Part: 1/3 
Title: Elven Medicine  
Author: Diamond (juweldom@yahoo.com ) 
Rating: NC-17 
Pairing: Legolas/Frodo (Legolas/Aragorn) 
Warnings: interspecies
Disclaimer: All characters herein belong to Tolkien (sob!); I make no 
monetary profit from this but give me feedback and I'm a happy lass.
 
Summary: Legolas wants to help heal Frodo.  So does Aragorn.
 
Notes: This has probably been done, but oh well! Written in response to 
the word challenge for the Frodo_slash group. The words: Succulent, 
curls, goosedown.
 
***
*Legolas*
 
The Council of Elrond was revealing to Legolas, in more ways than one.
 
He had journeyed from his father's hall only to deliver the terrible news of 
Gollum's escape, to volunteer for efforts to recapture him if it was needed. 
Aragorn he knew, from his prior visits to Mirkwood--and Legolas's bed--
but the other faces there were all strangers to him. Legolas had heard of 
Bilbo, of course, but until he saw his kinsman Frodo, he had never realized 
hobbits could be beautiful. And Frodo was beautiful. Exquisitely so.
 
Legolas watched his humble bravery, his suffering in attending a council 
only a day after awakening from a wound that had nearly defeated him, 
that could have felled even an elf lord, and he was awed beyond words at 
this small one's wisdom and selflessness to take upon him a hopeless 
mission, in effect sacrificing himself. 
 
And the eyes. There wasn't a flower in the field, a gemstone in his father's 
treasury Legolas could find that would match the hue. With his unruly 
mop of tousled curls, his ruby red lips, and the translucency of his skin . . . 
 
Legolas simply had to have him. Not for love, of course, not an Age of all 
Ages betrothal of hearts. It was much simpler--he had to taste that beauty, 
wrap himself up in that marvelous delicate frame and grant him what 
pleasure he could before he set out on his doomed quest. Perhaps Frodo 
would be astonished and flattered by the attentions of an elven prince. 
Perhaps he would be flustered and embarrassed--Legolas knew not the 
custom of his kind, how free they were to love each other in all myriad 
forms. 
Small matter. He would have him, and have him willing. All it would take 
was the right set of circumstances. 
 
After the Council, Legolas went to see Aragorn, to ask his advice (and say 
farewell as the Ranger was leaving for Lothlorien on the morn). He kissed 
him languidly and poured wine for the two of them, coming to sit on his 
grand oak bed, tilting his head to watch Aragorn come and join him, 
smiling, a knowing look in his grey eyes.
 
"Who is it? You have the look of a predator about you today, dear friend," 
Aragorn said, sipping at his wine.
 
Legolas chuckled, stretching out on the bed, slowly, like a cat. "The 
periannath. The beautiful Ringbearer."
 
There was silence from Aragorn. Turning over on his stomach, Legolas 
looked up at the Dunadan, eyeing him. "Is that a problem? Would I be 
trespassing on your territory?" The look on Aragorn's face was hooded--
Legolas knew that expression all too well, when Aragorn fancied 
something he felt he should not. Ah, the intricate moralities of humankind. 
All the restraints of a short lifespan, poor health that passed like a summer 
storm, and still they had to limit themselves further with social rules and 
codes of behavior.
 
Aragorn recovered swiftly--he had never been one to show emotion long; 
it was only those who knew what to look for who would have noticed 
anything in the first place. "No, not at all. I am his protector--it would 
hardly be appropriate. Especially in the House of Elrond, and my 
betrothed."
 
Ah, so he was still trying to convince himself. And worried for the hobbit's 
well being. "You know I can show infinite care. I will not hurt him. Quite 
the opposite. I see he has been suffering of his wound. I plan to bring him 
comfort." Legolas smiled wryly.
 
Aragorn chuckled, trailing a hand up the elf's back, the callused fingers 
scratching through the silk dressing robe Legolas had changed into after 
the Council. "A little elven medicine?"
 
Legolas arched into his touch. "Precisely. Have you any objections, then? 
Or perhaps any advice?"
 
Aragorn bent to kiss behind his ear, sending a shiver up Legolas's spine. 
"No objections. But understand his people are reserved about matters of 
physical love; he may not be comfortable with your open expression. He 
seems quite shy, innocent. Be gentle with him. I *am* quite fond of 
Frodo."
 
Legolas turned onto his back again, looking into Aragorn's eyes. 
"Naturally. I shall do nothing he does not want."
 
He leaned up, brushing his lips across Aragorn's. 
 
"Now, for your farewell . . ."
 
***
Legolas waited a day before coming to see the hobbit, the better to observe 
him with his friends, to let him feel the absence of Aragorn (and observe if 
perhaps Frodo showed any interest that Aragorn should know of on his 
behalf) and of course to recover a little from the time spent with Aragorn. 
Never good form to seduce a possible innocent with bite marks on your 
shoulder.
 
Frodo's shoulder had been troubling him, as the weather had suddenly 
turned cooler--Legolas had overheard him speaking to Mithrandir about it. 
Mithrandir seemed to be almost a parental figure to Frodo, watching over 
him like a mother eagle as he slept. That would never do. He approached 
Mithrandir and offered to take a watch, saying he had some oils to use as a 
rub that would do Frodo's shoulder well. Undoubtedly the wizard 
suspected something, but he smiled and shrugged. "I don't think he'll be 
interested in you, Legolas, but he might benefit from a massage. Don't tire 
him out."
 
"Of course not," Legolas said smoothly. 
 
So that cleared things up for him to steal outside Frodo's bed chamber as 
the hour drew upon midnight, after a hearty banquet during which Legolas 
had tried to get a moment to speak with him, but Frodo had spent the 
entire evening with his hobbit friends, and that dwarf--the son of Gloin, 
who had caused such trouble in Tharanduil's halls.
 
Well, never mind. Talk was unnecessary.
 
Legolas stood just outside the doorway of Frodo's bedchamber, his keel 
elven sight piercing the darkness and the shadows to watch the small 
figure lying sprawled in the massive bed, black curls stark against the 
white linen sheets, the goosedown pillows. 
 
Legolas drew closer, silent footfalls on marble floors, bathed in the 
moonlight streaming through an open window, his hair falling forward as 
he bent to gaze down on the sleeping figure. He smiled. Moonlight only 
enhanced the pale perfection of Frodo's skin, so smooth, and undoubtedly 
soft. Legolas reached out a hand to hover over Frodo's cheek, inches away 
but not quite touching, not yet.
 
Wayward curls he longed to bury his face in and smell, run his fingers 
through. Strawberry lips just begging to be kissed, the ivory throat and the 
perfect jawline . . . succulent. Twas the only fitting word for this prince of 
hobbitkind. Legolas licked his lips, feeling himself harden, ready.
 
He lowered his hand to caress Frodo's cheek. The dark lashes fluttered, but 
Legolas drew back and stood still, like a statue, waiting for sleep to 
deepen once more. Frodo rolled onto his side, whimpering as his arm 
moved. The shoulder. It must still trouble him.
 
Legolas brought out the vial he had brought from his chambers--a 
rosemary, thyme, lavender and chamomile blend that worked wonders on 
sore muscles which cleared the mind and also cleansed the wound--from 
his own personal stock. He set it on the night table.
 
Brushing his hair back, Legolas bent over, intending to kiss Frodo awake, 
but before his lips could touch the porcelain skin, Frodo's brows drew 
together in sudden fear, sudden pain. His eyelids fluttered in the midst of 
some dream and he frowned, shaking his head a little. Legolas watched, 
fascinated by the play of emotion.
 
Ten suddenly with a gasp, Frodo woke up, half sitting up, clutching his 
shoulder. At the look of terror on his fair face, the pain, Legolas 
immediately drew him in for an embrace. Frodo looked to him in 
bewilderment, drawing back, his mouth falling open. He touched 
Legolas's face as if to ascertain he was real. "Who are you? Where is 
Gandalf? Or Sam?"
 
"Shh," Legolas cooed, brushing his finger over Frodo's face, steadying 
him so that in drawing away the hobbit didn't put any pressure on his 
shoulder. "We met at the Council. I'm Legolas of Mirkwood. Would you 
like me to light a taper for you to better see? You were dreaming--your 
wound pains you. I am only here to aid you."
 
Frodo put a tentative hand to Legolas's hair, gently moved the elf's head so 
that he was illuminated in a patch of moonlight, small hand trailing over 
the golden braids, up over one pointed ear. Legolas repressed a shiver, 
holding his breath lest he reveal his desires. "Legolas. Yes, I remember--
you spoke of Gollum escaping. Why are you here?" There wasn't exactly 
mistrust in his voice, but neither was there trust. The dwarf perhaps had 
given a bad report of the Mirkwood elves, or Bilbo perhaps. It was not the 
reaction Legolas had hoped for, but certainly not unexpected.
 
"I talked to Aragorn and Mithrandir, that you call 'Gandalf' . . . I am quite 
fascinated by you, Frodo. You are beautiful, and I admire your strength 
against the ills that have already befallen you, that may yet await. I noted 
that your wound troubles you still. I have not Elrond's skill perhaps, but he 
is lately occupied with the scouting. I thought perhaps to show you a bit of 
Mirkwood medicine. I promise it will relax you, ease your pain. Perhaps 
chase away the dreams a while as well. Will you let me tend you?" 
Legolas spoke low in Frodo's ear, trailing a finger up over the hobbits arm, 
around the silken bandage, up his shoulder and neck to his delicate pointed 
ear.
 
A flicker of something--ah, pleasure, just a flicker, but it was a start--
passed over Frodo's face, and Legolas noted a slight shiver pass through 
him at the touch along his throat. Pleasure point. Noted.
 
"What is your purpose, then? You must forgive me if I seem rude, but I 
don't know you well," Frodo said in a low voice, looking him over. 
Legolas smiled. He had chosen his clothing carefully--an ice green silken 
tunic, long-sleeved and low-necked, falling to mid thigh with gossamer 
light hosen. The buttons on the tunic were mostly for show--only a few 
fastenings help the piece in place. The front plunged quite deep to expose 
some chest, and Legolas noted Frodo's eyes traveling there with great 
interest, shy, but avid.
 
"Yes, I understand. I propose a rubbing in of special oils used by my 
people for the care of wounds on the mend. You will find it pleasant, I 
believe. And the smell is said to be of benefit as well. Here," Legolas 
whispered, unstoppering the bottle and passing it to Frodo, letting their 
fingers graze. As Frodo took a smell, Legolas brushed his hand up and 
down his neck again, pretending to inspect the bandage.
 
"I suspect the bandage is due for changing, in any case. Remove your 
shirt. Allow me to see to your comfort."
 
Legolas could see the thoughts whirling in Frodo's face--this was the 
House of Elrond, was it not? Several elves had undoubtedly tended him--
what was one more? That's right, Legolas thought at him--I am a friend. 
Relax. Enjoy.
 
Frodo glanced at his shoulder, moving it with obvious stiffness, 
grimacing. "Very well. It has bedeviled me today. The first night Aragorn 
came by and massaged it--I must confess it helped."
 
"Did he?" Legolas said, smiling devilishly. The sneaky human. "He is a 
man. I assure you in the hands of an elf, you will find it even more 
beneficial. I have a little healing skill of my own--let's see what I can do 
for you."
 
Frodo smiled, apparently convinced, for the moment, anyway. That was 
fine. It was the first few steps which were the hardest, naturally, in any 
seduction. Frodo raised his arms, allowing Legolas to pull off the 
nightshirt and begin removing the bandage. Then Frodo's eyes widened in 
belated realization. He clutched the covers to him. "I neglected to think. 
I'm bare under here."
 
Oh, the effect those words were having on Legolas--he hooded his eyes, 
breathing slowly against the heavy ache in his groin. "Worry not about 
that. I have lived to see nearly a full Age pass. Believe me when I say I 
have seen it all. Lay down for me on your back, please, Frodo. Just try to 
relax. And if I should cause you any pain, tell me immediately--breathing 
deeply will help to ease the muscles. Very well?"
 
"Quite well," Frodo agreed, and allowed Legolas to position his arms out 
on the pillows and kneel by his side to pour some of the golden oil into his 
long slender hands. Legolas rubbed his hands together to warm up the oil, 
then very gently spread it over the wound, bathing it in the aromatic oil, 
breathing in the scents of his home, working it slowly into the tender flesh. 
At first Frodo sucked in his breath, but as Legolas's warm hands rubbed 
heat into the cold flesh, his shoulders untensed, his eyes closed, and he let 
out a deep breath.
 
"That is . . . not unpleasant," Frodo mused.
 
"It shall get better, I promise. I shall massage your neck and torso as well--
often it is tense muscles which exacerbate the pain. Just drift. Indulge in 
the sensations, dear hobbit," Legolas said in a low melodious tone, 
soothing with his voice and words as well as with his hands. He poured a 
little more oil out, this time onto Frodo's chest, and began massaging in a 
spiraling pattern out from the wound, first at the shoulder muscles, down 
under the arm pit and down the arm, then under and over the breast, 
brushing his callused fingers in circles around Frodo's dark bud, making it 
tighten and pucker, watching the pleasure begin to surface in Frodo's 
expression. Frodo opened his eyes, his lips parted slightly, watching 
Legolas, but said nothing.
 
Legolas gave a very tiny smile, reassuring him, and began massaging the 
other shoulder and arm, under the arm, and again the breast, paying this 
nipple even more attention, flicking and rubbing it until he heard Frodo 
gasp.
 
"I don't believe *that* is part of the medicine," Frodo said in a husky 
voice, but he made no move to turn away or stop Legolas, still watching 
him with wide blue eyes, panting softly now.
 
Legolas bent to take the puckered nipple into his mouth, rolling it around 
his teeth and tongue before answering. "No, it is not. Would you like me 
to stop?" He leaned in to take the other nipple into his mouth, sucking 
greedily at it.
 
"Umm," Frodo groaned, arching a little up against him. His breath hitched 
in pain.
 
Legolas gently pushed him back down, gently rubbing the wounded 
shoulder. "Now I promised I would not hurt you. Just lie back, relax." He 
went back to using his fingers only, tweaking and swirling them around 
the nipples, down the ribcage, up the sides, watching passion build in 
Frodo's eyes. But he saw faint denial as well. "Here is a proposal. I'll 
massage your back next--really you won't get the full benefit unless I do 
both sides. Then you can decide if you want to do anything else. Is the oil 
and rub working? You are feeling less pain?"
 
"Yes," Frodo said, nodding, bringing his hands up to hold Legolas's head 
as he continued to suck and lick his chest, his pointed tongue swirling over 
the wound itself. "Oh--that *does* help!" Frodo said with a gasp in 
wonder.
 
Legolas chuckled. "Then I shall continue the treatment--I told you I had 
some skill."
 
He leaned over to lightly brush his lips against Frodo's just the barest 
touch, hardly even a true kiss, just to get Frodo thinking, make him 
wonder just what it would be like.
 
Legolas straightened.
 
"Now roll over."
 
*****
TBC
*****


Part: 2/3  
Title: Elven Medicine   
Author: Diamond (juweldom@yahoo.com )  
Rating: NC-17  
Pairing: Legolas/Frodo (Legolas/Aragorn)  
Warnings: interspecies 
Disclaimer: All characters herein belong to Tolkien (sob!); I make no  
monetary profit from this but give me feedback and I'm a happy lass.
 
  
Summary: Legolas wants to help heal Frodo.  So does Aragorn.
 
  
Notes: This has probably been done, but oh well! Written in response to  
the word challenge for the Frodo_slash group. The words: Succulent,  
curls, goosedown. 
 
Thanks to Claudia for wonderful beta reading!
 
***
 
*Frodo*
 
He had woken up from a restless sleep, his shoulder on fire though cold to 
the touch, images of Black Riders bearing down upon him in his dreams. 
To find Legolas by his bedside was--well, it was certainly a surprise. He 
had seen the elf and listened to his words, thought him a fair fellow 
despite Gloin's aversion to him, but to have him asking to personally tend 
him? Well it was a little embarrassing, really. This was the son of a king. 
Nevermind that Elrond himself had tended him; this was a guest, taking on 
the host's chores. Frodo didn't know quite what to think of it.
 
But as the elf’s hands moved over Frodo’s flesh and he suddenly dipped 
his head to take a nipple into his mouth, watching Frodo with fiery dark 
blue eyes, it suddenly became clear why Legolas was tending him. 
 
Frodo had heard--and discounted--a tale or two about woodland elves, 
about their passions. But he could not discount the incredible sensations 
running through him at Legolas's talented mouth, his firm hands. The ache 
of the wound was a distant buzz. He would do anything to continue these 
sensations, experience this elven 'skill'. He'd had few lovers. None of them 
had ever thought to play with his nipples before.
 
"Now roll over," Legolas then said, and Frodo sighed inwardly, thinking 
that the fun was over. What had possessed him to protest it? He caught 
Legolas looking at him, smiling as if holding back a laugh--was he being 
funny? "You *are* enjoying this, I think," Legolas murmured, and with 
his help Frodo turned over, being careful not to put strain on his shoulder. 
It was only as Legolas straddled his hips that he realized in his movements 
the sheets had slipped down so that his buttocks were now half-exposed. 
Feeling the soft material of Legolas's hosen against bare skin and the ache 
that produced, he half turned to glance at Legolas, wondering if he should 
protest *this*.
 
"Better angle to work on your back; that is all," Legolas said smoothly 
easing him back down. "Close your eyes. Drift," he ordered, and Frodo 
strove to do so, though the thoughts that drifted to him now were anything 
but relaxing. Intoxicating, more than anything else, those hands now 
rubbing firmly along the muscles down his spine, working hard at the 
knots. Oh. Yes; he needed that. Groaning happily, Frodo stretched out and 
did start to relax, letting the elf work away the tension, the pain--there 
were some parts where he had to breathe deeply, trying to expel the pain, 
but Legolas was very gentle, letting him rest between working on the 
harder areas, combining firm pressure with butterfly light touches that 
delighted and calmed. 
 
And indeed he *did* have a skill--there was something glowing about his 
touch, heat or elven magic; Frodo didn't know, but it chased away 
darkness and torment. The shoulder felt almost as it had when Elrond 
checked it, when Aragorn had placed his athelas to it. He felt loose and 
pliable, swimming in warm pleasure, almost but not quite asleep.
 
Then he felt teeth on his shoulder. And lips, brushing down his back, and 
nails, lightly scratching. Against his bottom he felt a hard ridge--but 
surely, that wasn't Legolas . . . 
 
"Content?" Legolas purred into Frodo's ear, nibbling it as well. A hot 
shock of pleasure traveled down Frodo’s back, hardening his shaft which 
had begun to soften during the massage. 
 
"Uh huh," Frodo whispered, wiggling his hips to rub his member into the 
feather mattress, brush his buttocks against Legolas, testing--yes, that was 
indeed him. What did this mean? Did Legolas really want him . . . that 
way? 
 
That was answered for him by the little nips down his neck and across his 
shoulder, each one sending off sparks that made him gasp and mewl, 
thrusting up harder at Legolas. Oh but he was on fire!
 
"You are so beautiful, young one," Legolas said with a sigh, changing his 
position to lie atop him, rubbing himself full length against Frodo, pushing 
down the covers further in his movements. Frodo moaned.  "I want to 
adore you--one night, many nights--whatever you prefer," the elf 
continued, and began kissing his way down Frodo's back, to the base of 
his spine, then up one sensitive cheek, nipping it. 
 
Oh! There weren't words to describe what that did to him, Frodo thought 
as the heat pooled hotter and hotter in his groin, almost painfully so. 
Legolas moved lower on the buttock, kissing and nipping as he went, and 
now Frodo moaned in earnest, wiggling his arse, spreading his legs a little. 
Did Legolas mean to . . . he had tried it once, fumbling, as a young lad 
with another young lad. The results had been painful and awkward, and 
after that Frodo had given up, seeking release only by touching himself. 
He'd tried seeing a few lasses, but that just hadn't worked either, so he'd 
decided he just wasn't made for passion, and given up.
 
He was going to have to reevaluate himself now.
 
Frodo felt Legolas raising his hips a little, slipping a soft pillow 
underneath him. "Do you . . . mean to . . . bed me?" Frodo said against the 
coils of pleasure as Legolas nibbled and licked up the insides of his thighs 
now, until he was shaking, until he thought he would burst.
 
"Would you like me to? We can do whatever you like," Legolas said . . . 
and *licked* him, in a most . . . delicate . . . spot. Frodo thought he might 
faint.
 
He had trouble forming a response. "Ah . . . I'm not sure . . ." He had to 
think about this--did he want to be intimate with the elf? Granted, this had 
already slipped well into his definition of 'intimate', but to tell the truth, 
there had been one he had considered this sort of situation with…and it 
hadn’t been Legolas. Although suddenly Legolas seemed like a wonderful 
idea--he certainly seemed to know what he was about, and the knowledge 
*could* be beneficial if perhaps Frodo ever got a chance to try 'things' 
with the one he wanted.
 
He looked back at the elf, and felt the elf studying him, still lightly grazing 
over his flesh with his fingertips, making him shudder. Frodo wasn't 
entirely certain he could stop now--this had to come to completion in some 
fashion. "I had wanted to--but he's--" Oh dear, that was coming out all 
wrong; whatever should he say to explain it all?
 
Legolas seemed to understand. "You desire another. Forgive me for my 
curiosity, but it would not happen to be a certain ranger, would it?"
 
Frodo blushed deeply but said nothing. He didn't have to--he knew his 
eyes gave him away.
 
"Ahhh. He will pretend to be disinterested, you have to understand, 
because he feels his duties quite strongly, and would not want to cross the 
line from protector to lover. But I have no such problem crossing lines. 
Would you like me to arrange something with him?"  Frodo's mouth fell 
open. Would he? *Could* he? "But it he does not want me . . ." he 
murmured, wishing Legolas hadn't stopped touching him, wanting to arch 
up against him again. 
 
"Oh he wants you. Very much. So then you have no interest in me?" 
Legolas did not sound disappointed--it almost sounded like he was 
teasing, in fact, and Frodo thought perhaps the way he kept rubbing his 
bottom against the elf's erection might have something to do with that.
 
"Oh, I don't want you to stop--doing whatever--but I must confess. I'm not 
a good lover. I don't know what to do." Oh, thankfully the hands were 
back at work on him, slipping under him as well to touch his member--
Frodo's eyes rolled back as he gasped in delight.
 
"Do you want me to enter you? Show you how to make love? Then you 
can return the favor to Aragorn." 
 
Frodo nodded, urgently--doubtful he'd remember everything the elf was 
doing, but he'd already given him *tons* of new ideas to add to his 
fantasies. He'd never known actions before the main could feel so 
wonderful.
 
"Let's turn you over again--I don't want you straining that shoulder. You 
can lie quietly, and just watch, just experience." Legolas gathered him up 
in his arms and gently flipped him over. Then the elf rose, and with a flick 
of his fingers, removed his tunic, exposing an expanse of olive-skin and 
dark tan nipples--Frodo reached up hesitantly to stroke one, watching 
almost fascinated as it puckered and Legolas's expression went slack, the 
eyes closing to mere slits. 
 
"Just like that. Very good."
 
Leaning over him, Legolas then slid down his hosen, until he was naked 
lying atop, then with a smile, bent his head to kiss Frodo long and deep, 
moving his tongue against Frodo's teeth, lapping at him. Frodo pressed his 
hands down the elf's back, marveling at the smooth flesh, smoother 
perhaps than even his own. Perhaps later they could indulge more in this 
wonderful kissing but for now he was quite excited, and he dug his fingers 
into the small of Legolas's back, urging him back to his task. With a 
parting peck on the cheek, Legolas kneeled between his legs, then took the 
bottle of oil and poured a little into his hand. 
 
Frodo watched, breathless, as the elf moved the hand down between his 
legs and smoothed the oil around his opening, then firmly pressed inward. 
"Relax," the elf said in a low voice, using his other hand to slowly stroke 
Frodo's member, making him sigh with pleasure as the finger slipped in 
deeper, twisting and coating him. All right--this wasn't so bad yet. But it 
wasn't the elf's engorged cock, either--long, and slender; hopefully the 
slender part would make things a little easier. It was, Frodo noted with 
nervousness, larger than the one he had already tried. And Aragorn's 
would be even bigger, he knew. He closed his eyes and concentrated on 
the stroking, willing himself to relax.  "That's it--you'll be a fast learner, I 
believe." Legolas added another finger, and just when Frodo was about to 
protest that he couldn't possibly accommodate, he gasped as he felt wet 
slick heat at the head of his cock and opened his eyes to stare in rapture as 
Legolas began taking him into his mouth, sucking hungrily at him.
 
"Oh my," Frodo sighed, and the second finger slipped in against the 
clenching--he wasn't sure if it was pain or pleasure now, but he didn’t 
care. More. Wanted more, just as much as Legolas could give to him. He 
spread his legs further and tugged at the elf's long silken hair, fighting the 
urge to thrust down the elf's throat, madly. Had Frodo thought he lacked 
passion? Obviously not with this lover.
 
Scissoring the two fingers, Legolas finally added the third and Frodo 
bucked as he brushed something--something *wonderful*, and fire raced 
up him to escape in a hissing breath out between his teeth. "Legolas . . ." 
he begged, drawing up his legs, ready. So this was the part he'd missed last 
time. Small wonder it had hurt.
 
Legolas let Frodo's cock fall from his lips and rose up to gaze into his 
eyes, measuring him--presumably determining if he really wanted this or 
not. Frodo nodded, raising up a hand to touch the elf's lips, swollen and 
red. The elf smiled. "Help me," Legolas said, and poured a little oil into 
Frodo's hand, then brought his hand down to touch his member, sighing 
deeply as Frodo slid his hand up and down the silken shaft, marveling at 
the pleasure he could bring.
 
Once he was coated, Legolas gently moved his hand away and poised over 
him, watching him. "Ready?"
 
"Yes, please!" Frodo said, then gasped as the elf entered him slowly, 
stretching him to the brink of pain, then beyond. 
 
Frodo closed his eyes, breathing quickly, trying to accommodate things, 
while Legolas kissed his ears and whispered over and over, "Relax, relax; 
open up for me." Whether it was something the elf did, a talent of the 
Eldar, or whether it was he himself Frodo wasn't sure, but suddenly things 
eased, and the elf sank home. Frodo gulped now in pleasure, his hands on 
Legolas's back, urging him even deeper if possible.
 
"Oh Frodo--so good!" Legolas cried out, holding still as things clenched 
inside the hobbit. He felt for a moment he might split in two, though it still 
felt wonderfully good; he wiggled again, looking for what Legolas had 
rubbed earlier, sliding his erection against the elf's flat stomach. Legolas 
groaned, holding his hips still. Things eased again, then with a chuckle, 
Legolas pulled almost all the way out, then sank in deep again, smiling at 
him. His cock rubbed right against that lovely place inside.
 
"Ohh," Frodo said, thrusting up, his lips parted, his head arching back. He 
cried out softly and bucked as Legolas tweaked his nipples again with his 
fingers. "More--more, please," he begged, and Legolas did so: long, deep, 
slow strokes, each one a torment, a sweet ecstasy. But Frodo needed more-
-harder, faster.
 
"Legolas," he urged, thrusting hard against him, seeking that boundary 
where pleasure and pain combined. "More!" He cried, knowing he was 
drawing near that precipice, yearning for it. If he had been wounded, it 
was forgotten now.
 
"Oh yes, dear one, Erreur!" Legolas cried, switching to Sindarin, 
increasing the pace and thrusting harder, pounding into him. His hand 
closed over Frodo's shaft, pumping him quickly.
 
Frodo cried out to the moon, the stars, as his seed burst from him, coating 
the elf's hand, and it seemed only seconds later that Legolas joined him 
with one last thrust, shuddering against him, soft musical cries against 
Frodo's throat as he embraced him.
 
As the tremors passed and the afterglow began to fade, Legolas rested 
against him, still lying on top, but he was almost without weight 
somehow--another elven trick, surely.
 
"Your elven medicine is a marvel," Frodo sighed as Legolas slipped out of 
him and Frodo felt the dampness between them, flowing out of him. He 
felt like he had been touched by moonlight, happy, floating.
 
"Indeed, we find it so," Legolas said with a smirk. He sounded tired, but 
well satisfied. "You are succulent, my sweet hobbit."
 
Frodo giggled to be compared to a morsel of food. Then he frowned. "I 
shall never be able to remember all of that for Aragorn. Will you really--
er--'arrange' things for us? I'll never have the nerve to bring the subject up 
with him, I am sure."
 
Legolas laughed, brushing back his curls. "We shall lay a trap for Aragorn. 
You shall have your wish." He kissed Frodo's hair, inhaling, then winked 
at him. "And do not worry. If you feel unsure, you can always 'practice' 
these skills before his return. I am sure you will amaze him."
 
Frodo smiled, and there was a little of his boyhood impishness of Brandy 
Hall in that look.
 
"I think that can be 'arranged'."
 
*****
 
TBC
 
*****


Part: 3/3  
Title: Elven Medicine   
Author: Diamond (juweldom@yahoo.com )  
Rating: NC-17  
Pairing: Aragorn/Legolas/Frodo  
Warnings: interspecies 
Disclaimer: All characters herein belong to Tolkien (sob!); I make no  
monetary profit from this but give me feedback and I'm a happy lass.
 
  
Summary: Legolas wants to help heal Frodo.  So does Aragorn.
 
  
Notes: This has probably been done, but oh well! Written in response to  
the word challenge for the Frodo_slash group. The words: Succulent,  
curls, goosedown.
 
 
***
 
*Aragorn*
 
It had been a very long journey, much at top speed across the desolate 
lands that stretched out west of the Misty Mountains, the sons of Elrond 
and their elfsteeds urging his mount on ahead of them, pausing only for 
the bare minimum of rest. Aragorn dutifully reported the news from 
Galadriel and Lothlorien in Elrond's study, after Elrohir and Elladan had 
spoken of their tidings. Aragorn had barely had time to bathe before he fell 
asleep in his bed, missing entirely the evening meal.
 
When he awoke, it was to darkness and starlight and the red dying embers 
of the logs in the fireplace. And the feeling that he was not alone.
 
Battle instincts immediately took over, his years in dark lands making him 
alert; he reached for the candle stick to use as a weapon, forgetting for a 
moment where he was.
 
A kiss on the lips and two sets of slender arms encircling him stilled his 
movements. The kisser he recognized immediately by the taste, the feel, 
the woodsy scent. "Legolas," he said calmly, though his heart was still 
racing from having been caught off guard.
 
"Welcome back," Legolas purred, kissing him once more, then drawing 
away, leaving Aragorn to remember it had been *two* sets of arms he had 
felt on him. In the darkness another set of lips pressed to his cheek, the 
softest lips, and curls of hair tickled his ear as hands--*small* hands, 
trailed over his cheek, then down his chest. As Aragorn recognized the 
second one in his bed, he felt himself grow warm, filling with need, 
growing hard and ready instantly.
 
"Hello, Aragorn--I hope you do not mind this little surprise?" Frodo's 
voice was timid, but there was no mistaking the hardness pressed into 
Aragorn's side, the slightly breathless need in that voice, so cultured, so 
innocent. Aragorn closed his eyes that he might better enjoy it.
 
"Frodo?" He barely dared give voice to his hope, lest it all be a dream. His 
voice sounded harsh, raw.
 
Frodo chuckled nervously. "Yes, it's me. Legolas said you'd be pleased. 
Are you?" Such delicate tentativeness in that high hobbit tenor, such 
warmth. Aragorn lifted up a hand to cup a smooth cheek . . . 
 
"I am pleased--but very surprised." He was afraid to ask--had Legolas and 
Frodo . . . Did Frodo *love* Legolas? He could not see Frodo taking a 
casual lover. "Legolas . . ." Aragorn could not finish the question. His 
heart clenched painfully. 
 
Legolas answered. "Yes, Frodo and I were lovers, for a short time just 
after you left. But it's you he loves, Aragorn. Consider this my apology--if 
you had been honest with me of *your* feelings, I would have desisted."
 
Aragorn started to retort, but he couldn't. Even expecting the news, it was 
a blow.
 
Frodo kissed him gently on the lips. Aragorn thought he would go mad. 
"Are you upset with me? I never would have come here tonight if Legolas 
hadn't given me courage to, hadn't shown me . . . I am not skilled. I 
*never* would have told you how I felt, I never would have imagined this 
was possible, without Legolas's encouragement."
 
Aragorn realized he was hearing an echo of his own emotions in Frodo's 
voice. He needed light, he thought suddenly; he needed to see the 
expression on the hobbit's face. He kissed the hobbit back, feeling slightly 
guilty--this wasn't appropriate, was it? He could offer nothing to Frodo; 
nothing but friendship and his protection. "I need to see you. Let me light 
the candle." He felt around for the lighting kit, but Legolas beat him to it, 
lighting the candle, flooding the room with soft flickering light.
 
Frodo wore only an elven dressing gown, coming open at the chest--
Aragorn could see one dark nipple peeking out from the dark blue silk. He 
gulped, shifting his hips against the heat pooling inside. Legolas, dressed 
in a pale green dressing robe and hosen, was perched at the end of the bed 
watching the two of them, his eyes dark and smoldering. He was smiling, 
pleased with himself. 
 
Aragorn looked closer at Frodo, at the turbulent emotions swirling in those 
bright azure eyes. Now in the light, he could not deny the chief emotion 
evident in Frodo's face. 
 
Love. Love for *him*.
 
"You would not have told me?" Aragorn asked, the words sinking in, the 
ramifications becoming clear. Legolas had thought he was doing both of 
them a service, but had he? What about when they had to say goodbye?
 
Frodo swallowed. He was almost sitting in Aragorn's lap, his hands still 
trailing lightly over the Ranger's shoulders, yearning evident in every 
move he made. "No. I may perish completing my quest. And you are 
betrothed. And I never thought . . . it would be returned." He blushed and 
looked down, apparently still somewhat in doubt, somewhat afraid. 
 
Aragorn nodded. "I am betrothed. And I love her." He saw Frodo's face 
fall. "But I love you too." Frodo looked up.
 
Frodo looked up. "Perhaps . . . for a short time?" Oh, he looked *so* in 
need, so desperate to be touched. Aragorn could not refuse, and damn the 
consequences later.
 
"Yes . . ." he whispered, and leaned forward to devour Frodo's mouth, 
pressing his lips in, marveling at how the hobbit opened up for him, 
willing, insisting. Legolas had been hard at work teaching, Aragorn 
suspected. He would not begrudge the elf his time, for he, too, would 
never have dared this.
 
"Shall I leave you two?" Legolas's tone was mild, but Aragorn could hear 
the need there too. It was not really that the elf and Ranger loved each 
other, but he knew the elf was lonely, and found comfort in the beds of 
safe friends. 
 
Aragorn raised an arm in his direction, not letting go of Frodo. He released 
Frodo's lips just long enough to say, "Join us. You sly elf."
 
Legolas laughed and came forward, sitting behind Aragorn on the bed 
with his legs on either side, straddling. He brushed his chest against 
Aragorn's back, running his fingers through the Ranger's scalp, lightly 
biting at his neck and shoulders. "You are a most considerate lover." 
Legolas sighed into one ear. And into the other ear, "I wish the best of 
luck for you two."
 
The thought left Aragorn for a moment, for in front of him Frodo had 
straddled his hips, and was beginning to kiss him earnestly, small tongue 
darting between rose red lips, lapping at Aragorn's mouth. Aragorn 
groaned, gently placing his hands on Frodo's sides, afraid he might hurt 
him in his passion.
 
Perhaps Frodo sensed this, or else he too was lost in passion, for he 
pressed in close, his little hands working at the buttons of Aragorn's night 
shirt, scraping over the Ranger's chest, his nipples. Aragorn groaned into 
the kiss, caught from in front and behind, two erections pressing into him, 
and his shirt being lifted over his head by two pairs of hands.
 
"Frodo, I want to see you," Aragorn rasped, his hands now fumbling at the 
lacings; behind him Legolas laughed and reached around to help untie the 
lacings, nuzzling him, sucking on his ear. Aragorn tried to kiss him, 
reaching back to stroke the elf's thighs as Frodo removed his clothing, then 
with a gasp, Aragorn returned his gaze to Frodo.
 
"Ohh," Aragorn said in heartfelt appreciation, running a callused hand 
over smooth alabaster white skin, over a delicate shoulder, down a milky 
chest, over the lean stomach and smooth thighs. Frodo's member jutted out 
proudly, and Aragorn longed to touch it as well, impressed, but he 
resisted, feasting only with his eyes. "Dear Frodo. Do you know how 
wonderful you are . . ."
 
Frodo smiled bashfully and tilted his head a little. "I find you quite 
fascinating as well." He bent his head to suck one of Aragorn's nipples, 
and Aragorn sighed and fell back, into Legolas's arms. He realized 
Legolas was now naked as well. Indeed the only item of clothing left was 
Aragorn's hosen.
 
These Frodo began to pull down, murmuring in a shy but fervent voice, "I 
would like to see you as well." Aragorn raised his hips obligingly panting 
as Legolas tweaked his nipples with deft fingers, licking a path from his 
shoulder up his neck to the Ranger's jaw. The two of them together would 
clearly kill him, Aragorn thought, bemusedly. He lifted legs as Frodo 
pulled off the hosen, running his hands over the hair on Aragorn's calves, 
up his thighs to the burning center of his arousal.
 
"Oh, I just knew you'd be tremendous," Frodo sighed, sounding more than 
a little frightened.
 
"Shh," Legolas said to Frodo, soothingly, and slid around to lie beside 
Aragorn, his limbs pressed along the length of Aragorn's side, moving his 
hand down Aragorn's chest to take his engorged member in hand, slowly 
stroking. Aragorn fell back against the pillows, eyes half closed, awash in 
sensation at Frodo moving up his legs towards the same destination, 
evidently to share with Legolas. Aragorn nearly jumped out of his skin at 
the feel of a hot tongue laving over the head. He raised his head to see 
which one . . . "Frodo?!" He croaked, not able to believe what he was 
seeing.
 
He was nearly undone as the hobbit's lips parted to take him in, though 
poor Frodo could not quite get the whole head into his mouth. Legolas had 
moved further down, and seeing Aragorn's attention, gave him a devilish 
smile and began to assist, licking from base to head with his long tongue, 
coaxing Aragorn's legs open. The elf brought out a small vial of oil--his 
'elven medicine', which had probably been in the pocket of his dressing 
gown. 
 
"Our turn to tend to you, Ranger, after your toils. We thought perhaps we 
should leave your 'tending to Frodo's wound' to next time, when the two of 
you are alone. Will you allow him to do the honor tonight?"
 
Aragorn's mouth fell open--Frodo . . . on *him*?
 
Frodo smiled shyly, hopeful.
 
Aragorn had to swallow twice against the rising passion. "I would be 
delighted."
 
"It will be my first time--um--doing the--uh--honor," Frodo confessed, and 
Aragorn thought he might die of happiness right there.
 
Legolas poured a little oil into Frodo's hand, while Aragorn watched, 
trembling. Frodo gave himself a quick once over, then put his hand down, 
tentatively, tracing over the Ranger's sack, the spot behind, down to his 
entrance--Aragorn groaned low and deep feeling the hobbit's fingers 
circling the tender flesh there, before the first one pushed in, exploring. It 
was too much--especially since Legolas had not left off from slowly 
stroking him. To steady himself lest he embarrass himself and come too 
soon, Aragorn grabbed at Legolas's thighs, urging him towards his end, 
maneuvering him around so that they could suck each other as Frodo 
pushed in another finger, deeper now, surer, in and out in a smooth 
rhythm, readying him.
 
"Frodo--more, please!" Aragorn gasped between licks to the elf's long 
shaft, grabbing at the muscular buttocks over his head. Legolas's mouth 
was around his cock now, slowly taking him deep down in his throat.
 
Frodo made a noise of excitement--a whimper or a moan, and a third 
finger was added, then a fourth, and Aragorn shuddered and ground his 
hips back, feeling the fingers brush his pleasure spot. "Now, Frodo; 
*now*!" he gasped, then engulfed Legolas once more.
 
Legolas moaned and raised his head, moving out of the way for Frodo to 
position himself, kneeling, the tops of his thighs brushing at Aragorn's 
buttocks. Aragorn let go of Legolas to look down at Frodo, seeing the 
burning need in his eyes, the self assurance suddenly in his posture. As 
Frodo guided himself in, Aragorn bit his cheeks, opening up for him, 
throbbing, needing. Frodo slid all the way home with ease and Aragorn 
groaned at the look of pleasure on the hobbit's face, shiny with sweat, the 
fiery blue eyes boring into his through long dark lashes.
 
"Ohh, Aragorn," Frodo moaned, shifting his hips, moving tentatively.
 
The movement rubbed again in just the right place. "Yes, Frodo. Take me. 
Hard please; I am yours."
 
Legolas moved Aragorn's thighs far apart, pushing them back to his chest 
as Frodo pulled out and thrust in harder, deeper, holding onto his legs for 
umbrage. Then Frodo was building up a rhythm, pumping into him, and 
Legolas resumed his position, attacking Aragorn with renewed vigor, his 
tongue swirling around the top and down the sides as he engulfed him. 
Aragorn gave himself up to the two sensations, sucking greedily at 
Legolas's cock, letting the elf raise his hips and thrust into Aragorn's 
mouth, taking him deep.
 
Frodo slammed in particularly hard on one thrust and Aragorn's whole 
body jumped as pleasure tore through him--he gave a strangled shout 
around Legolas and Legolas released him just long enough to tell Frodo, 
"Like that--just like that, Frodo." Frodo did so--hard, brutal thrusts which 
surprised Aragorn at their strength, but he couldn't think much on that; he 
was growing perilously near, between Frodo filling him and the incredible 
feel of the elf's mouth on him, his fingers, stroking his balls as they 
tightened.
 
Aragorn sucked hard, wetting a finger to slide into Legolas, and with that 
help, Legolas came first, hot spurts down Aragorn's throat. Moaning 
around Aragorn's cock, Legolas let Aragorn move him to the side a little 
so that the Ranger could lift up his head and watch the two of them still at 
work, panting, trying to hold back--he could see sweat running down 
Frodo's chest as he continued to thrust into him, the hobbit's face contorted 
almost in pain--oh, he knew that look, the look of holding back.
 
Frodo slammed into him the same time Legolas went down, scraping just 
slightly with his teeth, and that was it; with a cry Aragorn came, keeping 
his eyes open on Frodo's face. He was rewarded as Frodo lost the battle 
and came as well, the pleasure washing over his face as he stared into 
Aragorn's eyes. "Love you!" the hobbit gasped, gripping Aragorn's hips 
hard enough to bruise. Aragorn sighed, fulfilled.
 
Legolas drank all the Ranger's seed, then gently released him and turned 
around to lie beside him, as Frodo collapsed on top, chest heaving. 
Aragorn immediately wrapped one arm around the hobbit and the other 
around the elf. For many long moments the three laid there, breathing, 
letting themselves cool, letting raging heartbeats return to normal.
 
Finally, Aragorn spoke. "Frodo . . . that was amazing. You are a treasure, 
my beautiful, rare, dear hobbit. You will hold a piece of my heart forever."
 
Frodo looked at him, smiling, moisture glistening in his eyes. Slipping out, 
the hobbit climbed up Aragorn to rest his head on his breast, soft cheek on 
warm skin, small arms encircling Aragorn. Aragorn kissed his hair, then 
guided Frodo up a moment to kiss him long and deep, before settling the 
hobbit back against him, sighing at the way it made him feel to have this 
precious one love him.
 
Aragorn's other hand stroked Legolas's hair. "And thank you, my friend," 
he told the elf, smiling. Legolas's smile was wide and sated; he also leaned 
over to kiss Aragorn, a gentle kiss between friends, before settling against 
him as well, his eyes still open, watching.
 
Aragorn yawned, feeling sleep coming over him. "Well truly that was a 
welcome back I never expected."
 
Frodo chuckled then yawned as well. "A bit of elven--and hobbit care. 
Good night, Aragorn. Sleep well."
 
Aragorn smiled. "Good night, Frodo."
 
The Ranger was aware of drifting off, entangled with the two, their 
warmth shared. But when he awoke in the morning, only Frodo was still in 
his arms, sleeping peacefully. On the place where Legolas had been there 
was only the bottle of elven oil, and a little note in Sindarin:
 
"A maer galw, meldir."
 
Good luck, my friends.
 
***
 
End