Title: Revenge Is Threefold
Author: Eremir (eremir82@yahoo.se)
Pairings: Legolas/Grima/Lurtz
Rating: NC17
Summary: Legolas has been hunting the surviving Urûk-hai to avenge the
death of Boromir, with a little help from an unexpected ally.
Warnings: PWP, bondage, severe kink
Disclaimer: Not mine. Never happened.
Feedback: Always appreciated
Notes: Written for the Library of Moria Threesome Challenge, January
2005. Going for weirdest threesome, if you didn’t get that already. ;)
Beta'd by the one and only Half Elf Lost. Love you!

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“Where is he, you wretched worm?” Legolas spat, pushing the frightened
man against the wall.

“My Lord,” Grima stuttered, “I swore to find him for you, and I have. Just
as I promised, my Prince.”

“If you’re lying to me...” Legolas threatened, his eyes blazing with fury.
Grima cowered against the wall, showing his submission.

“No, I swear!” Legolas eased his grip on the wormtongue, letting him
regain his footing, but kept his eyes fixed on him, looking for any trace of
treachery. “I swear... I did what you asked. Some of Éomer’s men caught
him fleeing towards Fangorn, and they were going to kill him. I told them
you wanted him alive. They did not believe me at first, but I persuaded
them. He is being held in a tent at the nearest outpost, awaiting your word
of doom, my Prince.”

“You will take me there,” Legolas ordered, his blood boiling with
anticipation. His time for vengeance had finally come. He had lusted for
that Urûk-hai’s blood since the moment Boromir drew his last breath.
Now he would pay.

Legolas rode with Grima well into the night, until they reached the outpost
on the edge of the forest. The elf hoped that the Rohirrim guards had not
taken liberties with his captive. Lurtz was his, and only his. He would
make that orc suffer. Looking over at the dark man riding next to him, he
wondered what had driven him to swear allegiance to the evil wizard
Saruman. It seemed the man was easily persuaded to change sides, but
could therefore never be trusted. Legolas would not let him out of his sight
again.

When they approached the camp, Legolas could only see four men. As he
got off his horse and looked around, he saw no others. This was good.
“Where is the prisoner?” he commanded, the four men starting at his
voice.

“O...over there...” one of the men said shakily. The young man of Rohan
had never even seen an elf before, and feared what might happen if he was
to anger one. The man pointed towards a tent at the other side of camp, a
bit away from the rest. Muffled growls and snarls could be heard from the
direction in which the young man was pointing, and Legolas had an
overwhelming urge to grin, but restrained himself. Instead he turned to
face the men.

“I do not want anyone coming near that tent, do you understand? No one
comes near, no matter what you hear. Is that perfectly clear?” The four
Rohirrim nodded nervously. “You!” He grabbed Grima by his cloak.
“You’re coming with me.” Dragging the anxious traitor with him, he
moved towards the tent with steady steps. The guards watched the two
figures disappear behind the heavy drapes of the tent, and then collectively
exhaled, relieved.

Legolas was very pleased. His captive, the Urûk-hai Captain, was on his
back. Hands and feet tied to the ground. Fierce eyes looked up as they
entered, and the orc bared his teeth with a throaty growl. His armour had
been removed; all he wore was a soiled loincloth. Remnants of war paint
were still visible on certain parts of his dark body, and fresh battle scars
marred his skin. Now Legolas allowed himself to grin, gazing down on
this helpless creature.

“You are mine now, orc,” Legolas said commandingly, and pressed the
heel of his boot against Lurtz’ throat, keeping him pinned to the ground.
The elf stood calmly, and waited for the beast to settle down. When the
orc no longer struggled, Legolas squatted beside him, letting a feather
light touch of fingers ghost over the sweaty skin on the chest. So ugly this
creature was. An abomination against nature. But the elf felt the energy
surging through the orc. A life force just like any other. Strong and 
wilful.
Legolas wanted to take that away.

Legolas stood and walked over to Grima, who was cowering at the far end
of the tent. The dark traitor watched intensely as the elf removed his
weapons, his jerkin, and his boots, laying them down on the floor. “What
are you doing?” he asked, but the elf only smiled mysteriously and turned
his attention back to the ogre on the ground. “Are you not going to kill
him?” The elf was acting rather peculiar, Grima thought.

“Not just yet, worm.” Legolas looked back at the traitor. “My ada always
told me to play with my food.” Again, that mysterious smile. Grima was
not sure what was going to happen, but he had to admit, he was very
intrigued. He stepped closer to the bitter enemies that were staring
aggressively at each other, not entirely certain he wanted to. He was
utterly surprised at what the elf did next.

Legolas sat down to straddle the bound urûk over the stomach, leaning
forward over him so the long blond hair nearly tickled the orc’s face. He
smiled arrogantly, and the Urûk-hai captain was too confused to protest.
He merely stared at the elf with predatory eyes, breathing heavily with
anticipation. After a few seconds of intently watching the orc, Legolas
straightened up on his comfortable seat of muscle and flesh. Reaching
behind him, his soft hand found a smooth thigh. Never taking his eyes off
the gleaming orc stare, elven fingers travelled upwards. Dirty cloth was
pushed aside, and the elf found what he was looking for.

Grima started back when the first loud roar vibrated through the air,
thinking that the elf must have seriously harmed the creature. But when
the wormtongue found the courage to open his eyes, he saw the orc tossing
his head back and forth, grunting with pleasure from every stroke the elf
bestowed upon him. The foul beast bucked underneath his captor,
thrusting to get more friction. Legolas just sat there, mesmerized, while
the urûk growled and snarled in his heat.

“What are you doing!?” Grima shrieked in terror, not understanding what
was going on.

“I’m playing with my food, Grima,” Legolas answered, the orc panting
heavily below him. “Do you want to help me?” Grima shook his head,
horrified. Why would a creature of such pure beauty ever lay hands on the
wretched scum of Saruman’s doing? The traitor did not understand this.
An elven prince and a filthy orc. Repulsive.

When Grima had to some extent regained his mental presence, he saw that
Legolas had bereft himself of the rest of his clothing, and was now
removing the urûk’s loincloth. Grima wanted to shout ‘NO’, but he
remained frozen at the sight of the perfectly sculpted body of the Sindarin
elf. The beautiful white hands that caressed dark skin. It was so wrong, but
so beautiful. The elf appeared to be anointing the orc’s erection with
something, oil perhaps, and the beast was thoroughly enjoying himself.
When Legolas had finished, he slid back up to straddle his prisoner.

Again, Grima wanted to shout in agony to stop the elf from doing what he
was about to, but not a sound left his lips. He watched with growing
interest as the elf impaled himself on the rigid shaft, groaning in sync 
with
the orc’s pleased roar. Tiny beads of sweat broke out on Legolas’ brow,
and Grima feared he was hurt. The urûk was no slender build. Legolas sat
still, panting, and adjusting to the volume of flesh that filled him. Lurtz
tried to grind his hips, desperately wanting the elf to move.

Slowly, Legolas started to move. Grima saw the orc twisting his hands in
their restraints, knowing exactly what the beast felt. He wanted to touch
the elf. To lay his hands on that perfect, creamy skin, and feel its warmth
radiate through him. Grima knew, because he had wanted the same thing
since first he saw the elf. The prince was a sight. Sweating and groaning as
he moved so sensuously. Grima wished then that it was he who was
meeting this sweet doom.

Legolas leaned heavily on his arms, clamping his internal muscles to
prolong the orc’s suffering. The elf could feel the energy building up
inside the beast, and he knew that it would soon be over. Looking over at
the traitor from Isengard, he could see the want in his cold eyes. The ill
advisor had a predilection for things of beauty, and Legolas saw himself
reflected in the worm’s face. Perhaps it was time to take another piece of
his father’s advice and put it to good use. ‘If you want a dog to be loyal,
better to pet it than to beat it.’

“Grima...” Legolas groaned. “Come here...”

Grima somehow moved without knowing how, and a hot, sweaty hand
lashed onto his. Legolas pulled him down, and before he realized it, he
was sitting behind the elf, straddling massive Urûk-hai legs. Not able to
resist any longer, Grima threw caution to the wind and laid his hands on
that warm body in front of him.

Legolas shivered. The fell counsellor’s hands were cold and clammy, just
as Legolas had expected them to be, but it was all he needed to cool his
skin. The hot shaft throbbing inside him burned through every vein. The
beast howled in frustration when Legolas paused, but Grima took his time
to discover every sensation of the elf’s form. Quivering hands moved over
sweaty skin. As the palms brushed sensitive nipples, Legolas could take
no more.

“Take me!” he whimpered, and Grima stopped, bewildered. “Take me,
Grima! Now!”

“But...he’s still inside you,” the wormtongue whispered against hot skin.
A soft chuckle was heard from in front, and blue eyes looked over a
glistening shoulder.

“I am an Elf. I can take it.”

Grima was not sure he should, but his member could go unattended no
longer. He fumbled to part his robes and was finally able to free the
wicked worm. Seeing the vial of oil, he hastily poured some on himself
before wrapping an arm around the elf’s waist and starting to push in.
Legolas screamed and Lurtz roared, Grima himself blinded with passion
and pain from the immense pressure on his arousal. The elf fell forward
onto his captive, mistakenly leaving his shoulder within biting range. But
the teeth sinking into his flesh were not half as painful as the assault on 
his
swollen inner gland.

Grima could not keep his hands from shaking. The image in front of him
was far too arousing. He moved with short jerks, barely having any room
inside the elf. Grabbing Legolas’ hips, he tried to sway them back and
forth, eventually creating a rhythm that was more pleasurable for all three
of them. Legolas’ arms shook fiercely as he braced himself upon them,
barely able to stay sane with all the sexual sensations that enveloped him.
The two pounding erections inside him, a hot mouth sucking the blood
from his shoulder, cold hands on his hips, soft fabric against his back, the
predator below him and the serpent behind. Legolas could hold on no
longer.

With a painful scream he released his orgasm, clenching his inner muscles
around the intruders, forcing them to cry out along with him. As the urûk
howled one last time, Grima shot his essence deep inside the dark tunnel
of his elven lover, and three bodies collapsed on one another in the tent at
the edge of the Rohirrim outpost.

When all was still, the shaken advisor was able to get off the pile of 
bodies
and sat beside them, tucking himself in. He felt so incredibly rejuvenated
that he almost wanted to get up and do a little dance. He nearly chuckled
at himself for even imagining it. An eerie silence settled, and Grima got
worried when Legolas did not move. “My Prince?” he whispered, and laid
a hand on the now cool back.

“Look at him, Grima,” Legolas said, and sat up straight on top of his
victim. Grima looked over the elf’s shoulder, and saw that the urûk was
not breathing. Yellow eyes stared into nothingness.

“Is he....”

“Dead,” Legolas grinned smugly, and slapped the lifeless face as if to
prove his point.

Grima moved closer, almost feeling the need to hug the elf for comfort.
Why, he did not know. Grima did not mourn the creature, not at all. But
neither could he understand what had happened. “How?” he asked, resting
his chin on the muscular shoulder, which he noticed was covered in blood.

“Have you ever heard it told that elves who are raped die?” Grima nodded.
“Well, I am sure you have not heard that some elves who are raped kill
their attacker instead, forcing their agony on another soul.”

“So...what did you do? This was no rape.”

“No. But the methods are similar. I simply stole his life force. His energy.
His very being. When he was at his most vulnerable I broke down his
defences and took from him what he was never meant to have in the first
place.”

“But...what about me?” Legolas petted Grima on the cheek and smiled at
him.

“I shared him with you. As a reward. Can you not feel it? Do you not feel
young and strong and beautiful?”

“I feel it.” Grima nodded, completely stunned. “Could you not have killed
me also?”

“If I had wanted to,” Legolas said, and got up to clean off in the bowl of
water that stood in the corner.

“Why this way? Why not just cut his head off? Would that not be simpler?
Why couple with an orc?”

“Grima, my friend,” Legolas smiled mysteriously, wiping his shoulder
with a towel. “Why do you think elves live so long?”