Title: Double or Nothing Author: Razzle (hungryhungryhippo1@hotmail.com) Pairing: Legolas/Aragorn/Boromir Rating: NC17 Summary: Sequel to Honest Urges. Aragorn wants in on the game, so Legolas offers him a deal. Disclaimer: Oooh, I ain’t got no right, I know, but look how pretty they are! If you listen closely you can hear them; “Slash me, please, I haven’t had any for ages.” I can’t deny them such a simple request. I’m not made of stone! Warnings: Nowt. Archive: Strip it naked and spank it. Tell me how it feels. Feedback: is an ego blowjob. Authors note: as usual, many thanks to Beta Lou, and I’m sorry I was mean to your man. I have tried to make amends; it’s been a long time coming. The handsome man reclined against a cool wall, and breathed out in relief. He was supremely glad of Gandalf’s confusion, as it gave them all a chance for a small rest, albeit a tense one. He ran a hand through the dirty matt of his hair, and glanced around the company. Legolas had strolled off, ostensibly to find some fresher air, and Boromir appeared to be taking advantage of this brief respite elsewhere. Aragorn decided to take this opportunity to have a word with the elf. If this tension continued much longer, he was worried he’d injured himself. There are few men who can track an elf, especially through air as stale as that that Aragorn had to negotiate, but he knew his friend’s scent well. He found it highly alluring, and had spent many nights in Mirkwood struggling to catch a trace of that delicate perfume. He slipped easily into the shadows, unnoticed by the halflings, and began to search for his friend. Along the excuse for a passageway the man had tracked his friend down to were a number of doorways leading into some surprisingly comfortable rooms. He made a mental note to ask Gimli what they were for, but momentarily kept to the task. It didn’t surprise Aragorn that the elf had not gone too far. He would have wanted to be in earshot and ready to move as soon as they were ready to leave. Aragorn went for the first door, but a sound he recognised drew him away, and towards the third of these little rooms. He knew those melodic tones, so regular and harmonious regardless of the situation. He pushed the door a touch, and peered around the corner. The sight that he encountered suggested no one was in the mood to notice him. Legolas was sat in a great stone chair before one of the torches, which crackled brightly on the wall beside him, imbued with far too much joyful innocence considering what was occurring in front of it. The elf’s head had canted back, his eyes closed in pleasure and his mouth open, from which issued the sounds that had caught the ranger’s attention from outside. One of his slender hands was gripping the arms of the chair so tightly his knuckles were white, and the other was buried in the chestnut brown mane of the man who accompanied them on their quest, whose face was hidden in Legolas’ lap. His head was rising and falling to an almost lazy rhythm, which Legolas was clearly trying to increase despite the man’s cruel resistance to his efforts. However, as Boromir finally conceded, and began to move a little faster, a beautifully indulgent smile spread gracefully over Legolas’ beautiful face. His hips lifted unintentionally, and the man’s hand crept up a firm thigh to restrain him. The elf’s regular moans were captivating the ranger, so much so that when the elf dropped his head he forgot to move, and the elf’s keen eyes caught his own in the dancing firelight. His smile faded instantly, but he did nothing to stop Boromir, or break eye contact. Aragorn couldn’t believe he was watching them again, he’d never considered himself much of a voyeur, and he knew he should have moved away in embarrassment, but he was entranced by Legolas’ eyes, beautifully darkened by his desire. A second smile momentarily touched his lips, rather more sardonic than previously. Aragorn found it irritatingly attractive. He felt his breeches tighten around his growing arousal as Legolas took a deep breath and arched his back against the back of the chair. Shrouded in darkness, there seemed to be nothing in the world but the flushed face of the handsome elf, and his own shivering breath. Legolas’ fingers tightened in Boromir’s hair as he neared his climax. Even so, his eyes never left Aragorn’s. He never even blinked as he moaned deeply with his orgasm, although he was forced to lean his head back against the back of the chair as Boromir greedily swallowed down his seed. His body tensed as he came, and when he relaxed a moment later, Aragorn simultaneously released tension he wasn’t aware he had been holding, while still painfully conscious that he had been afforded no such completion. Boromir got to his feet, forcibly breaking their eye contact as he leaned in to kiss his lover. Aragorn shook his head, regaining enough of his control to move out of the away, and into the shadows. As a result of which, Boromir entirely failed to see him as he left the room, throwing his cloak over his shoulders and swaggering back towards the fellowship with an expression of self-satisfaction that Aragorn found maddening. Unsure of what to do, he stood in the shadows for a time, staring at the door. Which clicked open, and a familiar platinum flash announced his friend, who stood in the doorframe, silhouetted by the flickering firelight. “You might as well come in Aragorn,” he said with a smile, and swept back into the room in the rather arrogant belief that the man would follow him. Which, of course, he did. The elf was standing in front of the torch, which made him look disturbingly tall. His voice was neither reproachful nor mocking, which Aragorn found both relieving and slightly unnerving. “You wanted something? I assume that’s why you dropped by.” “I wanted to talk to you,” he added, conversationally, “your friend left rather abruptly.” “He lost a bet,” Legolas shrugged, as if this was sufficient explanation, and dropped back into the very uncomfortable-looking chair. Aragorn couldn’t excuse his jealousy, but he indulged it nonetheless. “I didn’t realise the two of you were together,” he said, as casually as he could manage, but unable now to meet the elf’s gaze. Legolas smiled kindly. “It’s head, Aragorn, not marriage. Take a seat.” He indicated a raised stone slab a short distance from the chair he now occupied. Aragorn sat gratefully, and a few moments disappeared in silence as he attempted to massage the tension out of his forehead, while Legolas waited patiently for him to come to the point of his mission. “I,” he began, faltered, and breathed out heavily before starting again. “I find myself distracted by you,” he looked up, “frequently.” Legolas raised an eyebrow. “And here was I thinking we were past that. I thought the randy ranger I once knew was growing up, settling down,” he shuddered, “or something. Was I mistaken?” Aragorn was relieved to see he was smiling, and not at all cruelly. “Legolas,” he said, gratefully joining in the humour in acknowledgement of his own foolishness, “it’s not like anyone could just get over you. Some things just aren’t that easily forgotten.” They shared a smile, as memories of Aragorn’s eagerly misspent youth played through their minds. “Well I don’t know,” Legolas said, regaining his more serious expression, if more in jest than genuine distancing tactic, “you show no interest for years, then as soon as you realise what you’re missing you just pop right back up? I’m not that easy Aragorn, even for you.” Aragorn’s heart sank, although he maintained an expression of resigned disappointment, rather than letting the full force of his regret show. “Missed my chance, have I?” “Well, I can’t be getting a reputation as the fellowship bike, now, can I? But, I suppose…” he trailed off, seemingly in thought. “What?” “I could offer you the same deal as Boromir.” Aragorn continued nervously. He was slightly suspicious of any forfeit Legolas could devise. He had a wicked sense of humour, and whatever the task, Boromir hadn’t been able to perform it. “What are the terms?” he asked tentatively. “If I win, I can claim any forfeit of you that I choose. If you win, likewise.” “Sounds fair. What’s the challenge?” Legolas told him, and his eyes widened in interest and surprise. “You’re kidding?” Legolas shook his head shortly and decisively. “I offered Boromir arm wrestling, but he said he wasn’t a fool.” “He had a point.” “Well, do you accept?” Aragorn looked up from the knot of his fingers he had been examining for the past few moments, and studied instead the devastatingly attractive creature who regarded him expectantly, running a thumb over lips he remembered could deliver such pleasure, as well as such difficult choices. Unbidden, the memory of what had passed mere minutes ago swam in to his mind, the beautiful elf receiving such pleasure as he stood jealously in the distance. If his friend wanted to play, “I’ll play.” A smile crept across the elf’s face, and Aragorn was gratified to realise that his response was so well received. “Excellent,” he purred, getting to his feet, “before we get to Lorien, then. And don’t argue, it’s my game, they’re my rules.” Aragorn’s mouth shut with a snap, and he followed the elf from the room. He stopped just before they met the rest of the group, and turned to address the man in a whisper. “Oh, and don’t go shouting about it, or they’ll all want one.” Aragorn shook his head as they rejoined the group. As if he needed it advertised that he’d rather chase this evasive male around the depths of Middle Earth than be content with the entirely compliant elf princess waiting for him in Rivendell. Maybe the attraction lay in his inaccessibility, Aragorn considered, then dismissed as he recalled that no, it was in his pants. Aragorn stared at the empty bridge. Behind him, he heard Boromir call out for him to follow. A million thoughts ran through his distraught mind. Grief and disbelief battled for supremacy as he felt the weight of responsibility land squarely upon his shoulders. And then, as he turned to follow his friends from the mine, dodging low-flying arrows as he went, a clear and reprehensible thought permeated the melee. *Oh shit* he thought, *I’ve lost.* No man amongst them had any thought as they entered the forest of anything other than its beauty. For these precious moments, all that consumed them was the spectacular place in which they found themselves. They were brought before the lady, and in turn she turned her gaze on each, looking past their faces and into their minds. Her eyebrows rose as she looked to Aragorn, and Boromir could not hold her gaze for blushing. Then she turned to Legolas, who, Aragorn noticed, had put on his best innocent face, and she entirely failed to suppress a smile. He didn’t hear what she said directly into the elf’s mind, (*Both* of them?) but he saw the smile and shrug it received. However, everyone present heard what she said to him then, which invited a number of curious glances from the hobbits. Eventually, they filed out, and Pippin caught up with Legolas. “Legolas?” he asked the elf, who was smiling in a curious fashion, “Yes, my little friend?” “Why are you a lucky boy?” “I’ll tell you when you’re taller.” Legolas sat cross-legged on a rock in the middle of a glade. His eyes were closed, and he looked for all the world as if he were mediating, but for the smile that crept across his face at Aragorn’s approach. “Well, my little friend,” he said in a light voice that carried across the clearing as if it were a part of the forest, “what shall we do with you?” Aragorn was struck by how peaceful he looked. He looked so at home, and Haldir’s declaration that this was the heart of elvendom on earth suddenly seemed less like the idle claim of a conceited fairy. Aragorn steeled himself. “It doesn’t count,” he said, with an impressive show of force. Legolas wove his fingers together, and leaned forwards to rest upon the knot. “Interesting. And why not?” he asked coolly. “I couldn’t steal Gandalfs pointy hat after he…” he tailed off, and for a few moments the two sat in guilty silence. “Mithrandir would hate for us to mope around,” Legolas said at last, which is an excellent excuse when you’d rather not, “but I’m a reasonable soul, so I’ll offer you another deal.” Aragorn raised an eyebrow in query, and the elf continued, “Double or nothing.” The man’s shoulders sagged in defeat. “What must I do?” he asked wearily. A great grin spread over the elf’s face, almost child-like in its obvious excitement. “This one’s not so difficult,” He leapt down form his rock and began to regain his composure. By the time his face was an inch from Aragorn’s, he was deadly serious. “I know just how you’re feeling, Aragorn,” he whispered, moving his head closer so his lips skirted the man’s ear, “You’re lonely, you’re exhausted, and you’re anxious. You’re also very horny.” A brief breath of laughter swept over the man’s ear, and he suppressed an exclamation of desire. His eyes fluttered shut as the elf continued in tones that could have been delightfully soporific if each word wasn’t a sultry promise. “You need a release, my friend,” he went on, “ someone who knows what to do with you, and can help you relinquish your precious control. Someone who knows when not to be gentle.” As he spoke, he ground his thigh against Aragorn’s waking need, and was rewarded with a cry that would not be buried. “But this is still my game,” he purred, “and still my rules, so I offer you double,” A second body pressed in behind him, pinning his arms to his sides, as Legolas abruptly backed away, crossing his arms, “Or nothing.” Aragorn didn’t need to turn to know who it was restraining him. His every sense told him it was a man, and men were hardly common in Lothlorien. He turned his head slightly. “I assume this wasn’t your idea.” Boromir laughed. “No, but I won’t pretend the idea lacks merit. Besides,” he attempted to speak low enough so only the other man would hear him, as futile as this undoubtedly was. “I’m pretty much going to do anything he asks of me. Apart from the fact that he saved my life back there, just look at him.” While his voice lacked Legolas’ melodic quality, the growl that it had descended to was, Aragorn had to admit, rather stirring in its own right, even as he watched the graceful elf lean nonchalantly against the rock he had previously vacated. Boromir wasn’t done, though, and, as if Aragorn needed any further convincing, he went on. “Look at the way he moves. And the way he speaks, the sounds he makes when he loses control, they haunt your dreams. Then there are the times he goes ballistic, that battle rage is frighteningly sexy.” Boromir brushed his lips over the other man’s ear, hot breath making him shiver in the constrictive embrace. Both men watched Legolas as he divested himself of his tunic, shrugging it to the floor where it lay like a pool of molten moonlight. The elf himself approached the men, his head bowed and the moonlight lighting his eyes like stars, and glancing off his perfect ivory figure. “So, what’s it to be? Are you in, or shall I take my Gondorian and go?” Before he could answer, Boromir loosed his arms, and took Legolas’ hand, ostensibly to leave with him. As the man stepped away from his back, he felt very cold, and rather lonely. Without hesitation, he placed his hand beneath the knot of their fingers, and lifted it to his mouth, where he planted a kiss on the weave of fingers that he couldn’t tell apart. “I’ll take it all.” And then he was in the middle of it. With the relief of having his quarry now firmly on board, something snapped in the elf, and the delicate mask of stony superiority fell away, as he drew up against the man. He brought his mouth decisively onto Aragorn’s, wrapping his arms around his neck and devouring him like a long bound animal finally released. Aragorn’s decision was instantly confirmed as the right one by this so stimulating kiss. His hands travelled down the elf’s back, over smooth muscles that were just as he remembered them, and that tensed as the elf arched into his touch. His fingers reached the elf’s body-tight leggings, and he let one hand drift past the waistband, the other sitting comfortably in the small of the other male’s back. It was hard to concentrate on anything with Legolas’ tongue stroking the roof of his mouth, making his head feel so light, but the proximity of his fingers to the elf’s perfect, tight arse was thought enough to make his manhood swell remarkably quickly. Legolas pulled his mouth away, and turned his face to Boromir, whom Aragorn had almost forgotten was present. While the other man was treated to the same wonderful experience of Legolas’ mouth, he leaned down to run his lips over prominent pale collarbones, and he moved his hand lower, unashamedly stroking deeper until they played across the opening to his body. He watched the elf jerk against the other man, then pull him in closer to kiss him with an even greater passion. A hand had crept up his back, and now the fingers secured themselves around the base of his neck he realised they didn’t belong to whom he had expected. They were not so slender or smooth as the ones he had anticipated, but this thought had barely registered before Boromir had lifted his face from the exploration of the elf’s chest and brought him into a kiss quite different to the one Legolas had bestowed upon him. There was an innate grace to the elf’s kiss, which was rhythmical even when so enthusiastic. Boromir’s kiss lacked the style, but none of the passion, and when he pulled away, Aragorn found himself feeling very disappointed. He opened his eyes to Boromir’s smiling face. “So,” the younger man smiled, “that’s what all the fuss is about.” Without replying, Aragorn leaned forwards to kiss him again, and Legolas moved out of the way so the two men could embrace more intimately. Aragorn’s hands crept up Boromir’s back, but their progress was somewhat marred by a lithe figure pressed the other side of the man. Aragorn opened his eyes, and they met with others that shone like sapphires in the moonlight. He watched the elf run his tongue up the side of Boromir’s neck, his expression unchanging, his eyes never leaving Aragorn’s own. When Boromir’s grip on the back of his head reversed the orientations of their faces, the elf came with him, also switching sides so their eye contact was only broken for a few seconds. Those slender hands edged into view, and reached for the clasp that secured Boromir’s cloak about his neck. As his heavy cape left his shoulders Boromir broke away from the ranger and turned a gaze of mild bemusement on the impatient elf. “Well what am I, a stripper? Come on,” he purred, tugging at the neck of Boromir’s shirt, “or I’ll start feeling all self conscious.” Aragorn inwardly wondered at the likelihood of a half-naked elf with the confidence to convince two men into such a situation feeling in any way self conscious, but he held his tongue. The men divested themselves of their shirts somewhat less delicately than the elf had done, dragging them unceremoniously off over their heads without even stopping to undo buttons. “Better,” the elf purred, licking his lips and eyeing the men hungrily, “much better. Aragorn,” he continued, his eyes on Boromir, “won’t you take a seat?” Aragorn opened his mouth to answer but he was cut short as the elf moved much faster than he was expecting, and knocked his legs out from under him. He landed heavily on the forest floor, which was mercifully thick with soft grass. Boromir roared with laughter as the proud ranger glared up at them, propped up on his elbows. Legolas smiled apologetically, and dropped to his knees between the ranger’s feet. He brought his body flush with Aragorn’s, and their faces so close the elf’s breath ghosted across the ranger’s lips. “What are you doing, elf?” “I rather like you down there. I’m just deciding what to do with you. First, I think…” he replied, and cut himself off by leaning down to kiss him once again. Never one to give up too easily, he didn’t let himself get carried away, but chose his time perfectly, and when Legolas had leaned forwards far enough, he shut his legs and caught the elf firmly between strong thighs. The elf leaned back with a sigh. “Very funny, Estel. What now?” “Now,” he said, roughly pulling the elf’s leggings down and revealing his nascent erection, “I’m tired of your games.” He ran his fingers up the elf’s shaft, receiving a satisfying sigh as he leaned back against his knees. Boromir dropped to his knees beside them, turning the elf’s face to his with a finger along his jaw. “You’re very beautiful when you’re surprised. You look almost innocent.” Legolas smiled coyly, and accepted the man’s kiss with feigned chastity. His actions, on the other hand, remained somewhat less than chaste, as he pushed his hand past the waistband of Boromir’s breeches, and wrapped it around his erection. He pushed against the elf as he began to stroke him, and Legolas was pressed back against Aragorn’s knees. This lifted him sufficiently so that the sight of him so close was too tempting for the ranger to resist. As Aragorn took him into his mouth, Legolas had to pull away from Boromir in order to breathe. The man took in the sight of the flushed elf, and saw a moment later the cause of his current state, and smiled. “Looks good.” The elf nodded, finding it difficult to keep his eyes open. “Are you particularly busy?” the elf managed a shrug, and gave him a slight squeeze for effect. Getting to his feet, Boromir gratefully freed himself of his trousers, and cupped Legolas jaw. His eyes closed as he slid into the wet heat of the elf’s mouth, and he moaned loudly, burying his hand in the long blonde hair and pulling him in closer, to swallow as much of him as he could take. He looked down at the elf, and was momentarily startled. Boromir had never seen anything so delightfully debauched as the lithe figure below him, even as he smiled around his mouthful of flesh. To see so beautiful a creature so violated by his desire was a shameful thrill. He leaned his head back as he surrendered himself to the feeling, thrusting in and out of the elf’s lovely mouth, and through half-lidded eyes he nearly missed the flash of ivory as the elf reached out a hand to hold Aragorn’s head tightly, stopping his movement. Gradually he weaned himself away from Boromir, and guided Aragorn in turn from his own flesh. He smiled down at the ranger, who leaned back down onto his elbows, and licked his lips, staring back up at him. “Something wrong?” Aragorn asked, as the elf spread his hands over the ranger’s thighs and moved them down to skirt the edges of his bulge. “The ranger is too skilful with his tongue.” He wrenched Aragorn's breeches down with little ceremony, and raised an eyebrow, smiling wickedly. “And I am not done playing.” Aragorn dropped onto his back, sighing out irritably. “Don’t get pissy, Aragorn, or I’ll turn this threesome around and Celeborn can show you his moss collection instead.” Aragorn lowered his eyes and feigned chastisement. “Yes, sir.” Legolas’ eyes narrowed at his sarcasm, and his mouth twitched into an indulgent smile. He turned to look over his shoulder. “And you, Boromir, do you have anything you wish to add?” “No,” the man growled, smiling at the desirous expression Aragorn’s deference had elicited, “*Sir*.” “Well then,” the elf continued, and made to move back. “Er, Aragorn?” “Yes?” He asked innocently “Would you release me, please?” Aragorn looked over Legolas’ shoulder at Boromir, and the two men shared a smile. “Actually, I think not.” Legolas looked very confused at this, and made to turn to Boromir for explanation. None was forthcoming, however, as Aragorn rolled quickly over, trapping the elf beneath his much heavier frame. Winded and stunned, Legolas missed his chance to overpower him, before strong hands had secured his wrists to the ground above his head. He tried to scowl, but failed miserably as Aragorn fixed his mouth around a nipple and he was forced to bite back a cry. He spared Boromir a plaintive look, and the man replied with a kiss. “I’m sorry, my prince, but I never had much respect for my elders. And I don’t think our scruffy friend is used to taking orders either.” Aragorn grinned, slightly manically, and sat up, reaching behind him to pull the elf’s leggings free of his legs. “Have it your way, children,” Legolas replied, attempting to salvage the last of his authority. Aragorn offered his fingers to Boromir, who read his meaning, and took them into his mouth, slicking them with his saliva above the elf’s riveted gaze. “I wonder, elf,” Aragorn said, sliding a finger into him, “that you persist in your condescension.” He slid a second finger in, and Legolas’ mouth fell wordlessly open, “when we are so clearly in control, and I don’t think a child,” he bent his fingers, and Legolas swore loudly, “can do that.” Boromir watched the tendons in Aragorn's wrist flex repeatedly, and felt Legolas strain uselessly against his grip, moaning with every sweep Aragorn made. His gaze fell to Legolas’ face, his blue eyes shuttered with thick eyelashes, and his mouth open around deep breaths and low moans. He looked completely depraved. And completely beautiful. Aragorn watched the other man switch Legolas’ wrists to the grip of a single hand, and bring the other hand to the border of the elf’s mouth, skirting the edge of full lips with his thumb, his own mouth opening in desire as Legolas sucked his thumb past the border of his lips and into the brilliant wetness. And so, a moment later, he decided against his intended course of action, and drew his fingers back without yielding to the temptation to replace them with his solid cock. He placed his hand on Legolas’ effortlessly flat stomach, and tapped his forefinger to get his attention. Legolas looked up at him, the blush across his cheeks an uncharacteristic flush on an otherwise eternally fair façade. “Do you yield to us, fair one?” “Yield? Why would I do that?” “Because you can make us both very, very happy. And a happy fellowship is a successful fellowship.” Legolas licked his lips. “I do like making people happy.” “Apparently. Is that a yes?” Legolas looked up at Boromir, then back to Aragorn. He shrugged. “Do what you will.” Aragorn sat up, so he was no longer leaning on the slight elf, and Boromir released his wrists. Both men stayed poised, however, unsure if he was going to bolt and try to re- exert control, while he pulled himself up to sit, rubbing his wrists. But all he did was look up expectantly at Aragorn, who was faintly surprised by his compliance. “Well,” Aragorn said pleasantly, “I think Boromir would like a kiss,” Legolas raised an eyebrow, but complied, getting to his knees and turning to face the other man. He had barely pressed his lips to Boromir’s before the man jerked away, and Aragorn secured a hand around the back of his neck, pushing him forward onto his hands. “There’s no need to be so rough, Aragorn,” he attempted in breathless reprimand. “Shut up, Legolas,” which surprised him even more, as it had come from Boromir, who had seemed too fearful of the fragility of their ‘relationship’ to speak harshly to him since their first meeting. “The man makes sense.” The other man chimed in, running a hand down Legolas’ spine. He had pushed his trousers down to his knees, and brought himself right up against Legolas’ backside. The elf arched his back, and pushed back encouragingly against Aragorn’s erection. Boromir leant down to kiss him, helping him to relax as Aragorn slid himself inside. Boromir felt the elf tense as Aragorn spared him little mercy. It seemed a little power could easily go to one’s head. The tightness was wonderful to Aragorn. This was the contact he had been so eager to re- establish, and the reality did not disappoint. The elf was as tight as he remembered, and when he had completed his first inward stroke he held still for a moment, in which time Legolas relaxed slightly, and Boromir released his mouth, allowing him to make an indistinct sound of relief. Aragorn drew himself back out, and set up a slow rhythm that began to draw breathy moans from the elf. A look between the two men asked and answered a request for permission, before Boromir guided Legolas’ face up from where his head hung between shoulders that strained to support him. “I would be obliged, master elf, if you would finish what you started,” he said, and was answered with a smile. As he returned to the heat of the elf’s mouth, he shortly found he was unable to stay up on his knees, so he sat back on his heels, bringing the elf gratefully down with him. His shoulders sagged as they descended, and he was glad to rest on his elbows instead. Every time Aragorn thrust into him, Legolas was pushed more firmly into Boromir’s lap, until he was taking every inch of him into his throat. Boromir had come to the conclusion that elves could not possibly have a gag reflex, a fact for which he was particularly grateful, as he was so far down Legolas’ throat he half expected to bump heads with Aragorn. Aragorn drove repeatedly into the elf, delighting in the reactions he was educing from both of them. Every time he pushed forward into Legolas, the elf moaned around Boromir’s flesh, and pushed him further onto Boromir, who, in turn, would give a growl of pleasure in a sort of sinful symphony, to which he was happy to add his own harmony. He stripped one hand from the elf’s hip, which he had been endeavouring to hold steady against his violent thrusts, and reached beneath him to stroke his neglected erection, smiling as he caused Legolas to moan even louder. Boromir had been sat back on his knees so long he was sure there was no blood in his feet. But it didn’t bother him too much, as it wasn’t really needed there. Aragorn had upped his pace, and there wasn’t much resilience left in the man now. He locked gazes with Aragorn, and implored him to thrust, “harder, please,” With which request the man was only too happy to comply. Boromir’s hands dropped to his sides, and he braced himself on the ground behind him, thrusting his own flesh deep into Legolas’ mouth as he came inside him, something he had wanted to do since their first encounter. Legolas pushed him as far as he could go, swallowing every drop and only releasing him when his body was quite spent. Aragorn knelt slowly, lifting the elf to sit astride his knees, so that Legolas could use his own strength to ride against him. Boromir came close to them, and kissed Legolas deeply. His head canted back against Aragorn’s shoulder, and the man bit the flesh of his neck as Boromir plundered his mouth. Boromir’s hand found Legolas’ cock, as Aragorn had let go when sitting back, and he stroked it in time with Aragorn’s inward drives. Boromir lowered his face to Legolas’ chest, planting kisses along prominent white collarbones, as the world seemed to stop to listen to his cries of pleasure. Although massively inappropriate for the solemn mood of the forest, no one in their right minds would have tried to curb such sincere exclamations of bliss. Though Aragorn could understand the elven words that made up much of his soliloquy, to Boromir’s ears it was an incoherent chaos, and yet the most gratifying and melodious chaos he had ever heard. His cry as he found his orgasm was nothing more than a heartfelt call of ecstasy. Aragorn felt the elf tighten around him, and as he came he threw his head back against Aragorn’s shoulder, and so he felt his cry of rapture vibrate through his body. With only his own pleasure to be seen to, he gave in to his urges, and drove upwards into the lithe frame above him several more times, clutching the warm body against his own as his orgasm tore through him. He moaned his orgasm against Legolas’ shoulder, and collapsed onto the forest floor with the elf still on top of him. “Fuck,” he said, wiping the sweat from his brow as the elf rolled onto the grass beside him, and added, because eloquence had temporarily abandoned him, “fuck.” “I bet you can’t shoot straight now, elf,” Boromir, who had had a little more time to recover from his climax, joked. Legolas pulled himself up onto his elbows. “I can’t even see straight at the moment. Besides, I’m not making any more bets with you people.” He said, lying back down to stare up at the trees. “Oh yes? Why’s that, exactly?” Aragorn pressed. “You don’t play by the rules. I won, and you just took over.” Boromir lay down on the other side of Aragorn, and spoke as if only to him, although his wider intention was clear. “He’s quite demanding, don’t you think? He doesn’t reckon he’s had his prize.” Aragorn turned to him, “He does seem a little high-maintenance. We could always leave him out altogether, next time.” A slim body that had moved silently from its position on the grass lay down between them and, in turn, fetched them both a brief kiss on the lips. Legolas smiled proudly, and put paid to their line of jest. “You wouldn’t dare.” And they had to admit it was true.