Title: Heliotrope
Author: Haleth
Author contact: halethhaladin02@yahoo.com
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Eomer/Legolas
Warning: Mention of het proclivities, but not explicit
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters or settings, but I like to
play with them without gaining any profit at all.
Beta: Lemur
Feedback: Muchly appreciated.
Notes: Movieverse, with book back-up. What happened after the
coronation, with mentions of previous scenes and the reasons why certain
pertinent details about a certain King, Elf and Dwarf from the
Appendices were mysteriously missing from the end of the movie. Winner
of the LoM ROTK challenge.
Summary: It's an old story, boy meets Elf, drinks are consumed, a
confession is uttered, an invitation extended, an invitation accepted.
Legolas is not quite a prince. Eomer is not quite unhappy about that.

Heliotrope

The smile on Legolas's face was secretive at the same time it was full
of promise. Radiant in white, with an elegant silver circlet perfectly
complimenting his fair face and hair, Legolas's azure eyes shifted to
one side. Mischievous. Aragorn wondered what his old friend had in store
for him.

Legolas stepped back with a heart filled with gladness, for Aragorn
would now realize his fondest desire, his Arwen. He'd known of this
desire since he first met the ragged Ranger on the borders of Mirkwood.
Now the same man stood before him, a resplendent King. Legolas knew
well, had always known, that any dalliance between the two of them
served merely to quieten Aragorn's yearning for the Evenstar.

It had never bothered Legolas, to be a substitute. He was pleased to
help, and even felt the stirrings of what might be his first blush in
many lives of men, when Aragorn thanked him so discretely.

He loved Aragorn as a friend, and found him pleasurable, but beyond that
he had never wanted more. The Dunedan held the firstborn above all
others. He not only aspired to bond with the most radiant of Elves, but
to become as like to Elfkind as possible. He was too gentle, too serene
in his lovemaking for the tastes of the Mirkwood Elf.

Legolas dropped gracefully to one knee, to honour the brave Hobbits. He
looked over his shoulder and noticed one head, bowed in respect yet
still above the rest in the crowd. He smiled again, this time for
himself.

And so it was that Eomer, the new King of Rohan, found himself standing
in the middle of a large, well-appointed bedroom, gazing at a somewhat
drunken Elf draped over the stone balustrade, presenting his altogether
too inviting backside in the most lascivious manner. Stripped of his
embroidered tunic, and with white kid boots crumpled in a heap by the
door, Legolas stretched his body. Every muscle strained visibly against
the thin silken shirt and snug leggings. Eomer felt the desire churn
within him, yet he stood rooted to the floor, unwilling to accept what
seemed a clear invitation. He could not tell if that was Legolas's
intended effect, or a by-product of the copious amounts of fruit liqueur
Legolas had been quaffing all night.

'We are both alone,' was how Legolas had approached him at the banquet.
The Elf's eyes danced in the light of a thousand candles. He had the
serene, blissful look of his kin on this joyous occasion, but Eomer
could see something stirring beneath the façade. It made him wary, even
if it was a welcome distraction from the pomp and ceremony.

Legolas placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "You should not stand
alone. Some company, perhaps, would ease the discomfort written so
clearly on your face."

It was all true; Eomer was alone. His king was gone, most of his men had
returned to their land, and those who remained, his comrades of many
years, treated him with deference unsought. His sister was more than
occupied with her future husband.

And the new king of Rohan was not comfortable in the fine halls and
lavish apartments of Minas Tirith. He was comfortable amid splendour of
a different sort. His people were of a simpler, sturdier make. He did
not delight in this sort of gathering at all. The carved stone and
crystal and fine manners of court were not to his taste. He belonged
astride his horse, or in the Golden Hall of Meduseld, where sturdy oak
tables held soldier, peasant and king alike. He missed the wood and
earth and wind of his home.

But now, as King Eomer, he could sit at those tables with soldier and
peasant and still find himself apart. For kings are different, and often
alone.

Legolas understood this, so Eomer sat with the Elf at dinner, and stood
with him in the hall as the festivities began, and he did take comfort
from the company. He watched as Legolas shed a layer of decorum and
joined in the dancing, whirling with golden hair flying and limbs arcing
gracefully.

Elven laughter; Eomer had never heard it before. It was enchanting, and
unnerving, for Eomer couldn't suppress the conceit that it was intended
for his ears alone. He refused further ale once he felt himself begin to
respond to the charms of the Elf in what he considered an inappropriate
manner. But after Legolas returned to his side, flushed from the dance,
and handed him a mug, he drank. He drank because this otherworldly
creature at his side laughed and teased him about not being able to hold
his ale. He drank because perhaps it was more ale needed, not less, to
dull this shameful desire.

He followed Legolas to this room out of some sense of duty, or so he
told himself. He wished to be certain he arrived safely. Legolas had a
blue bottle in his hand, filled with a strange red liqueur, which
appeared a mysterious heliotrope through the tinted glass. It was wide
and round at the bottom, tapering to a narrow neck, flaring again to a
smaller bulb just below the spout. Eomer assumed this was for the
measuring of safe portions, but the Elf paid no heed to recommended
dosages. He drank again and again until the bottle held but a quarter of
the volume as when the evening began. Eomer had no idea how much an Elf
could safely consume, having only seen Legolas partake in the odd glass
of wine. The sheer volume ingested on this evening seemed to him a cause
for concern.

Legolas waved his hands and greeted passers-by as they made their way
through the streets and corridors of the city, gesturing as if the
bottle were now an extension of his arm, like his bow or knives in
battle. Eomer began to suspect that the purpose of the bulb at the top
of the neck was not, indeed, for measurement purposes, but designed to
keep the bottle from flying from inebriated Elven fingers. For the
bottle remained in Legolas's fist easily, and dangled now over the edge
of the railing.

"I am not like other Elves." Legolas said, as he leaned over the stone
railing and surveyed the dimming of the city below.

Eomer found himself unable to tear his gaze from the long legs of his
Elven companion. Finely muscled under the snug white silk. Calves flexed
as Legolas rose up on his bare toes, arched his back and stretched. His
hair, now loosed form its single, ceremonial braid, flowed like the
moonlight almost to his narrow waist.

"How so?" Eomer said, with his voice strangely muted. He had to clear
his throat. "You seem much like them in form and manner."

Legolas looked back over his shoulder and Eomer was startled by the
gleam in his eyes. It was hungry. "Do I? The High Elves would disagree.
I do not dispute that I share their form. Fair, most would think it. But
even among my own people, the allegedly simpler Silvan folk, I have
never really fit in." Legolas looked back out over the city and the dark
plain beyond. Elven eyes must have been able to pierce the darkness far
better than Eomer, for all the Man could perceive was a thick blackness
between Minas Tirith and the soft glow of Osgiliath. Perhaps Legolas was
not looking at anything.

"I delight in battle far too much. They deem it unseemly."

Eomer considered this. Legolas in battle was a sight to behold. He was
powerful, graceful, concentrated and, yes, gleeful at times. He
remembered seeing the Elf atop a mumak on the Field of Pelennor. He
moved with deadly accuracy, shouting the numbers of his kill. He and the
Dwarf alike drew something beyond satisfaction from it, and treated it
more as sport than battle. It was not, by Rohirric standards, so much
unseemly as exuberant.  "All great warriors draw pleasure from combat,"

"It is more than pleasure. It is gratification. I do not possess the
Elven detachment so admired by my people. It is the fault of my birth."

Eomer approached the balcony with care. Drunken confessions were rarely
flattering to the teller. He did not wish his companion any harm or
embarrassment. . "Be careful, Prince of Mirkwood. I would not have you
reveal what you might regret anon."

"You think me a prince?" Legolas flicked the silver circlet off his
forehead and balanced it deftly on the end of one outstretched finger.
"Son of a king, yes. Member of the court, perhaps. But I am no prince.
The mother of the true heirs to the throne of Greenwood the Great sailed
long before my birth. I am less that legitimate." He spun the diadem
around his finger, perilously close the edge of the stone rail. Legolas
let go and watched smooth silver sail through the air and come to rest
in the exact centre of a table just inside the door. "That is
ceremonial. I am awarded that honour by my father because of my service
to Middle Earth, not by my birthright. For I am something considered
worse than merely illegitimate in the Elven world, Eomer King. I am an
accident."

Legolas tilted his head back and let more of the rich red liquid slide
down his throat.  A crimson bead clung to the corner of his mouth, and
it took the self-discipline of a battle hardened warrior for Eomer to
not reach out and remove it. Instead he waited with breath stilled until
a pink tongue flitted out to catch the errant drop.

"Legolas, I think you may have had enough of that." Eomer reached for
the bottle but Legolas swung his arm back. Eomer stumbled forward and
found himself chest to chest with the Elf. The smell of the liqueur was
of sweet fruit and vanilla, combined with the clean, fresh scent of the
Elf.

"Never!" Legolas smiled. "Eomer, I wish to make a confession. I bid you
listen carefully and grant me my peace."

With a shift to the side, Eomer reached out and snatched the bottle from
Legolas's grasp.

"That is mine!" Legolas lunged forward and discovered that Eomer was not
only taller than him, always a welcome attribute as far as Legolas was
concerned, but was possessed of a longer reach as well. This did not
overly concern Legolas, as the manner in which he was now plastered
against Eomer in his effort to reach the bottle was a reward of its own
kind.

"I would not have you reveal anything to me because you are drunk, Elf."

"Drunk? I am most decidedly not drunk, Man!"

Now Eomer held the bottle out to his side over the edge of the rail. The
heat of the hard, slim body against him would not be tolerable for long.
He ached for more substantial contact, yet inched back, still not
convinced of his genuine welcome. Legolas followed his movements
gracefully.

"I have watched you guzzle this all night," Eomer said.

Narrow hips twisted against him, the unmistakeable bulge brushing
against his hardening length. Legolas let that distract Eomer for a
second only, and then, with a movement too quick for mortal eyes to
follow, he leaned out and snatched the bottle back. He raised the spout
to his lips and took a delicate sip. "I do not guzzle, my dear King, and
you need not fear my condition. This is naught but Elvish Flower Wine,
made of pomegranates and vanilla borage blooms and honey..." He licked
his pink-stained tongue across his lips, relishing the open desire on
Eomer's face at the sight. "We give it to the young ones at banquets and
celebrations. It merely renders them sleepy, and for a mature Elf there
is not enough in an entire barrel of this to cause intoxica…" he paused
and looked into the fiery eyes of the Man. "Do you honestly think I
could be persuaded by spirits to do say or do something I might regret?
Nay, dear Eomer, I know my mind. So allow me to lighten it."

"Very well," Eomer agreed reluctantly. He could not imagine what an Elf
could want to confess to him, he only knew it would complicate matters
further. "I shall hear you out, but do not look to me for absolution."

Legolas smiled in an alarmingly bright manner. "I seek no such relief. I
only wish to explain my behaviour. I am such a disappointment to Elves,
you see."

Eomer could not believe what he was hearing. This glowing, maddeningly
graceful creature could disappoint no one. "Surely, you exaggerate."

"Not at all. Until a few hundred years ago my faults could be explained
away by youthful excess or ignorance. But that excuse will no longer
hold. I am more than mature; yet still behave like an Elfling. You have
noticed the reserved behaviour of my kind. We are serene. Ethereal. I
can approximate this when need be, but on the battlefield and in the
bedchamber my true nature is revealed. You've witnessed the one…"

Eomer stepped back suddenly. Was this an offer being made?

"Do not look so alarmed, dear Eomer. I am not so bloodthirsty between
the sheets." The laugh had a bitter undercurrent, as if perhaps he was
after all. "But you must understand, my kind is expected to settle down
after a brief period of, shall we call it, experimentation. I never
passed out of that phase, and my choices for even the briefest of
affairs have been less than acceptable to my people." He smirked at the
widening of Eomer's eyes. "Do not look so shocked, I doubt you are
innocent of sexual experience."

The two stood staring at each other for a moment, until Eomer nodded. He
sensed he was about to discover much more about this Elf than he'd ever
dared hoped for, and the anticipation was delicious and terrifying. "I
am not. Shocked. Go on," he said in a hoarse whisper. "I am listening."

"Elves are fastidious," Legolas continued. "You have no doubt noticed.
It is even more so with the Elves you've met here in Minas Tirith, my
kin from Rivendell and Lothlorien. The tendency is for Elves to behave
as if above all others. We revel in nature, yet retain strict control.
Even our lovemaking is judiciously planned, as is our procreation."
Legolas sighed, smiles gone.

Eomer frowned to see such a fair face so melancholy.

"When his wife sailed, my father spent some time mourning before
embarking upon a discreet period of promiscuity. It is not unheard of,
as it helps to stave off the grieving. But my mother, an unimportant
member of the court, although certainly no commoner, committed the
ultimate offence. An affront to Elven nature; she conceived." Legolas
spread his lithe arms, as if to present himself to Eomer. "The
unfortunate product of that union," he pronounced.

Eomer struggled to understand what he was being told. Unplanned children
were common among his people; they were the cause of at least half of
all marriages. There was no shame in it.

"Here I stand, Legolas the not-prince son of a king, known for his
ferocity instead of his tranquillity, shamefully not promised to a
lovely Elf-maiden at my ripe old age, friend to a Dwarf, of all races,
and not settled in any way. To a man I look like an Elf. To an Elf I
must seem positively… Orc-ish." He finished his dramatic proclamation
with a healthy swig from the bottle, however ineffective it might prove.

"You judge yourself too harshly, my friend. You have all the grace of
your kin, and more, I would wager, of their beauty. You are no Orc."

Legolas laughed. The delightful, delicate Elvish laughter made Eomer
feel the Orc-ish one. "To you," he said. "Perhaps to you, dear King
Eomer." He touched, with a single finger, the sleeve of Eomer's heavy
tunic. "And I am sure I could use my fairness to make up for my many
shortcomings. And I could take a proper mate and resign myself to a life
of contemplation and pretended ethereal bliss. But, to be frank, I would
be bored. I require more of a challenge. I yearn for excitement."

"And you should have it."

"I want passion."

"As do we all."

"I prefer males."

"Oh."

Eomer looked at the slender but strong form as it turned back to face
the now-darkened city. Legolas favoured men. Males. Male Elves, he
assumed. Men of Gondor or the North, perhaps. He found his thoughts
drifting, unbidden, to the Dwarf, Gimli.

A low chuckle came from behind a curtain of golden hair. "I can read
your thoughts from here, my friend, and no, Gimli's desires lie
elsewhere. But men I have had, and prefer them to any sort of Elf. Is
this behaviour known among your people?" He said this into the night
air, as if it were a rhetorical question, and not directed toward the
man at his side.

Eomer had to think carefully about the question, in part because he was
finding it difficult to concentrate with the lovely backside of the Elf
presented to him once more. He also found the question confusing. Was
Legolas referring to the practice of Elves consorting with men, or males
consorting with males? He decided the latter was the more likely. "It is
heard of, particularly among warriors. At times it lingers beyond the
battlefield and makes its way into the city, where it is politely
ignored. Some would condemn it, and do so openly."

Legolas sighed into the dark. "And what do you think of it?" he
whispered. "Are you disgusted by the very thought of it, or do you
understand why one might wish another warrior? The desire for…a certain
intensity…"

"I have never experienced it." Eomer approached slowly. " The act, I
mean."

Eomer was close, very close. And filled with heat and tension.

Legolas straightened his curved back and drew back from the abyss,
toward the tall, broad form behind him. "What of the desire?"

Eomer brought two large hands around the Elf's chest, so that his palms
were centred by two small, very hard nipples. "I can understand the
desire." He let his hands rest on the alien, flat chest. Not so flat, he
discovered when he curved his fingers slightly to explore the tone and
shape of hundreds of years of battle.

Legolas gave a light shiver, and the movement seemed to make him flicker
in the dim glow of a lantern hanging from the wall. His pale form stood
out starkly against the black void beyond the circle of yellowish light.

"What of your people?" Eomer whispered.

The recently trimmed hairs of his moustache tickled the very tip of
Legolas's ear. The sensation brought memories to mind, memories of
stolen nights. Of the forest, of the mountains, of the tiny, dank back
room of a smithy in Dale, where his first male lover had worked as an
apprentice all those centuries before. He did not threaten to crack and
fade when his first love passed, as would be suitably Elvish. He mourned
and grieved, and it pained him deeply, but to fade was not his way. He
did not share his kindred's fear of involvement with mortals, and that
was something to be thankful for indeed, because the mortal at his back
was giving off the heady scent of desire, mixed with just enough
trepidation to make Legolas feel young again. "They do not oppose it on
principle. Two males may love and express that love in many different
ways. But they find the act itself unseemly, much as they find me. It is
never discussed openly. They deem it too base, too crude, too – "

"Dirty?" Hot breath washed over a sensitive Elven ear, and the ensuing
shudder gave Eomer courage. "I myself have never shied from anything. I
would entertain the thought of such an act. For although I," he
hesitated, "have 'experimented', I have never found true fulfillment
with a woman."

"Then I am not the only one with something to confess," Legolas
murmured.

"I find their pretty faces and slender limbs enjoyable, but find myself
frightened that if I were to take what I really wanted a woman would
break in my hands."

Legolas spun suddenly so he faced the Man, and tilted his head up to
meet Eomer's eyes. Clear, hot cobalt they burned, and bore into darkened
hazel. "I think you would find an Elf unbreakable".

"I do not doubt it." Eomer held his arms out, not touching the Elf but
encircling him.

Legolas pressed his slender length up into Eomer's wider bulk. The Rohan
King did not yield, but pressed back, strong. "However, if you are
merely seek an unbreakable woman, you will find disappointment. I may
satisfy you in with my fairness, but I am decidedly male."

Eomer reached down to cup the firm bulge straining against white
leggings, and shocked himself with his next words. "That will not pose a
problem at all, I assure you." He had never considered such an act in
his life. This Elf, though, this Elf all but demanded such action.
Eomer, though surprised, did not pause to overly question. The way
Legolas moved under his hand, so sinuous as he pressed himself into
Eomer's fingers, was enough reason to continue.

"My hands are not the delicate hands of a maiden. Would you bear them
upon you?"

Eomer trailed his fingers along a silk-encased, bow-strengthened arm. He
paused for only a moment at the sturdy wrist before taking the hand in
his and raising it to his mouth. It was almost as big as his own, and
capable of an iron grip. He laid a tender kiss on each knuckle. "I
have," he whispered against the battle-toughened skin, "ever found
women's hands too gentle for my taste. But I must warn you, my fair
warrior, were we to go any further, that may be the last gentle kiss
from me for some time."

Legolas nodded, breathless. "Agreed," he all but purred.

The time for worrying about decorum and consent was over. Eomer wanted
the Elf, more than he could remember wanting anyone or anything before.

Legolas was pressed back against the railing by heated muscle and
grasping hands. As he arched the image of a supple tree bending in the
wind was brought to Eomer's mind. But when Eomer spread his wide hands
under the gracefully bowed back he thought of sprung steel. The hardness
of the muscles there, as alien as the flatness of his chest, stirred
something very deep in Eomer.

One long leg snaked up around Eomer's thigh, to rest on his hip. This
brought their two lengths into perfect alignment, and caused Eomer to
responded with an undignified yet most satisfying grunt. The moustache
and beard, although still sharp from the recent grooming, did not scrape
Legolas's face so much as kindle it. And the ale taste in Eomer's mouth
mingled with something earthy and rare.

Eomer sucked the sweet flavoured tongue into his mouth and simply held
onto Legolas. It was difficult to comprehend, this burning desire
coupled with the hardness and strength and undeniable maleness.
Undeniable maleness. He pulled the other lean leg up around his hip, so
Legolas was all but perched on the very edge of the rail, but there was
no danger of falling. His arms were wrapped tightly around Eomer's
shoulders, his hands gripped firmly. And they were, it seemed, attached
at the lips. He was going nowhere without Eomer. And Eomer would have it
no other way.

With long, Elven legs around his waist and insistent hands now tugging
at his unnecessarily complicated tunic, Eomer turned and staggered into
Legolas's room. Loath to disengage himself from any of the wonderful
places they pressed together, he walked in the general direction of what
he remembered was a rather large bed. The solid blow of the heavy,
carved bedpost on his elbow confirmed his miraculous sense of direction.
He fell roughly onto the mattress with Legolas sprawled beneath him.

Legolas pulled his hips up, seeking greater friction, by tightening the
grip he had on Eomer's torso with his legs. His shoulders sank into the
thick mattress. Eomer spread his legs and felt his knees sink in. When
Legolas bucked his hips upwards, they both rocked to one side. The elf
dropped his feet to the mattress and arched his back. There was contact,
but the friction was somehow lacking.

Eomer grimaced. "This bed…"

"Is not made for what we have in mind," Legolas finished. "It is
intended for long nights of tender caresses, not two hungry warriors."
His eyes flicked across the room to the fur throw before the fireplace.

Eomer's eyes followed and lit up when they rested on the rug. He
scrambled backwards, then paused to look down at the Elf, his hair, his
limbs, all spread out around him. The fine tunic gaped open, revealing a
sculpted pale chest. In this light, Eomer could see wide dark nipples
under the thin silk. Widespread legs accentuated the size of the bulge
hidden by an intricately laced panel, and Eomer was seized by the sudden
desire, need even, to uncover what the ties hid.

He pushed the tunic up and pulled at the silk cords. Legolas did not
help or hinder his movements, but lay still and stared up at the face of
his friend. So wild, Eomer looked. Legolas had seen him look serious in
counsel, fierce in battle, angry and sad and joyful, but this passion
was something Legolas had only hoped he would someday experience
firsthand.

Eomer fumbled with the elaborate lacings. "Legolas, you must come to the
aid of my clumsy fingers. I am not adept at… thank you!" Swift pale
fingers had solved the puzzle in an instant, and Eomer pulled the supple
fabric down to find not what he expected.

The willowy form of the Elf had led him to the belief that Legolas would
display a similar delicacy in all places, hard and lean and pale,
ethereal and exquisite. He was correct on the first and last counts
alone, for the cock that sprang forth proved to be larger and duskier
and on the whole earthier than anything he could have imagined. It rose
from a nest of pale, swirling gold and it, along with the heavy balls
beneath, were many shades darker than the rest of the Elf. Eomer could
only gape at it in awe. Legolas writhed on the soft mattress and
whimpered.

"I fear we have lingered too long. The time for gazing is long past,
Eomer," he hissed.

Eomer backed away from the bed, pulling the half-clad Elf with him. It
took far too long to traverse the cold stone floor to the warm hearth.
They tumbled to the floor with Legolas on top of the Man.

"Why my sweet, ethereal, serene Elf; you weigh more than you look,"
Eomer grunted, "And I see now why your kin would think you rash."

"Enough words," Legolas growled and ripped the front of Eomer's tunic up
the middle, letting the fasteners fly. Eomer would have protested the
harsh treatment of his clothing, did the feel of steely fingers on his
chest not prove worthy of  a new dress tunic. Legolas rolled a thick
nipple between his thumb and forefinger, until Eomer bucked under him
like a restless stallion. "You promised absolution." He yanked the soft,
oiled leather of Eomer's leggings down and grinned wickedly. "At the
very least, I will demand relief." After a brief and arousing struggle,
clothes were done away with and Legolas mounted Eomer so they once more
aligned.

"I promised no such absolution," Eomer rumbled, "But I will freely grant
what relief I can." With that he ground his hips upward and was
satisfied by the low moan he received for his efforts.

The Elf gripped thick, long hair with both hands and rubbed his face
over Eomer's coarse beard with a moan. He craved the rough texture, the
feel of fur against his hairless skin. To his delight, Eomer's chest was
covered in a copper-tinged hair thatch, which rasped across his smooth
chest and set the Elf to writhing frenetically. Eomer gripped Legolas's
hip firmly to keep him from wriggling away. The Elf was sleek and hard
beneath him.

Eomer reached between them to capture both cocks with one wide hand.
Legolas signalled his approval with a hot huff of air across Eomer's
cheek, and a wet tongue licking from chin to temple. Eomer fervently
hoped he suited Legolas's taste.

Taste occupied his mind, so when slick fluid leaked from the Elf over
his fingers, the desire to taste the elixir was too strong to deny. He
flipped Legolas over and pulled the treasure to his mouth.

Legolas reflexively moved to defend himself. It had not been so long
since his last battle that his body could be caught off guard. But the
wet head of Eomer's mouth stilled his limbs, and he stretched back on
the thick fur rug, content to revel in this pleasure for now.

Eomer lapped at the thick cock. Sweeter than the syrupy liqueur, he
thought, and much more intoxicating. The further he took the unbending
flesh into his mouth, the better it tasted, and the higher Legolas's
melodic moans became. His hands roamed over splayed arms and legs, and
the soft skin of a torso that looked as though it was carved of cold
marble, but was hot to the touch. He kept at it until Legolas curled his
body around him, clawing at his hair and keening musically. "Stop,
please, Eomer, I would not have you undo me this way!"

Eomer drew his lips up the shaft with just a hint of teeth. He may not
have experience another male, but he knew what he liked. Legolas
convulsed beneath him. "Eomer!"

Eomer crawled up the prone Elf and let his weight rest on the lean body.
Legolas's eyes fluttered shut, his lips already swollen from hard kisses
parted to take in Eomer's eager tongue. Like this they stayed for some
time, while Legolas felt every muscle and sinew and bone above him, ran
his fingers through every bit of hair he could reach and rubbed his
sensitive skin against all he could not.

The rippling muscles under him drove Eomer to a fevered pitch. "I would
take you, Elf, as I've never been able to take a woman."

Legolas gave a sudden push and reached his hand down to grip Eomer's
cock. As thick as his own, he noted with bliss, and just as hard. "Are
you sure of that, Man? Perhaps the reason you have not found
satisfaction with a woman is that you wish to be taken as one yourself?"
Eyes now darkened to indigo, Legolas twisted his wrist and pulled a
frantic groan from the Man beneath him. "What say you, Eomer King? Will
you test if you are breakable?"

Eomer closed his eyes. The hand on his cock was firm and sure. The legs
tangled in his were as tough as steel, the arms as strong, if not
stronger. He wrapped his fingers around Legolas's cock. He had never
desired to be taken, but the way the slender hips could not remains
still for long, the way fingers slipped down around his heavy balls and
further, probing him, testing him, convinced him to push his thighs out,
forcing Legolas's legs wider as well. The first touch of finger at his
opening made him shudder.

He could not go a moment longer without knowing more of this act so
despised by both their peoples. He slid his own fingers over lightly
furred sacs and back to caress the hot opening beneath. Legolas threw
his head forward and all for Eomer was swaying golden hair and the soft
tips of locks caressing his face, the hard tips of fingers pressing into
him, and the subtle give of flesh under his own fingers until they
slipped inside the hot channel.

"Hmm, that is a most satisfactory compromise," Legolas whispered. He
swivelled his hips to attain greater contact. "But my greater experience
puts me at an advantage." He withdrew his fingers and gave a short laugh
when Eomer whimpered and raised his hips as if to follow them. Legolas
made a great show of sucking the fingers into his mouth, murmuring his
approval of the taste and slicking them with his tongue. He reached
behind himself, to leave his own body accessible.

The wetness eased the way considerably, and Eomer felt his cock leap in
Legolas's other hand when a finger slid into his body.  Eomer pulled his
fingers away from Legolas's opening when he met with resistance, and
slid them into his mouth, his eyes never once leaving the blue orbs
blazing down at him. He was at once overwhelmed by the taste. He wanted
more of it but Legolas slipped a second finger inside, and Eomer decided
that mutuality was the best course. He spread his legs further, pushing
Legolas's thighs up and opening him fully to Eomer's questing fingers.

Legolas pressed down around the two fingers that penetrated him. "Yes,
that…" he muttered and twisted his hand suddenly, almost violently
around Eomer's weeping cock. He had to arch his back to reach fully
between Eomer's tense thighs and slide yet another digit inside. Muscles
tightened around his fingers as Eomer grew wary, but the sight of the
Elf with his hips thrust forward, his cock purpling in Eomer's fist,
overcame any misgivings.

He followed Legolas's movements, adding a third finger, turning his
hand, and curling his fingers. Eomer shouted, Legolas bore down harder.
Eomer's head reeled and he could not breathe until he found his release,
and then his stomach and chest, almost to his throat, were bathed in
sticky cream. Legolas nestled between his legs, lapping at the seed like
a hungry cat, his entire body vibrating with tension. Eomer realized the
cock pressed against his inner thigh was heavy and hard.

He spread his thighs yet wider, beckoning. Legolas looked up at him,
with his red lips glistening in the firelight. "You would have me take
you?" A dark, delicate eyebrow arched upward, taut like a bow. Taunting.

"I will not break," Eomer growled.

Legolas was on him at once, turning him onto his hands and knees, hands
spread over a firm backside made strong by years of riding. He kneaded
the meaty flesh and mounted quickly, before Eomer could change his mind,
before he could even contemplate how it would feel to have that thick,
demanding cock inside. It was for the best; any hesitation on his part
would have delayed the sheer bliss of it.

Eomer reared back so that Legolas had to grab broad shoulder to stay
seated. "A stallion," he snarled. "You wish me to tame you?" Legolas
took a handful of thick, straw-coloured hair and pulled Eomer's head
back. "Is this enough intensity for you, or must I up the stakes?" He
reached around with his other hand, relieved to find Eomer's cock
hardening anew. He was not wrong about this one at all. He lowered his
head to Eomer's shoulder and sank his teeth into the skin.

Eomer roared and pushed his ass back to slam into Legolas's hips. It was
impossible to be so hard so soon, but he alternated between thrusting
his cock forward into the Elf's fist and his ass back to receive the
thick cock again and again. The cock struck something inside that made
Eomer go mad for an instant.

Legolas was shocked to find himself pushed back, onto his knees, with
Eomer sitting on his lap. Eomer threw his head back against Legolas's
shoulder. It did not give. Legolas kept one hand on Eomer's length and
the other on his broad chest. "Yes, my wild King, Bury me deep inside
you…" He bit at the exposed neck and shoulder, tasting sweat and leather
and the open air and traces of Eomer's previous release.

Eomer's weight and the awkwardness of the position made it difficult for
Legolas to thrust far, but Eomer more than made up for it by fucking
himself on Legolas's cock. With his powerfully built thighs spread on
either side of Legolas's bent legs, flexing and straining to keep some
control over his erratic movements.

Legolas took an ear between his teeth and hissed, "Now!"

"Yes."

Eomer was so tight and hot, quivering in his arms. Legolas pumped his
hips frantically and keened when he erupted inside his new lover. Eomer
clenched around him, prolonging his pleasure almost painfully. The flood
of semen from Eomer was not as copious as the first, but it tasted as
sweet when Legolas lifted it to his avid mouth. Eomer turned his head
and kissed Legolas around the Elf's sticky fingers.

"Elbereth, you are like something I have dreamed of…" Legolas gasped
when Eomer's swollen lips left his.

"And I as well, but I fear my legs cannot withstand this particular
dream much longer."

Legolas laughed and slithered out from under him. Eomer groaned when the
spent cock slipped from him, and slumped to the floor, half on top of
the other. He had never lain on top of a lover before for fear of
crushing them. Legolas did not complain, but rather drew his arms around
Eomer's shoulder and pulled him yet closer, and laid a single, tender
kiss on his brow.

"Not breakable, indeed," he teased gently.

Eomer twisted in his arms to face him. "Not at all, and glad of it. I
had no idea. I wish you did not feel the need to veil this passion
behind Elven serenity. I would see it more often."

"Oh, you shall, dear Eomer. Whenever you desire."

Eomer's face clouded. "That is not possible."

"Shh, I will not have the world out there intrude on this moment. We
will find a way." Legolas pressed soothing kisses all over Eomer's face.
"Think not on it, for I would enjoy you like this as long a possible.
Undone," he whispered, "and so very beautiful."

Eomer had no time to feel embarrassed by the unexpected compliment. He
would have protested that he was positively Orc-ish next to the radiant
Elf, but his words were interrupted by a heavy tread at the door, then
the opening of the door.

"Oh, so you finally found what you were seeking then, eh?" The loud
footsteps approached, and almost had to step over the long legs of the
Elf en route to the over-stuffed armchair by the fire. The Dwarf seemed
to be trying to take as little notice as possible of Eomer's
scandalously naked body curled against that of his friend.

Eomer froze, and was shocked to see Legolas nodding happily. "Oh, yes,
friend Gimli. You were absolutely right. He is perfect."

Eomer pulled away, stunned, but was stopped by the strong legs of the
Elf coiled around his thighs, pinning him to the ground. At least, he
thought to himself, his cock was hidden that way.

"Good. Maybe now you'll stop whinging about being lonely and never
finding real satisfaction. There is nothing more annoying that a whiny
Elf."

"Unless it is a grumpy Dwarf!"

"I shall be much less grumpy now that my fair friend is not pining over
the handsome King of the Mark!" Gimli reached toward the bed and tossed
a blanket at the all too naked display of male flesh. "Cover up, you
two, I have no desire to be feasting my eyes on a banquet of such overly
muscled male flesh." He tamped down some leaf in the bowl of his pipe
with a grin.

Legolas kept his legs wrapped tightly around his lover. The presence of
Gimli would not spoil his night. "So from your cheerful mood, am I to
understand that you also found what you sought, my friend?"

Eomer was busy spreading the blanket to cover the greatest and most
sensitive parts of his body, but not too busy to hear Gimli's bawdy
reply.

"Ah, well, not an Elf lady per se, but with enough Elf blood in her line
to fully satisfy my desires. I believe, however, I have tired the lady
for the evening. I much look forward to my next triste with the Lady
Lothiriel tomorrow evening."

Legolas laughed, and so close to Eomer's ear the sound made the hairs on
his neck stand up. Clear and bright, so unlike the husky growls of
earlier. Eomer sat up abruptly, tearing himself from the Elf's embrace.
"Lady Lothiriel, but she and I…" He stopped when he saw the crestfallen
look on Legolas's face. "We are not, not yet. It is a political match,
nothing more. I swear it to you, Legolas."

"I am pleased for you, my fair friend," Gimli chuckled, "that after but
one night you have a lover willing to swear oaths." He leaned forward to
light his pipe at the fire.

Eomer glared at his bent back. "I have a kingdom to rebuild. The people
expect a good match for me, and heirs to continue my line."

Legolas stroked the curve of Eomer's shoulder sadly. He was a foolish
Elf, for thinking he could expect more than one night with one such as
this.

"Aye, and a good match it will be, too," the Dwarf continued. "For I'm
sure the Lady will agree to produce heirs with you, if I ask it of her."

"If you ask? How dare you presume…" Eomer could not express his
indignation adequately, so he settled for clenched fists and a fierce
scowl.

Gimli sucked hard on his pipe. "There is a thing you don't understand
about us Dwarves, laddie. We are possessive, it's true, but we are
practical as well. I am willing to share, for the sake of politics.
Speak up, Legolas; will you share Eomer with Lothiriel for the sake of
appearances? After all, Ithilien is not so far from Edoras. I'm sure
many satisfactory visits can be arranged."

Legolas brightened considerably and lifted Eomer's hand to his chest. He
gazed at the flustered King with hope shining from his eyes. "Will you
agree to this, Eomer?"

"It is impossible. If anyone were to know of it, my people… your
people…it would be unfair to the Lady."

Gimli guffawed. "Nonsense, you are fair enough for her to spend time
with, and a decent fellow, I'll warrant. It won't be the same as having
me in her bed every night, but frankly, Elf blood or no Elf blood, I
don't think she would have the stamina to take me on every night. No, I
think this arrangement will suit everyone quite well."

Eomer looked from the hopeful Elf to the self-satisfied Dwarf. It was a
mad plan. There was no way they could keep such relationship s a secret
for long, and he said so.

"What of it?" Legolas dared to smile at Eomer. "Let them judge us, I
care not for their approval. I would prefer to have you as my own in the
eyes of all, but if that is not possible I could accept you as my own
behind closed doors."

"If it were any others it might work, but I am a King, and you are two
of the Nine Walkers. Your stories will be told throughout the ages, and
if they include something like this," he gestured at the three of them,
but then the gesture changed and indicated only him and Legolas, and
their state of undress.

Eomer shook his head, but then he thought of the Elf pressed against
him, the taste of his kisses, the strength of his embrace, the
intensity.

He gazed out at the balcony where the Flower Wine perched on the
railing, glowing purple in the lamplight. The image of that single, red
drop on his lover's lip crystallized in his mind. "And yet a thing can
be one thing, yet seem another if viewed through tinted glass," he
murmured.

Legolas followed his gaze to the blue bottle and nodded. "I believe we
can seem to be whatever we want, as long as we have some time to be what
we are."

Eomer opened his arms to welcome his lover. "And if the Dwarf's devious
plan does not work?"

Legolas and Gimli laughed at the same moment. "A little disgrace will
not harm us," the Elf said with twinkling eyes as he melted deeper into
Eomer's embrace. "Let them leave us out of the history books if they
disapprove of the truth so much. I would not let you go for anything."

End