Title: Cheap Paperback Romance Author: GV Pairings: Pippin/Elrond, Legolas/Original Male, Legolas/Pippin, Legolas/Haldir, so far… Rating: NC-17 Summary: Both Pippin and Legolas struggle to discover who they are and what it means to the rest of Middle Earth. Disclaimer: No one here belongs to me, with the exception of Alkraugion. And I love him. So, get your greasy paws off him, Tolkien, this one’s *mine*!! Authors Note: Since FF.net has decided It’s too good for the likes of me, I have no choice but to post my fics here and here alone ::dramatic music swells:: So, if you would all be so kind, I would love to hear from you and maybe we can all help each other through this difficult time ::tears brimming:: So, Library of Moria, this one’s for you! For being so faithful, so… ::sniffle:: I can’t go on… Please… Just read ::sniff sniff:: Cheap Paperback Romance Pip knew well enough about elves, how they were the most beautiful creatures in the whole of Middle Earth, how they lived forever, sang the sweetest tunes, had the deepest souls – But as he entered Rivendell, ambling carelessly, he couldn’t help but feel nauseated. The faces of the elves that scrutinized him did not seem beautiful, but cruel and distant, and the sound of their singing reminded him of the howling winds that caused him to wrap his covers about his ears and force his mind away from the thoughts of the screaming ghosties the older hobbits told him about. Sam was a welcome distraction to all this. The typically shy hobbit, known mostly for putting himself last, was the masthead for their little troop. “Come now, Mr. Strider,” with all of his weight thrown forward, Sam clutched the ranger’s cloak, and boldly lead them in no particular direction, as long as it was forward, “You can have all your sight seeing later, we have to find Mr. Frodo.” “Sam!” Strider’s hood was almost twisted around entirely, due to Sam’s pulling, and despite his credible resistance, there was nothing he could do to halt a determined hobbit, “Sam, Frodo will be with Elrond! We simply must find Elrond…” “No time for socializing now, Mr. Strider, you can see your elf friend later, we’ve got to find Mr. Frodo…” “Sam!” Abruptly, Aragorn put all his weight into stopping the little man, which would’ve dislocated Sam’s arm if the ranger hadn’t been so careful. Arranging his cloak, while at the same time trying to keep Sam’s hands from latching onto it again, Aragorn knelt to hobbit height, and spoke to Sam directly, “Sam. Frodo is WITH Elrond… So if we find Elrond…” “We find Frodo! Come now, Mr. Strider, no time to lose, we’ve got an elf to locate!” Again, and with great force, Mr. Strider was forced, by the pull of his tunic, to lunge clumsily after Sam, who had no idea where he was going but was determined to get there as swiftly as possible. As they jogged, that is, as Merry and Pippin jogged and Sam scampered and Aragorn stumbled, Pip kept his eyes on the walls in rapt attention. They were far too large and cold for his liking, and he wondered how anyone could feel at home in a place where it seemed that even the walls didn’t wish to hug you. He looked up briefly as Aragorn, again, lifted Sam by the scruff of his neck and placed him facing another direction, saying, “This way.” Sam, then, grabbed whichever piece of clothing of Aragorn’s that he could reach, and towed him off again. “You know,” Merry grunted as he lazily jogged next to Pip, “After we see Frodo and all, you and I have to go and get a good look at these Elvish lasses. Did you see the build on them?” Pippin, at that moment, was grateful for their steady pace, for it was where he laid the blame for his ruby blush. Trying to dissolve the conversation as quickly as possible, Pippin just nodded shyly, but kept his eyes ahead of him. Merry noticed this and wondered. He knew Pippin wasn’t embarrassed, because when Pippin was embarrassed, he giggled hysterically, before trying to hide behind something. This was not embarrassment, but something else entirely. Merry had yet to make certain what it was… *** Seeing Gandalf was a gas. The hobbits all crowded around him, babbling incessantly, far too giddy with excitement to make any sense, before they were gently but firmly pushed to the side so Aragorn could receive his greatly anticipated hug. Frodo was, of course, the next to be victimized by his friends’ uncontrollable excitement, but Sam was the only one who got to the bed before Gandalf prohibited the path with his staff. “He needs much rest before he can take on the energies of you two,” the wizard told them, and although he seemed weary, he radiated an undeniable fondness for the little creatures from his smile. “Is he all patched up? Is he mended?” Merry’s eyes were even bigger than usual, which was quite a sight, seeing as his eyes were so grand in the first place, and Gandalf chuckled obligingly. “Why, yes, Mr. Brandybuck, I daresay thanks to…” “Mr. Frodo! Mr. Frodo’s awake! Mr. Frodo, how’re you feeling? Gandalf, come quick, Mr. Frodo’s awake!” Immediately, just as if Mrs. Proudfoot had placed one of her honey baked hams out for all to enjoy, there was a mad rush to the bed. Merry, Gandalf, and even Aragorn partook in this silly, undistinguished display, leaving Pippin alone in the middle of the room, staring. It was when Gandalf was prepared to extend his thanks to someone before he was cut off, that Pippin noticed there was another person in the room. He had turned his head to see, blending in with the cream and silver walls, an elf, patiently watching the scene before him. He was tall, not threateningly so, but just enough for Pippin to feel intimidated, and his black hair fell sweetly down his shoulders in a velvet splash. His hands were folded in front of him, and on his brow rested the fine silver of elven royalty. But, most remarkable of all, in Pippin’s innocent eye, was the slight smile that graced the Elf Lord’s handsome face. Pippin had never seen an elf smile before, or even allow the slightest hint of the emotions within them escape to their features. Awestruck, the little hobbit seemed to have lost all awareness of the activity in the room, as he gazed with open appreciation at the visage before him. Then the Elf Lord looked at him and, much to Pippin’s dumbfounded elation, smiled a little more widely. The hobbit felt his heart open and begin pumping more blood throughout his body as he felt the most intense yearning and desire he could ever recall having… “Pip, your jaw is dripping onto the floor.” The voice had startled him out of his wonder, and he snapped his mouth shut a little more harshly than necessary to turn and glare at a grinning Merry. “Ah!” Gandalf had seen this interaction and stated merrily, “I see you have met Elrond!” *** “You,” Merry had taunted, when Pippin menaced him to infiltrate the secret counsel, “Just want to sit and daydream about Lord Elrond.” For a moment, Pippin remembered the terror he felt at the thought of Merry having discovered the secret of his inverted sexual inclination, until he realized Merry was only speaking in jest. Alas, Merry was quite correct in his insincere assumption. As they hid behind one of the great stone pillars that surrounded the meeting, the youngest hobbit had been gazing solely on the Elder, and hadn’t even given a moment’s heed to what was being said. Not only did he neglect to pay attention to the words, but Pippin also neglected to make a note of any kind on the faces that spoke them. Indeed, all other elves, dwarves, men and hobbits were ignored in favor of sole attention to Lord Elrond. Even when a boundlessly handsome blonde elf stood to defend the honor of the man he knew as Strider, Pippin couldn’t be bothered. Eventually, when the opportunity arose for him to band with the party that was forming in the middle of the conference, he immediately and literally jumped at the opportunity, Merry right on his heels. Oh, the look of surprise on Elrond’s face was one he would cherish forever, yet in front of his infatuation, Pippin felt his cheeks flushing and his innards turning to goo. When questioned on why he and Merry should join the fellowship, Pippin snatched his chance to make an impression on the Elven Lord, “Well, you’re going to need people of intelligence, and… wit, to a… People like me an’ Merry for, ah… Doing… Being on this… Quest, like… thing.” “Well, that excludes you, Pip,” Merry muttered next to him, which sent another plague of blushing upon little Pippin. The youngest hobbit would’ve been berating himself more, if he were not so fascinated by Elrond’s limitless, masculine voice announcing, “Then I pronounce you the Fellowship of the Ring.” Pippin near dropped. There was a small silence in reverence for the great undertaking of the Nine standing before them, but it was shattered when Pip recovered himself and said to no one in particular, “So, where’re we goin’?” And, the second question, which was awkwardly whispered to Merry was, “Is Elrond coming?” *** Many times in his immortal life, Legolas had gone on dangerous adventures, but never one yet with a tribe of complete strangers. It made him a little ill at ease, thinking that these people knew nothing of him, and nothing, especially, of his secrets. Knowing that he was the best elven warrior in the lands did little to quell his fears of being ostracized for his sexual predilections. His father was not too pleased when he learned of the ways of his son, but Thranduil was a good, kind king who loved his sons unconditionally, long before they were born. And although homosexuality was a hard plight to overlook in Middle Earth, Thranduil had made excuses best he could, while at the same time trying to keep his youngest from rebelling. This meant a multitude of male consorts, and luckily for the royal alliance of king and prince, there was no shortage of men willing and desperate to share their beds with the Golden Prince of Mirkwood. It had been disheartening for the King at first, to learn of how many of his men were of that inclination, but even more upsetting for him to learn that almost all of them were in his armies. One of these men was Alkraugion, who was waiting for his Prince to return from the counsel in Legolas’ chamber in Rivendell. Alkraugion had traveled with his Prince under the understanding of a body guard, and while the other body guards knew of his and their Prince’s arrangement, they spoke nothing of it – much like all of Mirkwood. The door creaked very thoughtfully as the Golden Prince of Mirkwood pensively entered the chamber. Alkraugion knew not what mood his Prince was in, so he waited patiently to hear what was asked of him. “A fellowship of nine,” Legolas spoke slowly to the elven warrior tucked secretively in his room, “One for each of the Nazgul.” Alkraugion watched the intoxicating vision approach him, and all his slow wit could conjure in response was, “It makes sense… strategically.” Legolas ignored him. He knew that Alkraugion was a magnificent warrior, well versed in the ways of stratagem and combat, but it was not this knowledge that kept the elven prince entertained. Leisurely, Legolas sauntered towards his pet, slowly plotting how he would like to spend his remaining days in Rivendell. When he was in reach, The Golden Prince stroked the red-gold locks of his favorite whore, enjoying the way the strands licked about his fingers as he toyed with them. Alkraugion was Legolas’ favorite not only for the rare and magnificent color of his hair, but mostly his structure. The noble elven warrior stood above Legolas by at least a head, and his breadth was enough to demand he walked through doorways at an angle. As Legolas lowered himself into his plaything’s lap, he grinned at how far his legs needed to open to reach around him. Alkraugion, himself, did not mind in the least being the one from whom the elven prince derived his pleasures. Indeed, he had fought about half of the elven army for the honor. Oh, and how he adored his Prince. If Legolas were to know the depth of his love, it would surely scare him into the arms of another, so Alkraugion never dared reveal one iota of his feelings. That didn’t mean, however, he restrained from indulging himself in the innocent practices of puppy love, such as watching his Golden Prince easily snooze after lovemaking when he allowed Alkraugion to stay the night, or to intentionally accidentally walk in on the bathing prince. “We are traveling to Mordor…” Legolas was rubbing his lips greedily across Alkraugion’s jaw, and nuzzled his way up to suckle the elven ear. Alkraugion squeezed him very tightly when he did that. “Guh – Why?” “That,” the warrior felt a sharp nip on his earlobe and he couldn’t keep from bucking into the heat between his Prince’s legs, “Is official business.” Although Alkraugion was very concerned and anxious about why his secret love was going to such a hideous place as Mordor, he could only keep one thought in his head at a time, and the predominant thought at the moment was to sink himself into his Golden Prince’s heat. Effortlessly, the warrior lifted the both of them from the chair, and spilled Legolas onto the soft, bouncy bed before he crawled atop the smaller elf. “Remember,” as they struggled to swiftly remove their clothing, Legolas panted to his strumpet, “We must be quiet. I would not… Ai! I would not wish to be found by… Elrond… or worse…” From the Prince’s bare navel, Alkraugion smiled up at the other elf, “That would be rather embarrassing…” Legolas chuckled at the obviousness of the statement, and echoed, “Rather,” before being silenced by his pet’s lips, Alkraugion’s ruby veil covering the both of them from the harsh glare of the sun. *** “Elves,” Sam told him, “Are very sensitive.” It was when they were sitting on one of the many balcony rails of Rivendell, that Sam mentioned this to Pippin. They were scientifically watching the activities of the elves below, much like they would watch a school of tadpoles. And, like tadpoles, the elves would receive the sharp bite of a thrown pebble on their shoulder if they weren’t behaving in a way that was entertaining to the hobbits. “What dae yae mean, Sam?” Pippin asked in reply, taking only a moment longer to watch an elf before turning to Sam, who, despite having never met an elf before Rivendell, was viewed as the Elf specialist. “Well, their hearing and seeing’s so good, bright lights and loud noises hurt.” Sam was obviously entranced by the elves as well, but Pippin knew that Sam’s interest differed from his entirely. Needless to say he had near been crushed when he learned that they were going to have to leave Lord Elrond behind. It hurt his heart to learn that the big, blonde, stern looking elf behind him was the elf chosen to travel with them. Pippin had decided he was rather miffed with the Mirkwood elf, thinking this common, haughty upstart had offered his bow, when Lord Elrond was intending to offer his. This, of course, wasn’t the case, but in Pippin’s dream lusty mind, Elrond was moments away from pledging his life to the quest (and especially to Pippin) before this Legolas egotist interrupted him. A hobbit can become quite finicky when he is not paired with his elf of choice. *** Legolas was still panting, trying to catch his breath, when Alkraugion asked him, “Why is it you are traveling to Mordor? Surely it can be avoided, different paths can be taken…” They were tightly cocooned in the bedding, Legolas still sitting in his warrior’s lap, their hair tangled together. If someone were to enter the room at that unsuspecting moment, they would’ve just seen two warm tufts of hair peeking out of what looked to be a silk and cotton tee-pee. Exhausted, Legolas leaned forward to rest his head against the more than sufficient shoulder before him, “I told you. It is official business only. Do not concern yourself.” “You are my prince,” Alkraugion snuffled against the lovely pale mane, “How can I keep from being concerned?” As if making a statement, Legolas lifted himself so he could release his warrior from his body, but almost negated the gesture by slopping back against him again. “I shall miss you on the road,” the way the prince said it sounded so sanctioned that it was almost delivered as an official report. Alkraugion, however, didn’t miss the few scraps of affection his prince granted him, so he scrambled to catch them, “Then I shall come with you.” “No.” Legolas made a move to free himself from the warrior’s arms, but Alkraugion unconsciously embraced him tightly. He immediately perceived a deadly warning look on his prince’s face, and he reluctantly let his beloved leave his grasp. With no end of trouble, Legolas struggled out of the nest they had built for themselves, but finally found himself able to reach the floor. Alkraugion watched as his prince shambled across the floor, and grinned with affection at the way his beloved Prince had trouble walking after he had been properly bedded. Alkraugion watched with great interest as Legolas dressed himself, being certain to catch every pull of muscle, every drape of tangled hair, and every thread that traveled over that sweet, honey skin. If the prince noticed how closely he was being watched, he gave no sign of discomfort or approval, but casually sat before a mirror and tenaciously set about brushing his locks. “I would give my immortal soul to see you happy,” a strange voice wafted through the room. Alkraugion looked around, to find the voice, baffled, until he realized it was his own. He had not intended to say that out loud. Already, he regretted it, and that was before he turned to see the look of horror and even anger on the face of his beautiful prince. Like the good warrior he was, he knew when he was ruined, and he simply closed his eyes, not moving at all as he heard Legolas thunder from the room and slam the door angrily behind him. *** If hobbits excel all other races at one thing it would be their ability to feast. It was the Fellowship’s last night in Rivendell, and there was a feast that rivaled that of Bilbo’s 111th birthday bonanza. Gandalf was more than delighted to enchant the guests with whatever fireworks he could concoct and the elven chorus never wearied. The banquet table seemed to extend for miles, and there wasn’t a soul in Rivendell that wasn’t dancing, at least on the inside. The only thing the elves weren’t expecting however, was the voracity of the hobbits. Elves, as is widely known, never do things by halves, and still the banquet table seemed to be vastly dwindling. And in spite of Pippin’s and Merry’s reputation for a feral devouring of any edible substance in reach, it was actually Sam that was the cause for such a sudden famine. Sam, as was obvious to anyone who ever laid eyes on the pair of them, was desperately concerned about his master. Frodo had healed well since the attentions of Lord Elrond, and yet Sam was convinced that no hobbit could be healed until he had a big, full belly. And so, back and forth and back and forth Sam toddled from the banquet table to where Frodo was trying to have a pleasant conversation with Bilbo. Of course, Frodo, being the gentlehobbit he was, would not reject the food that Sam had labored to bring him and before the last scrap of food even reached Frodo’s lips, Sam would arrive with another load to feed him. Although it is a secret that Frodo would never tell Sam, Frodo, did, indeed, cheat and share some of the spoils with his uncle. That is not to say, of course, that Pippin and Merry did not have their fair share. The cousins had sat next to each other at the feast, and it would seem the two were competing for who could eat the most in the least amount of time. Merry, surprisingly enough was winning by a good margin, due mainly to Pippin’s aversion to having Lord Elrond think he was a little glutton. The Lord of Imladris, for his own part, was not unaware of the glances the littlest of the fellowship was sending him, yet for the hobbit’s dignity, he did not show any acknowledgment during the banquet. It would have to be addressed later, though, he realized, when he glanced across the table and saw with whom Pippin would be traveling… Legolas was never one much for eating in public. He didn’t mind the socializing that came afterwards, where he became almost obnoxiously gregarious, but he always feared he would get something stuck in his teeth. And it was while he was inconspicuously checking his teeth with his tongue, that he glanced at the other members of the fellowship. He had always been attracted to the race of Men. Unlike elves, they were rugged and their bodies bore many scars and imperfections. They were built more for raw strength, as opposed to the agile structure of the elves. Boromir and Aragorn were at different ends of the table, and everyone knew very well why. Legolas didn’t know which one he was attracted to more, but he hoped it was Boromir, for he already knew that Aragorn was not of his inclination. Although the way Men sweat and grunted was offensive to most elves, Legolas found men overwhelmingly erotic. He imagined they would take him into their big, strong arms, and paw him with their large, rough hands… Like Alkraugion’s… As soon as the name popped into his head, Legolas jerked, feeling a wave of nausea wash through him as he remembered, ‘I would give my immortal soul to see you happy.’ Bed slaves did not say such things, especially if they were warriors. Alkraugion was chosen because he fucked the same as he fought: with dexterity and power. There was no room in their relationship for the quaint tenderness such a comment suggested. With the words ‘quaint tenderness’ in his mind, Legolas instinctively looked towards the hobbits. The hobbits, he was certain, were a joke. He watched as the youngest two rose from the table, and went to play and roll about in the fields like children. It was certainly someone with a morbid sense of humor who decided to allow the little ones to join their company. Without thinking, Legolas smirked, and cast a smarmy glance toward Lord Elrond, who, much to the Prince’s consternation, was scowling right back at him. *** Merry let out a hearty belch and wiggled his toes in delight. Pippin gave a moments thought to pretending to be offended, before he naturally pounded on his best friend’s stomach to see if he could squeeze another good belch out of him. As they lay on the ground, away from the revelry and under the starlight, Merry laughed out loud at his little cousin’s antics. They began to scuffle, as creatures such as Merry and Pippin were naturally wont to do, and neither of them could be bothered to notice an elf-shaped shadow cross them. “Ai! No’ fair!” Pip couldn’t stop hiccuping in delight, but he tried to speak through it best he could, “Yae cannae bite! Tickle… AH! But, yae… oi! No biting!” They rolled further, Pippin determined to have vengeance on the cousin who wronged him, and eventually, they collided with the marble step of an ivy clad gazebo. Swifter than the turning of the bewildered west wind, Merry and Pippin’s interest swiveled towards this new structure. It was obviously very old, despite looking as sturdy and as gorgeous as it’s elven makers. The arches rose to the heavens, their intricate patterns elegantly climbing upwards. Ivy draped across its features as beautifully as the auburn tresses draped across the breathtaking face of the Evanstar, and Merry eagerly fingered one. “Would you lookit this…” The plant was strong and healthy, easily sustaining the anxious, rough tugs Merry was giving them, “Sam would have a fit.” “Aye,” Pippin was staring at the prospering vines as well, and his eyes waxed as fully as the moon above him when he gently pet the nearest leaf, “Aye, gods… Feel it! It’s sae soft! Yae could make knickers outtae this, yae could!” “You’re right there, Pip,” Merry twisted his lips to the side, in a boyish moment of consideration and turned to scamper towards the festival, “I’m getting Sam to come see this!” Pippin didn’t turn to see his cousin fly off, but he did have to wiggle his nose a bit at the dust that was kicked up. This was a wonder, indeed. Pippin had seen many things since leaving the Shire, and met many people, but here in Rivendell, it seemed Pippin was doomed to die of his rampant curiosity and constant gasping in stupefaction. “Everything’s sae tall!” Pippin muttered under his breath as he slowly stepped forward onto the cold marble of the structure. Obviously unused, the floor was strewn with ivy and dead leaves, and the wind sounded through the arches with the same low moan that Fatty made when he blew across the top of the ale jug. There were several benches and tables about, and Pippin fancied it would make a very lovely summer house if it were only cleaned up a bit. Indeed, the little hobbit was excited to see what his new found treasure would look like with the sun beaming down upon it and with the color of the … As Pippin lost himself in thought, one of his hairy hobbit feet stepped beneath a vine, became tangled, and before Mr. Took could finish his mental sentence, he felt the tug on his foot, and the descent towards the hard stone floor. Flailing, he extended his hands to catch himself and closed his eyes, awaiting the impact: That never came. When he opened his eyes, Peregrin saw the floor beneath him and his arms stretched towards it, but also the beautifully crafted slippers and imperial robes of an Elven lord. Cursing himself every color of the rainbow, little Mr. Took was set on righting himself, but instead was lifted even further from the ground as Elrond’s grasp under his armpits pulled him into the air. With his little feet flapping about and his hands anxiously clutching the wrists of the Elven lord, Pippin finally conceded and looked into Elrond’s stern face. “You must be careful, Elf-friend,” the half elf chided, “Old vines can be rather inhospitable to trespassers.” There was a beat when Pippin could neither hear nor see due to the embarrassed flush that was overtaking his face, before the great elf burst into a short laughter, and tucked Pippin into the crook of his arm as though he were a child. “A curious sort, you hobbits are,” the voice of the half elf resonated through the empty structure as he carefully began to pace, “Like little puppies, snuffling around and investigating everything.” Although Pippin was too traumatized, having been seen by his hearts desire flailing helplessly, had nothing to say, not even so much as a petulant, “Put me down!” This suited the Elven Lord very much, for it seemed that Elrond had no intention of shutting up, “I’ll have you know, this structure was built long before even I was born. Some say the gazebo was built for the Princess, who, at the time, desired a lovely area in which she might read during the warmer months, however the wisest know the true reason it was built is because it offers a wonderful vantage point for spying on nude elves bathing in the river below, as you can see…” Elrond prattled on for some time, and although what he was saying would’ve fascinated any hobbit, all Pippin could think of was, “Flailing! He saw me flail! What coul’ there possibly be what’s less attractive than flailing! Elves never flail! I’ve no’ even seen ay bloody DWARF flail… Bloody hewl…” Unfortunately, these reflections deprived the little hobbit of the wonderful methods used by Elven Eldars, to wrestle the poor, hiding elven maidens back into the open with the simple application of a piece of string, a flowerpot and an artfully styled yam. In truth, only when Elrond lowered himself and the hobbit in his arms to a marble step did Pippin break free from his spell of humiliation. “Do you enjoy listening to the tales of the elves?” Pippin looked up into the beautiful, ancient eyes, and realized for the first time that he had taken hold of a strand of midnight hair and was toying with it in his little fingers. Regretfully he let go, trying to pretend it was a perfectly natural movement for a hobbit to take, and said with little ease, “Aye, they’re… I find em… Erhm… Are yae wed?” Took or no Took, Pippin was indeed the most inquisitive and lascivious hobbit in the Shire, or so all of the lasses he’d insincerely pursued said. The humor that had been alight in the elf lord’s eyes flickered and died, and with a sigh worthy of his heritage, he lifted the little Took firmly on his knees, clearly stating that something quite serious was about to follow. “Pippin, there is an issue I feel needs to be addressed…” Pippin, of course, was more than willing to talk to this beautiful being about practically anything, as long as it offered him an excuse to gaze adoringly at the elf lord of his affection. His greedy little eyes squinted further as he watched Lord Elrond lick his lips in consideration, and Pippin nearly experienced his first sexual peak. “You see, Master Took…” “Call me Pippin. Pip, even!” The little hobbit was leaning so far forward, he had to crane his head far back to meet the eyes of his elder. In fact, each time Elrond attempted to push him back to get a better view of the little one’s bright orbs, Pippin unconsciously seemed to gravitate close to him again. “Very well, then… Pippin,” he tested the sound on his lips and found it to be quite a treat to say, so he tried it again, “Pip, you see, there are…” Here, he cleared his throat, damning himself for not demonstrating the smooth, eloquent speech for which he was known, “When I was very young, Pippin, I was a very self conscious lad… Elves, you see mature very slowly, but when they do eventually bloom, they do so rather… fiercely.” In truth, Pippin had no idea what the elf lord was talking about, but he didn’t hesitate from throwing his head back in a squawk of victory, “Ha! I betcha Sam doesnae ken THAT! He’s goin’ be so jealous, what with me knowin something of elves he doesnae!” Lord Elrond stared at the little thing on his lap rather blankly for a moment, wondering if this was a typical social function of hobbits, before he went with his instinct, “Pippin, do you understand what I’m saying to you?” Pippin looked deeply into Elrond’s eyes and began to naturally cant toward him again, before admitting, “No.” With a deep sigh, Elrond lifted the little one and set him firmly on his knees again, trying to keep him at a distance where their eyes could meet without crossing, and tried again, “You see, little one… There comes a point in every Elf’s life, and every hobbit’s life where they change from being a boy elf or hobbit to a man elf or hobbit. Things begin to change, such as getting taller or the voice deepening. You understand?” Pippin, desperately trying to impress the Elf lord with his understanding of puberty, blurted, “Aye! An’ yae start getting fuzzier than usual! I remember back in the Shire, the lasses was all jesting oan poor auld Sam, what with his chest hairs and all. Ha! Poor auld Sam. But then Merry comes up tae have his say oan the state ay Gamgee’s fuzz, and his voice goes like this, it goes, ‘I dare say, Sam, yae look like sPWARK!….’ Just like that, his voice cracks! Ha! Ha! When I went through my changes, yae best believe I neither talked nor did gardenin’ without my shirt oan. Silly auld Sam…” If the elf lord was baffled before, he certainly had no idea which end was up, now. “Well, yes, that is what I’m speaking of. But, you realize, other changes happen too. More… Private changes, you understand? Changes that other hobbits would most likely not speak about with other hobbits.” With his eyes open wide, and gazing with an intensity at the rather reddening hobbit, Elrond prayed he was indeed going about this with the due amount of tact. For the first time, Pippin leaned away from the object of his desire, and said tentatively, “Aye…” “Well, when I was an elfling during my ‘changes’” Elrond decided to rely upon the euphemism Pippin had utilized, “I noticed that I was, as were some of my friends, beginning to take interest in… In the members of the opposite sex.” This had Pippin, of course, attempting to wriggle free from the position in which the elf lord held him. He certainly did not desire to conduct this conversation about sexes and opposite sexes and sex with the very man with whom he wanted to partake in such activities. “However, I noticed I was slightly different than the other boys. I had ‘changed’ in different ways than they had,” Lord Elrond, feeling that he had found an easy, straight forward way to go about this, began to warm to his topic, “I noticed that not only did I find women attractive, but I was drawn to… to those of my own kind.” Even after all the years of accepting this was how he was, Lord Elrond still had difficulty voicing the words he knew would make everything perfectly clear. In all truth, the only ones who were fully aware of their Lord’s orientation were Glorfindel, Arwen and the very rare consorts with whom he’d shared a night or two. At this point, Pippin refused to look at him, and gripped tightly to the wrists that held him as if Elrond’s rejection or embarrassment could easily knock him to the ground. He heard the words that suggested Elrond did not find this behavior foul or revolting, but that still did not excuse such actions in a hobbit. “Pippin… I sense… I sense that there may be some of my dilemma… Alive in you. Far be it from me to assume such a thing,” Elrond added hurriedly for safe measure, “I simply… I simply wanted you to understand, my friend, that it is not a shameful thing. It is neither wrong nor disrespectful or crass. I feel you should know… There is no shame in your form of love, Peregrin. It is… Lovely.” Elrond was quite impressed with his little speech. Addressing the council on the matter of a terrifying ring that could render all of Middle Earth a barren, insufferable wasteland was a political necessity that Elrond could have executed perfectly whilst sleep walking, but addressing one small hobbit on the nature of his sexual yearnings left him in an unelfly sweat. However, it still took a few moments for the little hobbit to finally raise his heavy head and meet the elven eyes across from him. When Elrond caught a glimpse of them, he noticed they were a little wet, even for a day- dreaming hobbit. “You see, Pippin, you are not alone… There is no sh—“ The elf was about to needlessly reiterate his earlier statement, when he felt hobbity lips on his cheek. They smacked wetly across his face, until they centered upon his lips. Elrond was, as would anyone be, shocked and a little amused. The kisses that landed upon him were not so much erotic as they were like the adoring kisses of a happy puppy. That thought in itself caused the elven lord to smile, and the hobbit in his arms relentlessly began to kiss his teeth. “There, there, child,” Lord Elrond chided through his laughing, “That’s enough, I think.” A few last, reluctant kisses moistened he elf lord’s lips before Pippin contented himself in Elrond’s lap. Still slightly giggling from what he considered an onslaught of adorable- ness, Elrond stroked young Took’s hair, until he found his voice, “Pippin… You are so adorable,” then he laughed again, petting Pip like a puppy, “Pippin, I’m sorry. I am truly sorry. I came here today, not only to support you but to give you a small warning…” Here, Elrond calmed himself, full of enough seriousness to impress upon Pippin the importance of his message, “You and I… You and I are not the only two who are of this inclination. Indeed, there is another… There is another companion you with whom you will be traveling, who…” Pippin’s eyes were filled to near bursting with emotions. Both hurt of rejection and curiosity waged in them, as well as the lingering desire and adoration. It was rare Elrond saw such depth in another being’s eyes, and he certainly never expected to find such a masterpiece in the eyes of a hobbit. Nevertheless, he shook himself of his wonder, and what he truly intended to say, “Be careful, Pippin. Watch your heart as closely as you watch your back, for they are both vulnerable. Promise me, little one…. Swear you will protect your heart…” With no small amount of curiosity, Pippin returned the intense gaze, his mind focused more on his wish to kiss this lovely elf again than it was on his oath, and said, “I promise.” A small smile of relief and gratification passed over the Eldar’s face as he tucked the curly head under his chin. His fondness for this particular hobbit increased ten fold, for reasons yet unknown to him. Despite his fear for the little one’s well being, Elrond reflected on what a fine hobbit Pippin would come to be with the experience of his travels. He sincerely hoped he would meet this kind, tender soul in the unforeseen future. “Lord Elrond?” Pip’s thickly accented voice broke into the elf’s consciousness rather abruptly, “Lord Elrond, will yae teach me tha’ string, flowerpot and oddly crafted yam trick? I would very much sae like tae know it…” With a sly smile that would have his friends envisioning the older days, Elrond replied, “Of course, little one! You run off and find me a good long bit of rope and the ripest yam you can lay hold of!” Eyes bright, like a hobbit’s eyes should be, young Took scampered off kitchen- ward, before Elrond’s lovely voice stopped him, “Oh, and Pip! … Call me Elrond.” *** The Golden Prince of Mirkwood whirled into his chambers like a squall, and thrashed his tunic to the ground. He tore at his shirt, snarling and spitting, completely unaware that he was not alone in the room, “Damn that Elrond, DAMN him! And his blasted, bloody, stupid adopted son… Bloody… Bloody hypocrites! No wonder father… Arrogant, insufferable, poor bred… And poor bread!” He had his thumbs hooked into the waistline of his leggings and was about to be away with them, when he felt a large, strong hand weigh against his shoulder. Trained like the warrior he was, Legolas reacted to the start by simply whirling around and reaching for the nearest object of malice, which was, embarrassingly enough, his broach. When his eyes focused and he saw who was before him, Legolas only became more angry, “Why are you here?! Did I not tell you to leave at once!?” Threatened by his Prince’s harsh tongue, Alkraugion fell back a few paces, and was, reasonably so, terrified to remind the Prince that he did not, indeed tell the warrior to leave at once. So, he simply stood there, mouth agape and unconsciously extending his hands in what was known universally as the ‘non-threatening posture.’ Upon seeing this, Legolas felt a little anger dissipate, and he turned his back again, this time successfully removing his pants. For a moment he stood, looking blankly ahead with a miserable expression on his lovely face, while Alkraugion moved around in front of him and sat submissively on the bed. Very softly and with great compassion, the warrior asked, “You will tell me what upsets you so, my prince?” Unselfconscious in his nudity, Legolas raised almost-tearing eyes to meet those of his consort, and dejectedly sunk down onto Alkraugion’s lap. Thrilled beyond all measure to see his Prince had forgiven him, Alkraugion began to gently stroke his beloved’s hair, and nuzzle against the velvet cheek. “I hate it here,” Legolas pouted as he snuffled into Alkraugion’s neck, “I hate it, I hate it. I hate *them*. They’re so bloody judgmental. And I know they know,” his tone turned fierce, “Why does everyone seem to think that I don’t know that everyone knows! The looks they give me! Why, this very evening, Lord Elrond, whom I would expect to be above all of this childish mischief was giving me a scathing glare. Why would he do that? Does he think I shall attempt to seduce one of his precious sons, or worse, that I would have my way with his beloved Aragorn?!” Now, the prince was curled securely in his courtesans lap, his head tucked deeply into the crook of neck and shoulder, and his lovely frame slightly trembling. For his own part, Alkraugion knew well how to respond, by coddling and cosseting the spoiled boy, stroking and kissing his neck and telling him that he was beautiful. *** The blanket Legolas had chosen to cover himself during the night was, while irrefutably warm, beginning to suffocate him. Immediately filled with righteous annoyance, the elf whined and thrashed slightly, until the weight grumbled, stuttered awake and dejectedly rolled to the side. “Ugh!” The sound of disgust reverberated throughout the chamber, and Alkraugion was welcomed to full awareness with a heart attack. “My Prince…” before the ruby haired warrior was allowed to ask after his bedmate’s well being, the blonde tart started his harangue, “You have *sweat* all over me! You are the only elf I’ve ever known to *sweat* the way you do! Look! I am a *mess*! You know how greatly I dislike the way you *drape* yourself atop me during the night! Why did you not return to your quarters as you were told?” “My Prince, I… I…” “At least stop your foolish stuttering and tell me why you chose to defy me so blatantly!” “My Prince, it was your last night before the quest, I thought… My Golden Prince, you will be away for so long, I thought…” “You thought what? That it was a worthy enough excuse to ignore my command? Honestly, with your wit, it is a wonder you did not die on the battlefield long ago!” The warrior was shamed into silence. Never before had he incurred such ire from the one he loved so dearly, however he could not deny his disobedience. After his Prince had fallen asleep in his arms, the sight of his elegant beauty solidified his decision to stay. The Prince’s lips were moist and parted, just as Alkraugion knew them to be before a kiss, and his eyes were half-lidded as they were during their lovemaking. At the time, the proposition of leaving such a beautiful creature, a beautiful creature he Alkraugion thought he would never hold again, seemed supremely unimaginable. So, Alkraugion had remained, basking in his own love for Prince Legolas, unsuspecting of the outburst morning would bring. Swinging his long hair across his face to hide his flush as well as the threatening tears, Alkraugion rose to leave, unable to bear his love’s scorn. As soon as his weight shifted away, however, an iron strong grip clenched about his arm. Although he didn’t dare turn his head to see, he heard his Prince’s hesitation, before a garishly confident voice speaking, “That does not mean I wish you to leave.” Legolas allowed the sheet around his waist flutter lower on his soft skin, revealing the darkness between his legs. The royal elf knew that there was no need to seduce what was already at his command, but he relished the notion of being able to arouse a man’s passions. Typically, Legolas did not have his affections in the morning, such as was the case now, but his softness meant little to him in the face of leaving that day without having one last taste of his beautiful redhead. “My… my…” It was no new sensation for Alkraugion, seeing his beautiful master in the strand, but it still stole his breath, “My prince…. Your company is leaving shortly, I thought perhaps…” Before the warrior could flinch away, he felt a cruel grip in his hair and hot, working lips against his, “My father does not pay you to think, slave,” Legolas pressed a hard kiss upon his servant, “He pays you to keep me happy.” The smaller elf came at him with a ferocity that was difficult to resist, but once Alkraugion felt the length of his love, he ground out, “My love, you are not even…” His hard fingers touched the prince’s most sensitive, yet relaxed flesh, only to have himself lunged at again. When Legolas heard the words ‘My love,’ he lost his reserves. He positively leapt at the other elf, sending him careening into the vanity. Alkraugion would have said, ‘oof,’ although his mouth was full of his lover’s kisses. The prince was rubbing himself wildly against the hard chest and thighs of his pet, and he growled, “Take me… ‘Kraugion, now!” On the battlefield, Alkraugion was known for an elf of unlimited reserve, but in the bedroom, the softest of sighs would have him cowing to his prince’s wishes. The prince was near weightless in the warrior’s arms, as Alkraugion lifted him, and, turning, eased his lover onto the vanity, or more correctly, the mirror atop it. It was a contemporary mirror, one that had hinges so it could be moved backwards and forwards, and it held Legolas’ body as if he were a gourmet on a platter. Legolas sighed, as the cool of the mirror soothed his heated skin, and he opened his dewy eyes to gaze at the elf above him imploringly. When those wonderful gems fell upon his own eyes, Alkraugion’s throat caught. Breath would not fill his lungs, for he knew that as soon as he exhaled, he could not keep himself from confessing, “I love you…” So, he broke the contact between them in order to gain some semblance of control. “’Kraugion!” There was a dull tug from where Legolas had pulled his hair, and with great care not to send the whole structure tumbling to the ground, Alkraugion mounted the vanity and prayed it would hold. The pressure of his hair being pulled returned as Legolas tugged him higher, to receive several deep, sloppy kisses. Gently, certain not to lose one sensation of his prince’s lips, Alkraugion’s large, sword callused fingers sought low, between the long, golden, widespread legs. Although Legolas was still soft, Alkraugion was delighted to feel that he was still slightly moist and slack from their coupling the previous night. When the archer was breached by the pad of his lover’s finger, he clutched tightly at the long ropes of hair that were swaying before him. “Legolas,” the larger elf murmured, not wishing to rob the Golden Prince of his delight, but feeling something must be done, “My prince, you are…” when the muscles around his finger fluttered slightly, he had to take a moment to regain himself, “My prince, you are pulling my hair.” Legolas was moderately frustrated with the delay, so he pointedly grasped Alkraugion by the ears, and pushed him into his neck. “Mark me.” As Alkraugion’s weight was raised higher, the mirror on which Legolas was splayed creaked as it was tilted further backwards. The warrior whore had been warned long ago, that if he were to leave any indication of the prince’s passions, such as a mark on his neck, he would be beaten severely. But, at that moment, knowing the one he loved would be far away from him in the coming hours, Alkraugion could not care less of his life without his love, and he bit down hard, working his finger in to the hilt.. The small elf shuddered and cried out, and as his hips lifted, the mirror tilted further backwards, and would’ve upended them, and the larger elf shifted his weight lower again. Legolas grasped the top of the see saw on which he was riding, and moaned wantonly as Alkraugion, devoting himself to his task, began to mark, suck and lick the prince’s entire body. There would be no limits for them this morning. Alkraugion, wishing to taste every inch of his elf, craned his neck to reach his lovers side, a spot he knew from past experience to be a sensitive part of his love’s body. When Legolas bucked in ecstasy, he wriggled another finger into the prince’s warm, tight passage, and began to undulate them, driving the prince mad. The mirror began teetering and tottering despite Alkraugion’s efforts to hold it steady, but with the way Legolas was thrashing, there was little left to be done. As he continued working what was undoubtedly a very sore spot on the lovely elf’s body, Alkraugion tenderly lifted one of the muscle-striped thighs and slung it over his shoulder. He was disgruntled to see his elf was still only half-mast and to remedy this, he began laving the inner side of the leg that was draped over him. Gently swirling his tongue in intricate patterns, he finally felt the softness of Legolas’ bottom, where he gave a gentle nibble. Again, the velvet flesh around his fingers fluttered and grasped, and from his point of view, Alkraugion could see the state of his young love in the mirror beneath him. He saw the swell of the perfect mounds being pierced by his greedy fingers. When he flexed them, he could see as well as feel the reaction, which made his distance from his prince ache like lead inside him. Trying to not wound his beloved, Alkraugion gently removed his fingers, despite Legolas’ pretty distress, which he quickly remedied by moving his lips to the heat his fingers had left behind. The mirror nearly dislocated his chin when it came flying up from Legolas’s thrust, so he wisely used one hand to hold it steady, while the other held his lover open for him. He nuzzled deeply into that lovely private place, humming in a low voice in order to arouse his lover with the sensation. Indeed, the once indifferent flesh seemed to flare to life, and Alkraugion was honored to feel the fluttering around his tongue this time. With a final, sloppy kiss to the trembling hole, Alkraugion pulled the bottom of the mirror down, causing Legolas to slide down the glass with a high pitched squeak. He looked as if an army of orcs had trampled over him, leaving him as soupy and languid as the morning mist. Testing the waters of his love, Alkraugion leaned forward to leave more marks, on his neck, shoulders, even on his delectable lips, but when he reached again for the entrance between his lover’s legs, Legolas caught his wrist, “No. Like this, I want to feel you every step of the way…” Shocked, Alkraugion did not even dare respond when he felt wet, urgent lips pressing into his, until he felt Legolas, in his impatience, try to clumsily lower himself onto the larger elf’s full flesh. The ruby haired elf took control, much to the delight of the golden one, and lifted Legolas again onto the mirror, shifting beneath it. He wrapped one strong arm around the young elf’s back, and with his other hand carefully guiding the mirror, he began to lower Legolas tenderly on to him. Legolas grunted in pain the moment he felt the swollen head press against him, and Alkraugion tightened his grip, before stretching forward to place a brutal bite on his love’s ear. The little elf reacted badly, yelling out loud at the pain, but was distracted enough by it to survive his penetration. With the warrior in him, Legolas began shuddering uncontrollably, especially as Alkraugion began to really mount him, the mirror tilting back as more and more deeply Legolas took the flesh into his body. Against his stomach, Alkraugion felt that his prince was soft again, but he gazed at the face beneath him to see that his elf was euphoric besides. Legolas was again violently clutching the top of the mirror, and the warrior covered the agile hands with his own, fearing for a moment that the wood would shatter beneath their embrace. Slowly, testing the stability of the mirror and the resistance of his lover, Alkraugion began to thrust. There were loud creaks from the mirror and even louder moans from his prince, and the warrior decided everything was all right. Their sweat-slicked bodies squeaked against the mirror, and from these one could occasionally discern a few elven squeaks from Legolas as he felt his sore body being gently worked again. Atop the gorgeous prince, Alkraugion concentrated on finding the small button inside his prince, and just when he felt the small bump slide against his crown, Legolas sunk his teeth into the broad shoulder before him in a failed attempt to stifle a scream. Again and again Alkraugion rubbed against it, and he began to etch the sensation in his mind for what he hoped was forever. Indeed, he had been cataloguing the entire experience, a sad voice in his heart telling him it would be his last chance to know his prince in this way. The mirror was now switching back and forth frantically, and the wood beneath the elves’ hands began to crack. Madly, Legolas rubbed against the large body blanketing his, and squeezed his legs more tightly of the man who made love to him, causing the vanity to tremble even more. Sensing the whole structure holding them was due for a collapse, Alkraugion swept his love into his strong, trembling arms, and without leaving the shuddering heat of his prince’s body, lifted them from the vanity and began to move away. However, he was unable to make it to the bed, so he crumpled to the floor, Legolas landing atop him, joining their flesh even more securely than before. Both gurgled and nearly hiccuped at the sensation and it took them a healthy moment to begin moving again. Exhausted from his workout, Alkraugion collapsed back on the floor beneath him, and Legolas began to ride him with abandon. Just as the elf had wished, Legolas was certain he would be feeling this frenetic lovemaking for weeks to come. His lover seemed larger inside him than ever before, and seemed to stretch him to his limit. This, however, didn’t keep him from bouncing wildly against his consort’s hips, to the point where he thought his mind must’ve evaporated. Alkraugion felt sharp fingers grasp onto his shoulders as Legolas leaned forward for a better angle, and he watched, with wonderment as his most prized elf, his love, began to reach his peak. It wasn’t long before the youthful body atop him was climaxing, pumping out liquid pearl, while the inside of him was convulsing and shuddering in a way that drove Alkraugion into madness. Before Legolas even finished his orgasm, he was flipped onto his back again, an impassioned lover relentlessly pounding into him, filling him repeatedly, until he felt the warm, wet heat of his concubine’s release inside him. Drained from the ravishment of his own orgasm, Legolas seemed to think Alkraugion’s was taking forever, but he felt wonderful, nevertheless and waited patiently for his love to finally shudder to a halt. They were both panting so deeply, no other noise could be heard for a few moments, until at last, Legolas grunted, “I must go.” “Yes,” Alkraugion replied, not moving a muscle to release his prize. “Let. Go.” And just like that, the moment was ruined. Alkraugion was no longer a lover, but another toy for the prince’s play box, and with a quiet mind, the warrior freed the body trapped beneath him. Legolas tried to move, knowing he was terribly late for the gathering of the fellowship, but when he attempted to pull his thighs together, he hissed in pain. “Would you like me to carry you to the springs, my prince?” The red headed warrior couldn’t help but feel stupendously proud of himself, having fucked his delicious prince into immobility. He wondered if every step on the road, when Legolas felt the pain he was seeking, if the prince would think of him. He knew for certain that every time he felt the pain of emptiness in his own heart, Alkraugion would think of Legolas. He was certain that was a pain that would never go away. “’Kraugion!” the bitter voice of the elf beneath him called Alkraugion to the present, “Would you mind, please? I have a man to seduce, a ring to destroy, and a party I was supposed to have joined perhaps half an hour ago. Let us move.” *** Pip awoke to the rather unpleasant sensation of being jabbed in the ribs. “Ai!” a far-too familiar voice from the bedside rang, “Pip! Wake up! Did I not tell you to be awake before dawn? Even old Gandalf’s up and ready to move, and he’s older than dirt! I tell you, Pip, if I’d not heart you blethering in your sleep about what sounded to be something about over-ripe yams, we would’ve up and up and left without you! C’mon, now! The world still looked fuzzy to young Peregrin Took as he heard the sounds of clothing being assembled and socks being matched. Soon cool, morning-dumb hands were grabbing the youngest hobbit from the bed and attempting to assemble something vaguely hobbit like. “Come now, Pip!” Merry was getting rather miffed at his cousin’s uncanny emulation of a sack of potatoes and in exasperation, he cried, “Well, a fine gentlehobbit you’ll look, leaving before saying your ‘thank you’s to your host! And with your bum fallin’ out of your breeches, besides!” The button Merry was trying to fasten on his cousin’s shirt suddenly disappeared in front of his eyes, as did the rest of the hobbit before him. Young master Took was tearing about the room, in a mad state, trying to order his locks and manage his feet beneath him. “Aye, now Pip, just like I always told you! You just get out of bed and before you know it, you’ll be wide…” “Elrond!” Frantic and a little delirious, Pippin bolted from the room and tore down the hall, calling for his Elven Lord, bottom hanging out of his breeches, besides.