have the beauty that immortality offers, but he embodies that which surpasses immortality. He is the personification of the passion and strength that only true life can bestow. Immortality means that I cannot die, but death is a crucial part of the cycle of life, and therefore, I cannot ever have such being as he. He smolders and glows with the intensity of it. I want it to burn me.

I cannot contain myself, and so gather him into my arms and dump him quite unceremoniously onto my bed. I do however, still have some self-restraint, and am able to keep the depth of my desire hidden from him by cloaking it with amusement and play. Even so, I force myself to move away for a moment, to pause, and slow the speed with which I hurtle myself into this skirmish. The very strength of my need reminds me of the danger inherent in this encounter. I may engage my body, and even my soul, but I must hold onto my heart. The potency of the feelings I have far surpass all those emotions that are generally accepted as being the strongest – love, hate, passion. I must quench this. He comes to me only in selfish need. I can only take the same. I will not allow myself to think that there is more in this.

His voice breaks through my passion inspired reverie. A single ragged word that tears at my soul. “…Please…” Must…must not… Dear Gods make him not look at me so…as though I am some angel offered for his personal benefaction. I should leave now, and return to him only when I have regained complete control. He reads my hesitation, though not, I hope, the cause of it. His eyes transform, no longer containing desperate desire but exuding pure desperation. He is afraid that I will leave him. As I should. I ought to turn around right now, walk out of my own door, and close my eyes so that they cannot betray me by looking back. How dare he ask me to give him this!

“Please…Legolas…I need…” My eyes travel down the length of his body, refusing my commands to withdraw, and rest on his groin, where his very obvious desire strains against the confines of his leggings. The knowledge he wants me so very much shoots through my heart, sends molten heat into my stomach, then settles between my legs. I should leave but I will not. He knows not what he asks for, yet I shall give it to him. And havens protect us should he ever discover the truth.

My heart swells with my cock, as I reach out and caress his face, with gentleness that approaches reverence. I allow a trembling thumb to trace a path over his cheek, his chin, and his still reddened lips. It is stilled and caught by the tip of his tongue, as my heart is held still, unmoving and unbeating, by the intensity of his gaze. I cannot allow myself to wallow in it as I would wish, so I let my eyes drift closed, and focus on the sensations of his rough tongue on my calloused skin. I feel an exploratory hand land upon my hip and ease its way over skin and sharp curve of bone. My knees have lost all resiliency and threaten to turn to water on me. He sucks the tip of my thumb into the cavern of his mouth, and I cannot restrain the gasp that surges from my lungs.

When the amazing humid heat surrenders my hand, and stakes its claim instead upon my full and heavy cock, the gasp turns sharply into a cry, and my hands grasp at his shoulders for support. My existence begins to dissolve into pure soul-stabbing sensation as he begins to suck. Blast that perfect mouth! Oh...He knows exactly how to do this. Jolts of pure pleasure pour through my body, catching hold of my breath, and trembling upon my skin. I can feel the stubble of his evening beard against my thigh as I thrust helplessly into him… close…too close…too much...just too…

I pull away, breaking the contact with an audible pop, and let out a very soft sigh of frustration. When I can finally focus my eyes again without being distracted by the lingering purples and reds of desire that swirl through my blood and brain, I look at him, pierce him and freeze him with my gaze. He knows better than to resist as I divest him of his far too cumbersome clothing. When the golden light streams in rivulets over his nude body, I return my hands to his shoulder, finger the welts that my nails left imprinted on the soft skin, and ease him back onto my bed. He is gasping, shaking, and uncharacteristically, perhaps unconsciously, relinquishing all control. Telling me without words what he wants from me. I yearn to yield it to him.

I follow his trembling body up onto the bed, and situate myself carefully on his shaking thighs. How has it happened that I am allowed to touch him? To please him, to … I reach out a hungry hand, and follow the curved path of a bead of sweat down his neck, over the delicate collarbones, and spread it wonderingly over a pale nipple, watching in abstract amazement as the smooth flesh firms and crinkles under my finger. I suddenly want to taste him, to take some small piece of him so deep inside myself that no one could ever find it. It is a delicious torture that I allow myself to prolong by closing my fingers, and pinching the tiny peak, rubbing it between the calloused pads. He lets out a long breath, and his hips jerk up, thrusting his cock into the air so close to mine that I can feel the electricity sparking between twin pillars of burning flesh. I lower my upper body, keeping my eyes fixed on his strained face, and take his nipple into my mouth, alternately teasingly suckling and nipping with bruising little bites. He thrashes wildly underneath me, undulating with a primal rhythm as his body seeks more than I am willing to offer just yet. He has taken so much of me, though it was willingly given – he must learn to give a bit in return. Even if it is only the darkness of the shadowy void. His groan rings oh so prettily in my head, and cognizant thought flees.

I focus all of my attention on abusing the two sensitive nibs, and avoiding the contact of our cocks. I do not want to lose this agonizing joy yet. His voice, lowered an octave and thickened with desire, cuts through the haze of suck, bite, lick that engulfs my brain. “Oh! Please!…Need…I need you. Now!” I lift my head, releasing his much abused skin, and he sobs in joint relief and frustration. I wait for just a moment – a few heartbeats. If he wished this evening to end as most of our nights together do, then the opportunity for him to take control has been offered. But he just stares at me, gasping in huge breathes of air, his chest rising and falling apoplectically. So. I offer him my hand, and he eagerly sucks first two then three fingers into his mouth, wetting them with anticipation. He may think to find his grace in me, but I shall likewise find my life within him.

I wish that I could tell him what this means to me – not only the sex, nor even the close companionability, but this exquisite balance, of light and dark, grace and life. But I cannot, so I merely run my unoccupied hand down his arm, to tangle our fingers together. A gesture of utmost sweetness, meant to tell him that I accept my role in his life, that I recognize what he asks of me, and know exactly what I may have in return. A gesture that he will never understand. Thank the Gods. Though…perhaps he has a vague idea, for as he locks our eyes together, and over the fusion of hand and mouth – wet and deep – something sparks in his eyes. Then his hand sweeps lightly over my throbbing desire, and my last traces of self-control vanish.

I yank my hand from his mouth with a gasp, jerk myself out of his reach, and move my focus south. He whimpers as I part his legs with mine, and screams as I breach his sensitive entrance with a single saliva dampened finger. But I have anticipated it, and catch the scream in my mouth as I tangle our tongues together and seek within him. I know that I have found the responsive gland when his body jerks up and locks, his eyes wide, and tongue still. For this instant he is mine. His skin shudders under and around me, frozen in a crystalline miasma of pleasure. I hold it for as long as I can stand, then withdraw my finger, and thrust inside again, joining the first finger with a second that stretches and prepares him for my thickness. The intention redoubles my own desire, and I let my other hand drift to his cock. The sooner that he is ready… He arches, and cries against me without remission, each action adding to the blaze within my body. I add a third finger to the cavern that is now as moist as his mouth, and so much more intensely heated. I swivel my thumb over the round head of his cock, smearing the droplets of precome, then can hold out no longer. I pull my hand away from his hungry opening, and position the blunt head of my desire, then push so slowly, and so carefully past the first, still tight, ring of muscle, and sink into the depths of darkness with a cry of my own echoing in my ears.

He surrounds me, pulsing, searing, all-consuming. My body comes to rest on top of his, and the flood of sensation and emotion, writhes between my body and my soul, coalescing into one, single, overwhelming need. This is the true nature of life, this divine union. It is a moment of pure beauty. Until he rocks his hips against me, forcing me to thrust deeper into the layers of hot and soft. I cry against him and give way to the wave that begins to overtake me, pounding into his body, barely able to control myself enough to see to it that with each thrust I scrape against the tiny gland that wrings desperate cries from his lips. Desire, passion, lust, need, salvation… everything merges into something that is greater than my light or his living force, and I break with the beauty of it, release myself sobbingly into his body, giving again, and taking him with me, as he pumps his seed into my hand

I lie still atop him now, spent and subsumed. One hand comes up to toy with a strand of his hair as I slowly open my eyes. I cannot face what I have done this night. The road that I have stepped upon should never be journeyed. I start to withdraw, to pull away, end the connection and become myself again. But he holds me in place, his hands pulling my face back to his, his mouth meeting mine, and I give in, and answer the call of darkness again. But this time, as my mind’s eye stares into the abyss, and our tongues tangle, I see myself looking back. He will leave again, come morning, and this time – though I have tried so hard to avoid such a thing – he will take a part of myself with him.

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