The Steward of Gondor put down his empty goblet, and stared around
the room unhappily. His wife was nowhere to be seen, and he wondered
whether she had returned to their room or had gone off the new horses
that had arrived from Rohan. He would expect no less from her, he decided.
The hour was late and the sky outside was dark but the White Lady from
Rohan would not pass up an opportunity to mingle with horses. Or, he
wondered idly, she might be with someone else.
*We are a strange couple* he mused to himself. And they might have
seemed so to others. They liked each other, there was no doubt about
that. They were in fact quite fond of each other and the bright conversations
they had with each other, peppered with intelligent verbal sparring
usually left anyone listening to them, smiling. But that was all. They
were more friends than husband and wife. He wondered often if he had
done correctly in marrying Éowyn. They had no spark between them at
all. Their very first attempt at lovemaking had made that clear to both.
It was completely devoid of passion. A few half-hearted attempts later,
they had decided to abandon the idea altogether. They would enjoy each
other’s company and that would be all. They did share a bed off
and on, but it was a dry, lacklustre affair.
He rose, disinterestedly from where he sat, and set off on an aimless
walk. He thought he might be drunk, as he stumbled off down a hallway,
feeling extremely funny. It took him a few minutes of walking into different
large ornaments and hitting up against walls to decide that he was indeed
not entirely sober and that he wanted his wife. That realisation nearly
stopped him in his tracks. He wanted to feel her soft skin, he decided.
He wanted to be kissed, not that silly brushing of lips, he wanted to
feel a real kiss. He thought he might have felt one in a brothel near
the stables once. The girl had had red hair and showed him how to kiss.
She was probably an ageing crone by now, his fuddled mind told him.
Perhaps he could persuade Éowyn to hold him a while. He had had too
much ale and that always gave him bad dreams. And it was the time of
the year again when they would celebrate their victory in the ring war.
The weeks before the anniversary were always the worst time of the year
for him. The memories associated were all unhappy ones. He would never
be able to sleep unless she held him as she had done when they had first
been married. The security of each other’s touch had been their
sole comfort then.
“But how do I find Éowyn anyway?” he asked aloud, as he
stood at a landing where three hallways met, “She can’t
still be in the stables! It is dark now . . .”
Almost as though in answer to his question, a shaft of moonlight broke
through one of the windows in the hallway to his left. It fell on a
long golden sheet of hair.
The moon dipped behind the clouds and the corridor was bathed in darkness
again but he had seen what he needed. He found himself smiling happily
as he sneaked down the corridor, deciding to surprise her. He could
sense her turn halfway, even as he approached. He had not been very
quiet then, he thought remorsefully, a she lurched forward, and gently
taking her arm pulled her into the nearest room. He knew this corridor;
it was where the second set of guest rooms was. He was sure they were
unused right now, but they were always kept readily furnished. No one
would disturb them, and anyway, she would allow no more than a kiss
and a cuddle.
She was wearing a new scent he decided as he smelt a soft smell that
reminded him of leaves and the forest. But he could also smell the strong
horsey odour that always trailed her.
“I was searching for you,” he said softly, as he hugged
the slim waist and buried his face in the golden fall. He felt the figure
in his arms stiffen a little and almost despaired at that. He needed
someone tonight, of all nights. It was maddening, but he knew he could
not sleep alone.
“Please, will you lie close to me tonight? Hold me a while. I
do not think I shall sleep otherwise. I had too much ale and the day
has been wearing,” he murmured hating the almost pathetic tine
his voice took on. But he was desperate now. He had felt this nearness
and he needed more of it. The figure in his arms moved closer. He thought
he could make out a nod in the dim light. For a second it almost seemed
that she was taller than him, but he dismissed it as a trick of the
light.
They entered the room in all its darkness and he felt his knees hit
the hard wood of the bed.
“This way,” he said, and led her unresisting figure towards
the large bed. He undressed quietly, and joined the prone figure he
could just see outlined against the pillows. She seemed to be loosening
her clothes too. They looked different, he thought but then realised
she must changed into clothes more fitting for the stables.
“Oh love,” he murmured brokenly, as he lovingly ran a finger
over the soft smooth curve of the neck and simply sighed as the golden
tresses caressed his face, imbibing the new scent.
A shuddering sigh sounded out in reply. It was all he needed.
His mind in a whirl, he pulled her close and brought his lips near
hers. Outside the window the clouds parted and moonlight flooded the
room with a magical glow. Faramir smiled into the figure in his arms,
and then froze, almost in terror as he saw who it was he had actually
mistaken for his wife.
“You! Oh Valar! What are you -?”
He stared back at the prince of Mirkwood in shock and confusion for
a second before realising he still held him in his hands. Then he promptly
dropped him and jumped out of the bed all in one fluid motion.
“What have I -?” Oh dear Eru! I – I – Legolas!
I – do not – I apologise – it was – I am not
–“
He stared back remorsefully at the Elf who was now lying under the
pristine white sheets that covered the bed, his tunic half open displaying
a smooth chest gleaming a milky white as the moonbeams danced over it.
“Were you expecting someone else?” came the query, as the
elven prince rose and gracefully slipped off his tunic.
Even in his bewildered state of mind, the steward could not help but
notice his flawless beauty. Then he realised he was completely naked
himself, and grabbed for the other sheet to cover himself up, even as
he continued blurting out apologies. The sheet would not move. He looked
up and saw Legolas sitting firmly upon the sheet, his blue eyes twinkling
merrily as he refused to let it go.
“Yes, I thought you – oh Gods! I –I shall leave now.
My apologies – I do not know what came over me,” he continued
stammering.
“Do you have any plans for the rest of the night, my lord steward?”
“No,” he replied without thinking, and then realisation
hit him as he saw a curling smile his friend’s lips, “What???”
“Then why do you not finish what you began, my friend. It is
most unlike you to leave matters incomplete like this,” came the
musical voice, as the elf stared at his bare body unashamedly.
Faramir gaped back. Was Legolas mocking him?
And then Legolas pushed back the sheet that covered him from the waist
down and pulled off his leggings with a flourish. Faramir stared back
at the supple, pale body slowly uncurling from under the sheets. A dim
roar filled up his ears as his eyes involuntarily slipped from the smooth
chest, down the slim, flat stomach. He felt his legs wobble, and then
Legolas was helping him sit down.
“Do you always behave so, when someone invites you to their bed,
my friend,” came the crooning notes in his ear.
“You – *you* - want me? In your bed?” Faramir could
not believe his ears. He must have misunderstood. An Elf, and one like
Legolas – and him?
“Yes,” came the simple answer and then he was pushed back
against the pillows, and Legolas was leaning over him.
“To – to do what? I mean, why??”
“Why? What do people do in bed, dear friend?” the elf’s
exquisite face was barely inches away from his own, “But what
if Éowyn returns?”
“This is a spare room. No one will come here. I must be dreaming,”
Faramir said decisively, as he stared into the azure depths of the blonde’s
eyes, “I shall wake up and find myself back on my bed all alone.”
A smooth hand tenderly caressed his cheek, “Do you often get
such dreams?” then the hand slipped down to his chest and brushed
his nipples. He gasped loudly, and his open mouth was immediately claimed
by exquisitely shaped pink lips.
He felt Legolas pull him up. They were both slender men, but the Elf
was naturally lighter than him. Hands caressed him even as an insistent
tongue examined every corner of his mouth. He shut his eyes and let
the strange emotion wash over him.
The kiss was passionate, and everything he had dreamed of, but never
received till date. He could not even remember the last time he and
Éowyn had even brought their lips near. A hot tongue roved his mouth,
exploring each corner, and he felt his entire body go limp at just the
sensation of having another’s lips over his. He thrust himself
closer to the slender but strong body of the elf prince and wrapped
his hands around his back, feeling the strong muscles of the slim back
under his trembling fingers. He could feel hands roving his own back,
a shivering touch down his spine, coming to rest at the base. The other
hand was gently placed behind his neck. He shut his eyes, letting the
bliss overtake him.
The hand on his neck moved down while the other one came up his chest.
His eyes opened wide at the touch, even as the kiss deepened. Warm fingers
toyed with one of his nipples, and his entire body began screaming.
He felt himself hardening even as he continued to push against Legolas’
body. He was almost breathless now, but he did not care. He simply clutched
at the smooth skin under his hands and let himself go limp as the ministrations
sent him nearly dizzy with desire.
Legolas pulled away from the kiss, and smiled as he took in the completely
enraptured face looking up at him, want dripping out of the sea-grey
eyes. Then he looked down at the man’s body and smiled even wider,
and twisted the nipple a little. Faramir moaned incoherently and threw
his head back in delight.
Legolas held him by one hand, and took in the sight of a thin torso
and a flat stomach, marked here and there with battle scars, the ribs
accentuated as the steward arched his back. He ran a hand over his midriff
and explored a little lower, smiled as another soft cry erupted from
Faramir’s throat. Then he returned to explore the exposed chest
and stomach. He ran a hand lightly over the now swollen nipples, inducing
another soft cry. Then he ran a finger down in a line to the navel before
placing his palm flat against the taut lower belly. Faramir pushed against
him once more before letting his head drop forward and falling against
Legolas’ chest, moaning all the while.
“Please -,” he whined, not sure what it was he was pleading
for. A gasp sounded out of his lips as the intrusive hand settled over
his groin, pressing him lightly, rubbing gently, and causing complete
chaos in his mind.
“You are needy, aren’t you?” came the amused reply,
“Very well, you asked for it, love.”
Legolas pulled the steward of Gondor down to the bed so that he lay
spread out, nude, and took in the sight with a deep breath. He had never
really noticed the younger man earlier, though now he wished he had.
He was smaller than most men he had known and Legolas had known a few
and something told him he would be a lot more pliant than any of his
other lovers. Perhaps it was the way he kept arching up in desire, he
decided, as he stood up straight in front of his latest conquest, letting
the moonlight play on his beautifully proportioned body. He had a feeling
he was going to have to take the lead here. It was role he liked very
much.
Faramir’s eyes were wide open as he took in the flawless, smooth
skin of the elf in front of him. His own body was nowhere near this
- very far, in fact, he thought miserably, as he looked down at his
body. Years of fighting had left ugly marks all over him and outdoor
living had made his skin look weathered in comparison to Legolas’.
“Are you going to take care of your own needs, dearest,”
came the teasing voice as Legolas hopped onto the bed. He held a small
box in his hand, and Faramir wondered idly what it might contain.
“Enough of this fooling around, I think,” Legolas murmured
softly, “Shall we get down to the real thing, my lord steward.”
“Don’t call me that,” he mumbled, “It reminds
me of those old fogies in the court.”
The elf threw his head back and laughed.
The steward spoke on in what he hoped was a teasing tone.
“Are you not going to get down to the real business then?”
he asked, unable to keep the excitement out of his voice.
“I think I shall like this little thing we have going,”
Legolas said dreamily, “Such want, such desire.”
He moved forward and spread Faramir’s legs apart, not noticing
the little tremor that rippled through the steward’s body. He
made him bend them at the knees, and then pushed a pillow under his
hips before teasing his finger along the inner thighs. Faramir felt
his arousal throb even more at the mere touch and whimpered again.
The elf prince ignored his cries and gave him a soft kiss on his lips.
Then he kissed his forehead, the tip of his nose, and his chin, all
the while hovering over Faramir’s body, brushing their erections
lightly. Then the kisses moved lower down his throat and neck and chest,
all the way to his navel. He rose, and smiled at Faramir who was uttering
tiny whimpering sounds at each touch, and writhing under him. He placed
his hands around the erect shaft and squeezed gently. A whine erupted
from the steward’s mouth.
“Pl-ease -,” he moaned.
Legolas tightened his grip the slightest bit, and began murmuring dreamily,
“If I had known you could look so, my dear, why I might have carried
you off one of those council meetings that you sit so stiffly through!”
Faramir took a deep breath, and whined again. Legolas grinned. He had
never seen the man like this. He had always seen him as a solemn quiet
figure that always had an intensely serious expression on his face.
Instead of the trim, expressionless young steward, he now had under
him a flustered young man with his hair disarray and his skin flushed.
Still smirking, the elven prince removed his hands and observed the
disappointment that was induced by that simple move. He could feel himself
getting aroused even more so. Then he ran an oily finger over the tiny
opening exposed to him. The steward looked very tight. He knew he was
going to enjoy this night greatly.
Faramir realised what the box contained when the finger poised itself
at his puckered opening and then dipped in. He tensed up immediately
at the intrusion, causing Legolas to give him a look of confusion.
“Relax, young one,” he cautioned, as he twisted his finger
in a little more. Looking up he saw the desire in Faramir’s eyes
crowded out by fear and apprehension, and promptly pulled out his finger,
causing the steward to hiss in pain.
“Have you ever been with a man before?” Legolas asked gently,
and then sighed as Faramir shook his head, “Ah yes, the sons of
the lords of Gondor don’t just tumble into bed with every common
soldier, do they?”
“There is a very strict hierarchy in the army,” he agreed,
“besides, there was no time when we were out and when we were
back, well, there were many accommodating women to be found.”
“You should have told me before,” Legolas chided gently,
as he leaned forward and pulled the young man into his arms. Stroking
his face gently, he spoke again, “What should we do now?”
“Do it,” Faramir mumbled.
“What?”
“Please – I want you inside me,” Faramir repeated.
“You are sure of this?”
“Yes.”
Legolas didn’t need a second invitation. He could hardly remember
the last time he had bedded an uninitiated man.
“But you must tell me when it hurts,” he said.
Faramir nodded nervously, and steeled himself as he was placed back
against the pillows and the finger entered him once again, this time
covered with more oil. He clenched the sheets to help him relax and
not fight the intrusion. He wanted to cry out but Legolas was watching
his face and he had to keep himself composed.
The elf prince did notice the spasm of pain crossing his young lover’s
face and though he felt remorseful, he also felt a twinge of excitement.
No other man he had bedded had ever looked so nervous, so scared and
so completely vulnerable. They always seemed to be big and strong. Until
he had them weeping like babes. But Faramir had already reached that
stage and he had done nothing yet. He pushed another finger in, frowning
a little at the tightness he encountered, and tried twisting the two
digits around.
“Don’t fight it,” he told Faramir whose eyes had
widened even more. He could clearly see pain on his face now.
He stretched the unyielding muscles some more, and the eyes in front
of him screwed shut. He spoke softly and got Faramir to relax and let
his fingers move in with more ease. When he was sure the man was ready
for him, he pulled out his fingers and leaning forward kissed him on
his lips.
Faramir watched nervously as he coated his shaft with the oil, stroking
it with gentle precise movements, engorging it further. Legolas watched
his eyes, and then suddenly handed the box of oil to him.
“Will you do it, please, dearest?”
Faramir stretched out a hand in a dream-like state, his eyes not leaving
the perfect body in front of him. He still found it hard to believe
that Legolas could want to make love to him. The elf prince took in
his stupor with an indulgent smile, and had to literally shove the unresisting
hands into the box, and coat them with oil. Then grasping them, he brought
them to lie over his member. He was aching for release but he knew he
would have to go slow. He wrapped Faramir’s hands around his arousal,
and then moved his own fingers away, watching the way the steward’s
eyes went wide at the touch. He himself felt the thrill course through
him as the grip tightened. He gave out an encouraging nod and Faramir
began to slowly, uncertainly move his hands up and down, covering him
with the oil. He hissed at the feeling. Slowly the fingers moved, hypnotically,
methodically, up and down his length. They were inexperienced hands,
but still able to work magic. He covered the fingers with his and the
two pairs of hands soon began to move in tandem. He could see that just
the touches were affecting his partner too.
Finally when he could take it no longer, he moaned and took the steward’s
hands off. Confused grey eyes stared back at him in surprise. He returned
a reassuring look, and gently laid the man back against the pillows.
The oiled entrance waited invitingly in front of him, and he tentatively
placed the tip at the puckered hole. At his questioning look, Faramir
nodded slowly. He entered him slowly, allowing the inexperienced muscles
to widen and contract around him, as he pushed.
Legolas felt the warmth encircle him. The steward was tighter than
he had expected and he gasped as his hardened muscle was hugged by the
resisting walls of the virginal passage. The squeezing feeling sent
him into raptures and he soon gave himself in entirely to thrusting
inside Faramir, feeling the unyielding ring of muscle cover more and
more of him. In his excitement, he didn’t notice the beads of
sweat forming on the steward’s grimacing face, until a soft whimper
made him glance at him with concern. Faramir was trying hard to keep
from grimacing. But he was too deep inside to pull out now so he leaned
forward and kissed him gently instead. Faramir’s legs were hugging
his waist now, and he could feel the knees digging into his back. The
sensation only served to arouse him further. He grabbed the steward’s
erect shaft and began running his fingers up and down it.
Faramir felt as though he had entered a dream-like state. Nothing was
clear to him any longer, save that he was experiencing great pain and
untold pleasure at the same time. Legolas was completely sheathed inside
him now. He felt the elf begin to rock against him. He was about to
cry out in pain as the intrusive organ shifted when he felt a sudden
indefinable pleasure hit him.
The pain vanished and the feeling that washed over him left him breathlessly
begging for more. He thought he might have screamed. He thought he beat
his hands down on the sheets, and kicked his legs out. His back arched
up over and over again, as waves of pleasure hit him.
When reason returned, he was lying panting on the bed, with a smiling
Legolas leaning over him. He lay spread eagled among twisted sheets,
his stomach and legs and covered with the sticky evidence of their releases.
He felt completely limp and lacking the energy to even lift a hand as
the elf prince stroked his face gently.
“Did you like it, sweet one?” Legolas purred into his ear,
taking in the sight of the dishevelled but overjoyed man under him.
There was something incredibly arousing about that entire state of disarray.
Faramir stared up at him wild-eyed, “I have never known anything
like it,” he said quite sincerely. Legolas had no doubt he’d
meant it. From what he’d seen of the steward and his wife, he
was quite sure they completely lacked passion towards each other.
“Better than your wife?” he asked wickedly.
A look of pain flashed through the grey eyes below him, and he felt
a stab of guilt at having said what he had, “That is a very different
experience,” came the dry response finally.
Legolas could think of only one way to atone. He stretched out over
the passive figure, covered him completely and kissed him on his lips.
He ran a hand down the side of the face under his and gave him a deep,
loving kiss.
“You were wonderful too,” he murmured when he pulled away,
and lay down by the steward’s side.
It was the way he said it that brought the question to Faramir’s
heart.
“Will we ever again lie together like this?” he blurted
out, almost scared of hearing the reply that he knew he would receive.
“I am committed to another,” came a calm reply.
He had guessed that, but the lilting voice continued even as the skilful
fingers lovingly played with his hair, “Well, more than one.”
“Elessar?” the closeness between the king and his old friend
and companion had not gone unnoticed especially by one who spent much
of his time with either or both of them.
“Hmm… yes. We have known each other many days,” Legolas
admitted.
“And the other -? Your friend - Verasul, is it not?”
“Why, yes, dear one. You are so very intelligent. I have been
with him for many years; even before I met Aragorn. And he is very understanding.
But Aragorn might not be. And Éomer definitely will not be.”
Faramir nearly leapt up at that, “Éomer !!!”
“Yes.”
“Éomer ? My brother-in-law Éomer ?”
“I know none other, dear heart.”
“But – but – he is to – my uncle wants him
to – and Elessar too – they want him to – to marry
my cousin!”
“And he will. “
“But how?”
“We met in Rohan. He is such a dear child, so young, such energy.
I thought one night would be enough. Btu he will be heartbroken if I
do not spend a fair deal of time with him,” Legolas explained
with a sigh.
“So, this is this one night, is it?” Faramir asked softly.
“You have a wife, love.”
“Yes, I do,” he replied with a sigh.
“Do you regret this?”
“I? No! You have – you have given me such a beautiful night.
How could I ever regret this?”
“Ai! Now you are a poet too, are you?”
“No,” he said sincerely, “You have truly given me
a night such as I have never known before. Even if it is just this once,
I cherish it.”
“Dear love,” came the laughing response, and he was pulled
into a loving embrace.
Faramir kissed Legolas lightly on his lips. He knew that he merely
meant the words merely as an endearment. But it still felt good.
“There will be more times,” Legolas assured him.
“There will?” he could not prevent the note of excitement
creeping into his voice.
It did not escape Legolas’ attention and he felt almost flattered
at the reaction, “there will,” he assured, looking into
the sleepy grey eyes of his newest lover, “you said you had a
tiring day. Rest now. We can always continue this another night.”
Faramir smiled at that; a sweet smile that crinkled up his eyes at
the comers and made Legolas smile back at him.
“Would you like me to stay with you till you sleep?” he
asked, and received a relieved nod in return.
The moon dipped behind the clouds again, as they snuggled under the
sheets, secure in each other’s arms.
on to A
Moonlit Night
