Binding Ties, by Sue Castle. Rated NC17. No copyright infringement intended. Special thanks to MG, without whom there would be no story.

He was unlike anything Estel had ever seen.

In form he was not much different than those to whom he'd grown accustomed in his short years. Quick and light on his feet, leaving no footprint in places where Estel broke through the ground. Movements sure and elegant as a cat, laughter filled with music and song as gossamer as silk. His long hands held bow and blade with equal surety, his shoulders were as strong and his limbs as lean as the most comely of the Elves. But there the similarities ended.

Hair like the shimmer of the air on a fine summer day, long silken strands catching and holding the sunlight as it streamed through its web, a capture as swift and sure as it held Estel's gaze. Eyes not the deep blue of the Elven folk he'd known since he was a toddler in Rivendell, the color of the calmest lake at sunset, but the shifting blue gray of the morning mist, changing with every glance. He was a creature of mystery, even in the Court of Elrond surrounded by his distant kin, this Silvan Elf of the far north.

And Estel wanted him.

As was his wont, he made no move, gave no sign of his interest, well aware that in the eyes of the Elves he was a mere babe. As welcome as he had always been made, as loved as he knew himself to be, Estel was well aware that he was a Man, not an Elf, and in many ways that mattered most to him he would always fall short. Never was he more aware of this than in matters of the heart and the loins. Legolas son of Thranduil would no sooner look to him for pleasure than he would a child.

To himself, if to no one else, Estel had not been a child for some time.

Determined to put the illicit desire out of his mind, he rode out with Elrond's sons, learning the ways of horse and weapon, the wood and the river. When he returned weeks later, the emissary of the Tawarwaith remained still in Elrond's chambers. That night, as he had every night before riding out, Estel sat by his mother's side and watched. Waited. And wanted.

He did not know that his glance was noted, his interest returned. His desire mirrored. Late that night he left the uneasy rest of his bed and wandered in the quiet places, beyond the halls in the tall trees, beneath the moonlight. The glinting leaves brought to mind the shifting light of Legolas' hair, prompting him to drop beneath a sheltering tree and close his eyes with despair. The light hurt them, reminding him as it did of that he could not have.

Still, desire had its place, and relief its own. Far from any who might make note, though Elven folk were easy about such things, Estel loosened his fastenings and slid his hand into his leggings. His touch was no substitute for the cool slim fingers of the Elf filling his mind's eye, but it was the only touch he'd known, and he would content himself with it for now. His flesh stirred beneath his fingertips, sending shivers along his spine, but not easing the discontent in his expression.

"Despair sits ill on such a young face," a soft voice whispered next to his ear.

Estel froze, shock and arousal racing with equal fury through his veins. He could not have opened his eyes had his life depended upon his sight. His hand stilled around his turgid prick, and he wondered for a scant second if it were possible for humiliation to render a Man invisible.

His luck did not so run.

He expected to dwindle and blush. Quite the opposite happened. The surge of want that ran through him when a soft touch stroked the line of his flesh beneath the thin fabric of his leggings made him hard, harder than he could ever remember. A shudder began at the base of his spine, working its way up through his shoulders, and he felt his control slip.

"No," he ground out, wrenching his fingers from his shaft and fisting them below, tugging fiercely at his sac to stop the upward motion already begun.

"He speaks!" the Elf at his side mocked gently, and Estel finally opened his eyes to glare at the fun being had at his predicament. Legolas' eyes were darker than Estel had ever seen them, wide as a cat's in the night. His sharp-boned cheeks were stained with a thin flush, and his lips looked red, almost swollen. "Oh," he sighed, staring down at Estel. "Lovely."

For a moment Estel was confused, not having been called such before and not expecting such an appellation to refer to himself. Legolas pressed gently with his fingertips to the top of Estel's prick, left undefended when he'd reached for his balls, and all Estel's attempts at restraint were for naught. Arching up into the soft touch as if the continuance of his life required it, he cried out and came.

A voracious mouth covered his before the cry could completely escape. A questing tongue pressed against his own, choking off his breath and rendering him light-headed. When the kiss, if such an owning could be so called, ended, Estel's head fell back against the grass. The hungry mouth continued its exploration, roaming over his face, tracing cheek and jaw down to the line of his throat, peeling back his tunic to continue the journey southward. The world swung lazily on its axis, the branches above Estel's head dancing slowly, his eyes tracking them automatically. He was only aware of his state of complete undress when the warmth of his hand was removed from between his thighs and a roving tongue replaced it.

Tearing his eyes from the dizzying sway of the trees, Estel looked down wildly at the bright golden hair streaming over his belly, his own hand somehow entangled in it, cupping Legolas skull, cradling it to his body. He had no idea when he'd moved, but his hand wasn't the only traitor to his mind. His legs, as well, spread of their own accord, and his prick took a second interest in amorous affairs well before he would have expected. Woodland magic, indeed.

His hips thrust, and Legolas rode the wave of his motion effortlessly. The sensations cascading through Estel's body were unlike anything he had ever imagined, much less encountered, and he had no defense against them. Clever fingers soothed his sac, spread his buttocks and touched him firmly in places he'd never expected could make him hunger. But hunger he did.

"Legolas," he dared, wishing above all things to see the Elf's face, but wishing at the same time that the sensations caressing him from back to belly would never cease. Fortunately for his conflicted desires, Legolas knew much more of what he was doing than Estel, and read the need in the body surging below him as well as the ache in the voice above him.

Raising his eyes, blinking through the fall of hair over his forehead, he meshed his gaze with Estel's, not missing a stroke of mouth or hand. His eyes were nearly black now, the thinnest ring of smoky blue around them barely visible as a flash of silver in the dark. His skin glowed, his hair limned in moonlight turning it purest white, and Estel was utterly ensnared. One hand still caught in Legolas' hair, the other moved to trace the swelling of lips where his thrusts distended Legolas' mouth. The pressure of his prick sliding against the soft-skinned cheek was too much, combined with the unblinking stare consuming him, and he came again, the spasms ending quickly but making him tremble with the strength of them.

Legolas slowly eased the softening flesh between his lips, over and over, until Estel whimpered and tried to draw away. At this sign of discomfort, Legolas finally let fall the shine-slick prick and patted it once, an affectionate touch that still made Estel quiver. Sliding up the length of his body, skin kissing skin from knees to neck, Legolas closed his mouth over Estel's again.

This time the hunger warmed rather than consumed. The salt-sweet taste coating his tongue brought forth another whimper from Estel's throat. He'd never tasted his own seed, nor that of any other, and suddenly he was ravenous for it. His hand, enervated as it was, lifted and slid the length of Legolas' flank, tentatively brushing the heavy weight of Legolas' erection. With that light touch, the Elf hissed, and Estel froze, staring up with some trepidation into Legolas' face.

Cat-slit eyes stared back, a fire burning in their depths Estel had never seen. As he watched, the point of Legolas' tongue swept out, cleaning the last of the fluid from his lips. Estel shuddered, his prick trying to harden despite its exhaustion.

"May I?" he asked, his voice hoarse in his throat.

"Have you before?" Legolas asked in return, his own voice unusually roughened. "I would not have you do anything you would not choose."

"I want this," Estel assured him fervidly. Legolas' eyes closed as he swallowed, his throat moving slowly, drawing Estel's gaze, then his mouth.

Legolas' skin had a sweet taste, addictive with the first touch of tongue on throat. Estel followed that taste in a trail of tiny kisses, from the delicate sweep of pointed ear down the curve of shoulder, along the thin skin and hard muscle of ribs to a small point of cinnamon flesh that quivered beneath his tongue. Pulling back only far enough to see what he was tasting, intrigued by the ready peaking of nipples as he licked them, it was only when Legolas' palms began to push downward on his shoulders that he gave up his prize and returned to his exploration.

Following the curve of muscle along Legolas' belly, Estel tried not to rush, tried not to give in to greed and fall upon the feast before him as a starving man to a banquet. Rather, he tasted and hovered, licked and teased, learning as he went, until Legolas was moving beneath him, rampant prick thrusting into the air, slick pearls seeping steadily from the tip. Taking a deep breath, mindful of Legolas' patience despite his need, reassured by the undemanding weight of the hand resting on his shoulder, Estel leaned forward and covered the tip with his mouth.

The first taste exploded on his tongue and all thought of restraint vanished. He'd only been intoxicated once, but this feeling bettered that experience, the essence slipping over his tongue headier than fine wine. His mouth flooded as his body reacted to his thirst, and he felt his lips and chin grow wet from both his own uncontrollable reaction and Legolas' leaking flesh. Enough conscious thought remained to monitor Legolas' reaction, more from fear of inexperience causing dissatisfaction than anything else. The moans his actions elicited stilled the worst of his fears.

Closing his eyes and concentrating on the task at hand, Estel swallowed around the bulk pressing along his tongue, taking as much of Legolas' prick as he could before drawing back for a much-needed breath. Then down again, taking a little more, assuaging an inch at a time the hunger eating at him. He was nowhere near satiated when Legolas wrapped his hands around Estel's shoulders and drew him away.

The frustrated whine that escaped him at the loss of his treat prompted a tiny chuckle. Estel glared down at Legolas, then caught his breath in surprise as the world abruptly rotated, and he found himself staring wide-eyed up at Legolas. Whose own expression sobered, aside from the light twinkling in his eyes.

"May I?" he asked Estel, an echo of the earlier question, and nudged Estel's thigh with his knee to make his intentions clear. Still it took a moment for the meaning to penetrate. Estel stilled, staring into the clear eyes, searching for he knew not what. His mouth answered for his body before his mind could make a clear decision.

"Please."

Then Legolas kissed him again, mouth hot and wide against his, tongue questing deep, mingling and sharing the flavor from both of them. Whilst distracted by the new taste, slender hips burrowed between his legs, and long hands curved around his thighs, lifting and parting them. The grass bristled lightly against his skin, and the world as it was narrowed to the heat of Legolas along the front of him, wrapped around him, the cool ground below him, and the strength of Legolas moving within him, taking his body as surely as his mouth had been taken.

Even with the exertions of the night, and the draining of his body, there were moments of sharp pain, so close to pleasure as to be nearly indistinguishable. Fingers found him first, mimicking the movement of the tongue spearing his mouth, then a thin, long pressure followed, feeling as if it went on forever until it pierced his very heart. Slow but inexorable, the movement within him conquered him completely, leaving him open and vulnerable, yet completely safe, armored as he was pierced, in Elven flesh.

What little pain had been vanished as Legolas' movements gently continued, leaving Estel gasping for breath and clutching the bunched muscles in Legolas' shoulders, the only anchor he could reach. His legs drew up, linking around Legolas' flexing back, ankles hooking instinctively to lessen the strain on his own back and concentrate the sensation in his arse. As their embrace tightened, the gentleness hardened further into need, and the speed of Legolas' thrusts increased therewith.

From there it was a downward spiral of sensation, pulling Estel's soul loose from its moorings in his body and flinging it wide into the path of the stars. He had no seed left to give, but his body contracted as if it would, and his muscles clenched as lightning shot from his groin through his body, to the ends of his fingers, his curling toes, the crown of his head. His cry was muffled against Legolas' shoulder as the Elf suddenly stilled, thrusting deep and holding fast against the tempest shaking Estel's body.

As the spasms began to calm, Legolas shifted suddenly, as if unable to hold himself still a moment longer. His hips whipped strongly against Estel's arse and he emptied himself deep into the Man, his own crooned Elvish endearments sweet to Estel's ear. When it was over, his arms folded, and he rested his face against the hollow of Estel's throat.

They lay as one for some time under the trees, blanketed only in moonlight, seeing only starlight in the form of the other, until the sky began to lighten. With a sound that could be interpreted as regret or relief, Legolas unwrapt himself from Estel and reached for his clothing, discarded unseen in a heap whilst Estel's attention had been centered upon himself. Estel watched, eyes caught by the dawning sun as it played over the long clean lines of the Elf's body, captured and reflected in the gold of his hair.

Legolas glanced over at him, smiling seeming in spite of himself at the picture Estel made sprawled abandoned in the leaves. "Would that I could take you home with me," he said quietly. The words hung in the air, a sudden chill between them. Estel swallowed with a throat gone dry.

"When must you leave?" The question was more strident than he intended, quiet as his standard had been until his gravity had been upset by Legolas' advances. He felt a blush creep along his cheeks, and pulled his legs tightly into his body, sitting up against the tree as if he could melt into the trunk. Legolas glanced down at the fastening he was closing on his tunic, as if hesitant to meet Estel's eye.

Eventually the clasp was fixed, and the moment had stretched to the point where it was obvious Estel would neither repeat the question nor change the subject. Legolas bit his lip, then lifted his chin and met Estel's gaze full-on. "I must away back to my father's land, taking with me the messages Lord Elrond bid me carry."

"And this?" Estel waved, taking in the whole of the scene, the crumpled bed of grass and passion-marked skin on display, with his gesture. "A roll in the leaves before the long road home?" He could no more keep the hurt from his tone than he could the derision with which he coated it.

"A final temptation, more like," Legolas muttered, then shrugged one shoulder in a graceful motion denoting surrender with good humor. "Your eyes have haunted me since I arrived, leaving only the short days when you rode out with Elrond's brood. Had you not returned when you did, I would have bid you farewell in your absence, and banished you from my mind. For the days of Men are short, and I do not become entangled with them if I may avoid it."

He opened his mouth to protest but Legolas stayed him with one long hand, moving faster than the eye could follow to kneel beside Estel in the crushed grass, two fingers stopping the movement of his lips. "You, I could not avoid, try as I might. Last evening I did all I could short of knocking myself unconscious to keep myself clear of you, yet still found myself listening for your footsteps, following your trail here to the wood. You, alone, in a private place, your body roused and your mind distracted, were more than I could bear leave untouched."

Estel's lips moved, drawing Legolas' eye to them, followed by his mouth, and they kissed one final time. "Will you return?" Estel asked when his lips were his own again.

"Yes," Legolas replied, shaking his head at the light in Estel's face. "But I know not when, and it may well be long after you have gone to dust. I will not promise what I cannot deliver, whether it be my heart or my presence in a future I cannot foretell."

In that moment, a hint of his mother's gift shadowed Estel's mind, and he knew, regardless of Legolas' intent, that this was only the first of their meetings. Whether they would be in war or peace, impossible to tell with the darkness gathered round the edges of the vision, Legolas would be at his side once more. More than once.

Settling with that knowledge, he was able to give Legolas a final kiss free from resentment or anger. The Elf looked askance at him, but Estel merely shook his head.

"Ride safe and be well, my friend," he said quietly.

Legolas smiled at him, a brief flash of white that struck to his heart, then turned and was gone.

The encounter was the first of many changes in Estel's life. Riding back to Rivendell with Elrond's sons one day soon after, he noted Lord Elrond watching him gravely. For an instant his heart was struck with fear. Had news come of some ill fate befallen Legolas? The news he was given was something altogether different, and altogether wonderful.

He entered Lord Elrond's chamber that evening Estel the orphan, nameless and adrift in the world, living by the charity and affection of the Elves. He exited Aragorn, son of Arathorn, last living Chief of the Du'nedain. Late that night, he wandered the same forest where he'd lain with Legolas, for the first time with anyone, and saw the future writ large in the face and form of a she-Elf, a princess fairer than the Evening star for which she was named. Thunderstruck, he fell into worship, if not love, and his pursuit began.

It ended nearly as abruptly. His mother gave him warning, and Lord Elrond made it clear.

"Many years of trial lie before you. You shall neither have wife, nor bind any woman to you in troth, until your time comes and you have been found worthy of it."

As for the vision he had beheld in the night woods, she above all was beyond his reach. For she was Elrond's daughter, and finer than even the greatest lineage of Man could hope to attain. Even should he prove himself through years of harsh and valiant labors, Arwen daughter of Elrond would not be his. And until then, neither would any other.

"But I do not speak of my daughter alone. You shall be betrothed to no man's child as yet."

Visions of a great dynasty, a stunning beauty at his side, withered as Lord Elrond spoke. Subsiding into silence, Estel, now Aragorn, left the court of Rivendell, and commenced to wander. He put thoughts of love out of his mind along with other thoughts of happiness, and got on with the business of survival. For long years he refused to dwell on thoughts of Arwen or Legolas, bending his mind instead to absorbing the ways of the forest and the hearts of Men, learning the lay of the land and making few friends, among them a wise Wizard. The years were harsh, and his way lonely. Twenty such went by before he found himself in the far north, and the sounds of battle propelled him from memory of his past into foreshadows of his future.

The temerity of the Orc had only increased in the twenty years Legolas had been patrolling Mirkwood. It was the blink of an eye to an Elf, but even the immortal could become weary, beset on all sides by evil. One such day, after several, he found himself awash in a tide of foul creatures, coming at him from all sides, until he was mired in blood and gore up to the knee, still stabbing and shooting everything that moved. The sheer weight of them was nigh to overcoming him when a sudden disturbance near the flank of the enemy ranks took their attention.

He welcomed the moment's respite, and the shearing of their numbers. Over the heads of the Orc he could see a sword whirling, brute strength and the unique artistry of a blend of swordsman's styles making short work of the rear guard. Legolas found himself grinning, blood on his teeth that he spat as he fought, slicing, ducking, and slicing again, working his way toward the swordsman. In a short time, his newfound friend was at his back, and the Orc fell as blades of grass trampled beneath a horse's hooves.

The Man fighting at his side was breathing harshly, but not as heavily as one might expect, by the time the last of the enemy lay hacked to pieces at their feet. Wiping his blade on the legging of a convenient Orc corpse, Legolas sheathed it and nestled it securely betwixt his quiver and his shoulder blade. Turning lightly to face the blood- and filth-encrusted Man, he smiled merrily.

"I'd say it was past time for a bath. Join me?" He held out a long-fingered hand, and the Man hesitantly reached out to take it. Pulling his enthusiastic rescuer turned reluctant companion behind, Legolas neatly side-stepped the worst of the gore and headed further into the wood. The deep pool by the waterfall was calling to him, and he knew if he felt unseemly enough to heed the call of the water the Man must be near miserable with it.

Bright eyes watched him from beneath a tangle of dark, dirty hair, as Legolas stripped efficiently and stepped beneath the free-flowing water. The world disappeared for a moment into a blur of color, spectrum broken into sparkling gems as the sunlight dispersed through the falls. Then his face broke through, the water running clean over his hair, washing the small amount of filth that had caught on him away and the stench of the Orc with it. Blinking water from his lashes, he stared over at the Man.

Who stood, frozen on the bank of the pool, like a woodland creature afeared of a hunter. Legolas felt his smile widen.

"Come!" he invited again, his voice clear as bells on the air, musical harmony to the rush of the water and the call of the birds, only now returning as the threat was past. "Join me!"

This time the Man took him up on his invitation, stripping slowly with hands that held the hint of a tremble. Legolas peered sharply at him, disguised by the fall of water so as not to frighten the Man away with his intense study. There appeared to be no hurt done him to cause such a shudder to run through the Man's frame; he moved with the weary grace of a warrior in the aftermath of battle, but without the stiffness of the wounded. As he unlaced his boots, his head fell forward, and his hair parted over his shoulders. Legolas felt his breath catch in his throat.

There was something in the curve of his spine, in the nape of his neck, in the sinuous strength of his movements, that called to Legolas. It spoke of a night stolen from time, beneath the canopy of leaves and stars, sweet-scented unguents and warm spiced wine. It whispered to him of touch, and scent, and sound, and distracted him from the movements of the Man so that his appearance in the water beside him gave him a start.

The Man looked askance at him, hair falling now across his face, heavy with water. Legolas shook off his distraction and gave the Man a fleeting smile, invitation and play in his expression as he gestured toward the pool. The Man looked at the pool, then back at the Elf, then returned to the pool, before he shrugged a shoulder and dove into the water.

Another flash, of skin pale and freckled, lightly furred, long-muscled, the roundness of buttock and the line of ribs, jolted Legolas' memories. He knew this Man, and he knew so few. As the dark head broke the water and the finely-wrought skull flew back, hair whipping water through the air to rejoin the pool like a miniature of the fall under which Legolas stood, the curve of his face beneath his beard was clear for the first time, and Legolas knew him indeed.

"Estel!" he cried softly, diving into the pool to join his young friend.

"You do know me, then," Estel replied, a shy smile in his eyes unmatched with the solemn expression on his face. "I had begun to doubt you remembered me."

"I could not forget," Legolas told him truthfully, "but it was difficult to see you through the thicket of hair and the layers of Orc under which you were buried." His smile flashed again. "Your assistance was timely, and I thank you."

Estel looked uncertain, opened his mouth as if to speak then closed it again. Legolas moved until he was within breath's reach of the Man, and stroked the wet hair back from the angular face with one hand. The other extended to touch Estel's forehead, then his lips, lingering there to refresh themselves with the unexpected softness that met his fingertips.

"Most assuredly, I thank you," he repeated, this time in Elvish, and leaned forward the requisite inch to replace his fingers with his lips.

The Man froze against him, and Legolas made as if to withdraw, uncertain suddenly if his advances would be welcome. While time had been of no consequence to him, it loomed large in the span of Man, and perhaps Estel no longer wanted him.

His doubts were met, and cast aside decisively, as Estel reached out in return, wrapping his hands around Legolas' head and holding him close as he kissed him voraciously. He traced the edges of Legolas' ears with his thumbs as he pressed his tongue over Legolas', exploring the taste of him as thoroughly as Legolas had once done him. Legolas' eyes drifted shut and his hands slid down to embrace the warm rough form, fingers mapping the sturdy muscles in shoulders and back, the indent at the base of Estel's spine, the curved weight of his buttocks.

Drawing them together, he slowly ground his gathering erection against Estel, reveling in the heat and swelling he could feel in response to his movements. When at last their kiss broke, Legolas' head fell back, and Estel's mouth roamed, hot and hungrily, over the expanse of his throat.

"Estel," he moaned softly, then caught his breath as the warm lips stilled and blunt teeth nipped at his skin. The beard-roughened jaw rasped delightfully against his neck as the Man nibbled up until his lips caressed Legolas' ear. The breath tickling there distracted him to the point he almost missed the words they carried. "What said you?" he asked, unsure he'd heard correctly.

"My name is not Estel."

Legolas pulled away far enough to look into the mischievous green eyes. "Does my memory deceive me, then? Are you not the Man who gave me the gift of himself at Imladris at Lord Elrond's court, long ago in your time, yesterday in mine? The first such time the gift had been given?"

Mischief flared to passion, and dark lashes dipped low over the glowing eyes before rising again. "Yes," he answered softly, "but there have been changes in my life since last we met. I knew not then my true name, and since learning it have been far in the world, furthering my education."

Darting forward to steal another kiss, short but deep enough to maintain the fire of their shared hunger, Legolas asked, "What then am I to call you, other than friend?"

"Aragorn, son of Arathorn, heir to Isildur's legacy, although I pray not to his weakness." His eyes were watchful as he laid out his heritage, but Legolas was not deceived. There was vulnerability there, beneath the caution, and instinct told him this was information seldom shared, so doubly precious.

"Welcome then, Aragorn, to Taur-e-Ndaedelos. May your presence mitigate the shadow, and stay the night from deepening its hold for as long as you may dwell here." Sealing the invitation, sharing the pledge, Legolas closed the watchful eyes with kisses and swept away the lines of care with caresses.

There in the deep rushing pool at the foot of the waterfall, the Elf turned his face from the amarth shining in Aragorn's soul, and contented them both with the sweetness of the moment. The future lay in wait, as always, to trap the unwary, but the present was a gift to them both, and Legolas made full use of it.

Fingers followed the trail of water drops along the lines of trembling muscles held fast beneath silken skin, as Legolas reacquainted himself with the treasure he'd tasted but once before. Aragorn shivered beneath his hands despite the heat of the day and the sun-warmed water. His reaction pleased Legolas, who then undertook to sever the Man's thoughts from his body completely under the onslaught of pleasure.

Kissing sent them in slow circles in the water, the movements of their limbs around one another spinning them closer to the shore. Maintaining his grip on the slick flesh with the ready assistance of Aragorn, Legolas lifted them both to a broad flat rock swept smooth by the ever-flowing trickles of water. Wet enough to prevent the stone from scorching them in the sun, dry enough to prevent their amorous actions from sending them back unprepared into the pool, it was a perfect spot to sport for a stolen hour or two.

Hunger was as evident between them as it had been when first they came together, hardened by the passage of time and maturity into a blade with a sharper edge, biting deeply into both. Their love-play took on the appearance of struggle, as hands fought hands for purchase and mouths lapped greedily at mouth and throat and chest. Only length of contact finally calmed the battle, as Legolas found himself face to groin with Aragorn, and the Man in a mirrored position with him.

The first touch of beard-circled mouth to his prick broke a cry from his chest, pausing Aragorn in his actions. This not being the result Legolas wished, he wound his arm about Aragorn's hips and drew him in close, swallowing down the salt-slick need prodding his lips. No further encouragement was needed, as Aragorn echoed his actions, and some time was spent with eyes closed, hands clenching strongly enough to bruise, tongues and throats busy at their tasks.

Need grew greater as skillful touches continued, until Aragorn thrust helplessly and spilled across his tongue. In response, Legolas let free his control as well, whimpering softly around the shrinking flesh in his mouth as deep suction tore his seed from him. Once the storm had passed, they lie wrapt together for endless moments, the sun warming their skin, the mist from the falls cooling it before it could burn, the heat from their entwined bodies seeping deep into each, filling the empty places Legolas refused to dwell upon.

Such moments of completion were rare, to be enjoyed for the brief time they lasted, memory-jewels to be taken out and wondered over on dark nights when he was once again alone. For it had always been thus with Men and Elves, and no wishing of heart or soul could change the truth.

Soon rested, hunger barely abated, Legolas arose from his pillow on Aragorn's thigh. Brushing his body slowly over the Man's as he did, he was delighted to find signs of renewed interest in the rose-flush hardening the heavy prick, the dew of sweat gleaming through the dark curls scattered across the torso and the rise of nipples begging the touch of tongue, peeking through the denser chest hair. Legolas answered that demand with alacrity, spending a great deal of time licking and nipping lightly from his place at the center of Aragorn's groin all along his body. Much of that time he dwelt over the sensitive buds, causing Aragorn to twist and sigh beneath him.

Like fire from a lightning strike in the deep underbrush, arousal caught hard and moved swiftly again. Carrying his weight on his straightened arms, lacing his legs through Aragorn's and rubbing their heat together, Legolas scattered kisses across the bearded cheeks, along the fine nose and the high brow, nuzzling the long dark hair aside to trace his mouth from temple to jaw before returning to opened lips and questing tongue.

Callused fingers slid around his prick, around them both, pressing them together, riding them against one another, and Legolas moaned into the kiss, his tongue curling against Aragorn's. Unprepared for the touch, he spasmed, bathing them both in his sperm. His arms buckled and he collapsed, boneless, against the Man's chest. Aragorn met his moan with a cry of his own, then rolled them over until he blanketed Legolas, pressing him into the wet stone.

Pushing Legolas' legs apart with his thighs, Aragorn settled in the cradle thus created and broke the kiss long enough to repeat the long-ago question that had first introduced him to this pleasure. "May I?" he asked softly against Legolas' lips. Had he his way, it would become a ritual between them, used often.

The Elf answered him with a swipe of tongue across the question and the ready spreading of his thighs to their fullest. He wrapped limber legs around Aragorn's waist and hooked his feet behind the Man's knees.

Needing no further invitation, Aragorn pressed in slowly, making good use of the semen spilled moments before. Still it was a difficult press, it being some time since such intimacies had been taken. Legolas moved beneath him, breathing deeply and calling on his body to welcome the invader. The bulk of the length moving into him stole the breath he fought hard to keep, and by the time Aragorn lay full against him, panting into the side of his neck, Legolas saw stars in broad daylight.

Their light was nothing compared to the explosion behind his eyelids as Aragorn began to move, unable to remain still a moment longer. His voice rasped harsh in Legolas' ear, his hands clamped tightly on the bones of hips, but the passage eased with stretching and the slivers of pain soon blossomed into pleasure. Legolas found himself making sounds with each exhalation, echoing the cry of the mating birds, ringing the leaves on the trees and weaving with the roar of the waterfall. His body trembled, his arms found their way round Aragorn's shoulders and his hands tangled in the dark strands of Aragorn's hair, holding his face close, reveling in the clench of teeth on his neck, the flex of strength against and into his body.

They moved together for hours, days, centuries in the contained universe they created between them, but time moves at its own pace in Middle Earth, and in that time, too soon, they neared their peak again. Aragorn's pace increased, need impelling him to wildness, and Legolas met his thrusts with equal fury. At the height of their coupling Aragorn froze, then whipped against him, his head tearing free of Legolas' hold as his spine arched. His face was beautiful to Legolas, his eyes closed with the force of his climax, his mouth open as he strove for air, the cords in his neck and the muscles in his chest and arms tensed against the storm.

As it passed Aragorn's strength left him, and he subsided against Legolas, mouth seeking blindly for contact, settling against the thin skin beneath Legolas' ear and sucking there. Legolas' hips moved as far as they were able, confined under Aragorn's weight, and it was enough, the pressure of his straining prick battered against the ripples of muscle quivering low at Aragorn's belly. Legolas shuddered as he came again, with little to give but great effort expended to give it.

Lifting his hands back to the proud head resting against his shoulder, Legolas stroked and petted until Aragorn fell into sleep, his body relaxing completely against the long lean strength of the Elf. They stayed that way for long hours, Legolas keeping watch over his exhausted companion, Aragorn cold to the world, warm in Legolas' embrace.

As he lay there, Legolas' thoughts wandered, as was their wont when given the opportunity. Chance did not play a large part in the ways of Elves. Things happened for a reason, whether that reason be known or accepted or neither. Estel, now Aragorn, had returned to his life twice in a short span of time, and to Legolas, that was a strong indication that their fates were bound together. Winding a long brown lock round his finger, he smiled into the sunlight.

Were they not, he would take pains to ensure that they were. This was too sweet a pleasure to give back until he must.

Night was darkening the leaves to purple when Aragorn stirred. He gave Legolas a fleeting smile, uncurling slowly from his comfortable resting place and dusting a kiss across the shoulder that had cradled his head. Following that tiny caress with a longer, deeper buss to Legolas' mouth, he then levered himself carefully off the rock, back into the water, toward the shore where their clothing lay. Legolas watched for a moment before joining then passing him, to wait for him beside the pile of leather and cloth.

Aragorn gave him a grin, aslant, laughing at and with the light-footed Elf. Taking up his leggings, he stepped into them, and Legolas sighed at the loss of lovely flesh to feast his eye upon. Taking up his own clothing, he dressed quickly, then waited again for Aragorn, who it must be said was uncommonly quick for a Man.

"Must you be on your way so soon, randir? Wandering the whole of Middle Earth, save this corner that would keep you for awhile?"

Aragorn buckled his last strap and studied the earth at his feet for long moments before looking up to meet Legolas' eye. His gaze was soft, but his words were unbending. "I have far to go, and much to learn, before any one place can keep me, mellon."

Legolas warmed to the word friend, but understood the goodbye inherent in the Man's need to return to his quest. "Noro! Then go. Travel well, learn well, and if it is the way of things to be so, return to me when you may. And Aragorn, if we do cross paths again, know well that if you need me, I will be yours."

At that, Aragorn nodded gravely, then shouldered his weapons and turned to leave. Glancing back once, his eyes like the sparkle of moonlight off spring leaves, he stared at Legolas as if to memorize him before turning away once again and tracking off deep into the forest.

Legolas watched him on his way, over leagues, far-sighted as he was. He wondered if they would meet again before the span of the Man's life ended. He hoped, if they did, it would be in a time when they had opportunity to explore one another at leisure, not content themselves with a hasty coupling snatched from time claimed by others.

It was years before he knew how vain that hope truly was.

end

Sindarin notes:

amarth - impending fate

Imladris - Rivendell

Wanderer - randir

friend - mellon

Go! - noro