Title:			Admission of longing 
Author :		lupine@tiscali.co.uk
Pairing:	        Aragorn / Legolas 
Rating:			N17
Disclaimer:	All JRR Tolkiens or Peter Jacksons, blessed be you 
both. None of the characters belong to me, this is not for profit, 
please don't sue. 
Warning:		It's my first time so all feedback         
gratefully  appreciated.
Authors Note:	All feedback welcome and replied to. I was pretty 
much trying to go with the angst (and the down and dirtiness!) How 
did I do? 

********

Legolas was angry. He was angry with himself and with Aragorn. He 
paced the bare room he had been assigned, and inwardly sneered, 
reflecting that the coldness befit the setting, for he had so far 
found the people of Edoras impossibly cool and proud, Glimli's words, 
that they would find more mirth in a graveyard echoed in his mind. 

He disliked the King of Rohan, who spoke to Aragorn, his Lord, with 
such barely concealed scorn. Legolas remembered the King's approach 
to his Lord across the floor of the great chamber, and that he, 
caught of guard, had suddenly straightened into an alert pose, ready 
to protect Aragorn should it be needed. Yes, he disliked the cold 
King of Rohan.
That his delayed reaction had been caused by the fact that he was 
watching the corded muscles of Aragorn's forearms and hands not oft 
revealed angered him even more. 

He was used to the effect that Aragorn had upon him. Used to 
swallowing the feelings that his Lord evoked, saying nothing, 
capturing singular images in his mind that comforted him when he was 
alone. He saw nothing wrong with his love for his Lord, he had 
acknowledged it to himself long ago but had left it unacknowledged to 
all others. He did, however see wrong in Aragorn and they way in 
which he was beguiling Eowyn. Deliberate as it appeared to his eyes. 
He had seen them earlier, indulging in sword play. Seen Aragorn defer 
to the lady, assume the vulnerable position at the point of her 
sword. Sword play to Legolas had only ever been  foreplay, whether it 
be to the dizzy dance of death of something more. 

Jealousy was a difficult emotion for the elf to bear yet he 
recognised it in himself when he saw the cold Lady of Rohan caught in 
his Lords tight embrace and pulled sharply against the length of his 
body while Gandalf had busied himself removing the spirit of Saruman 
from the King. Legolas willed that it was he who had been pulled 
such.  Yes, he disliked the Lady of Roham as well. 

Wishing he could claim truthfully that his actions were in defence of 
Arwen, Legolas left the room to confront his Lord. As he moved unseen 
he caught sight of the lady Eowyn disappearing from the far end of 
the corridor on which the door to Aragorn's chamber could be found. 

Legolas was furious. He steadied his breathing outside of Aragorn's 
door and then pushed it open abruptly, catching his Lord in what he 
took for a pose of contrition. He was sitting on the edge of his bed, 
head in his hands, his elbows resting on the long flanks of his 
thighs. He looked up hearing Legolas entering, and smiled at him. 
Legolas thought he caught relief in his eyes but could not be sure. 
The man sighed. 

'How do I seem to you?' the man asked the elf. 'Do I seem foul to you 
as Frodo perceived or as merely a Ranger in the distasteful tone that 
Boromir adopted for me?'

The elf studied the man and moved silently across the room to the 
wall furthest from the bed where Aragorn sat. 

'You seem as you have always seemed to me' the elf answered honestly 
yet coolly, confused by the suppressed anger he sensed in his Lords 
words. 

'This face is a curse' said Aragorn, his voice rising slightly 'to 
men I appear as something unremarkable and oft disquieting, and yet 
to women! Women believe me broken hearted,  that they see the 
tortured essence of my soul in the cares of my face. They seek to 
heal me, to quieten me, to offer me safety and sanctuary thinking 
that I, a brooding and bloodied hero can offer them salvation and an 
escape from the cages they construct for themselves. They believe 
they can heal my mind, my soul and my body with their concerned 
ministrations and their quiet acquiescence to my every demand. They 
believe their gentle touch and tame caress will satisfy me!  This 
face is a curse. How misguided they are.'

The elf was watching the anger build in the man opposite him. 'I have 
not thought of you as in need of healing' he said disdainfully, 'do 
you believe yourself to be?'

'If I were' exploded the Man 'I would not be healed by them and their 
compassionate means.'

Legolas meant to bid the man goodnight and leave the room. Really he 
did. He opened his mouth to speak the words, but others escaped his 
lips and he asked his Lord, how then would his rents be healed.

'Not by passive means but by fire! I do not wish to be schooled and 
tamed, but to be allowed to live. To be set alight and burned anew. 
Not to be withered and doused by their tears. I would have them equal 
me in my thought and passion, replace hurts with new deeds, I would 
have him.....'

As he spoke the final word Aragorn realised his mistake, Legolas by 
the window ledge turned and began making his way, straight backed, to 
the door. Aragorn jumped up and caught the elf by the upper arms, 
spinning him round to face him, apologies caught in his throat. The 
elf turned and while doing so raised his hand and struck the man hard 
about the face, so that he staggered back, lost his balance and fell 
to his knees. His vision spun, fireworks exploded in front of his 
eyes and he pitched forward, one had on the floor in front of him, 
supporting him, the other raised to his cheek where the flesh had 
split over the bone. He waited for the sound of the door signalling 
he was alone but it did not come. He steadied his breathing. He had 
not the courage to face the elf for a long while.

When he finally looked up the elf was regarding him with his head 
slanted to one side. There was anger in his eyes, prevalent among the 
mix of emotions there.

'Do you wish to insult me by speaking so inconsequentially and so 
irreverently of the most beautiful of my kin?' asked the elf. 

Aragorn looked up at him blankly. He had gone pale, and the dark 
blood lay acrimoniously against his skin. He did nothing to stem the 
flow, but rather had smudged it across his cheek while investigating 
the wound. Finally he spoke, his voice quiet and controlled now but 
infused with sorrow, 'I am sorry, I forgot to whom I speak. It seems 
my destiny to be a mirror reflecting broken hearts that are mistaken 
for my own, to be ineffectual in mending them is a burden....'

'You take too much guilt upon yourself' replied the elf 'you have 
only to be true to your feelings and honest in response to others, 
not unwholeheartedly seek to mend what you will then only cause to 
break' and so saying he turned and vanished from the room.

Aragorn watched the door close in disbelief. Horrified at what had 
come to pass he forced himself from his knees and moved to lay upon 
the bed, one arm flung across his eyes, which only served to remind 
him of the injury there upon. Pain clung dully to his head. He shut 
his eyes, trying hopelessly to erase the image of Legolas leaving the 
room so angrily, but it embedded itself there and refused to be 
diminished. He sighed deeply, remembering the cool stern words of his 
friend. He had been wrong to speak of the pains upon his heart. He 
had lived long a life of anguish, fleeing from the weight of his 
destiny, fear consuming him. Thirty years passed between his first 
meetings with Arwen, and although the time was short in elven years 
it had been long that she contemplated his confusion and despair on 
learning that all he had held true had been a lie. And she found 
herself longing to comfort him. He had later been glad to accept the 
comfort she offered and only on returning to the wilds between Anduin 
and Mordor while searching for the evil creature Gollum was it 
revealed to him that in allowing himself to be comforted thus he 
would never fulfil his destiny. Thus, years later, on departing 
Rivendell with the fellowship he had told Arwen to leave the shores 
of Middle Earth forever and, their betrothal broken, she obeyed. 
Though both she and Elrond thought this sprung from love, only he 
knew it was sprung from the inability to requite that which she had 
freely bestowed upon him.  

It grieved him painfully that it was such, and the elf's words that 
he should deal honestly with his feelings for others and theirs for 
him echoed in his mind, for he knew they were true, and that had he 
conducted himself such in the past then much hurt would have been 
avoided. The elven jewel was about his neck still and he wore it as 
both a reminder of the pain he had caused and an admonition to remain 
true to his feelings in the future. 

And yet at the first test, as he had spoken the words out loud of 
what he desired they had fallen on unyielding ears and he now was 
left fearful that a true friendship would be lost. Feeling the weight 
of the jewel about his throat he comforted himself that at least he 
had been honest and true, as he had vowed he would be. Holding on to 
the comfort it allowed, he fell into a fitful sleep.

********

Legolas returned to his chamber ungracefully and unsilently, in 
contrast to the way he had left. He shut the door behind him, 
gratefully resting against the warm wood, sinking slowly to the floor 
in an elegant movement. His thoughts were coming brokenly yet racing, 
all converging on a single word that Aragorn had uttered – 'him'. The 
elf had never thought that Aragorn could return his feelings for him, 
believing he sought passion and love with their counterparts only. 
And though he hadn't admitted any feelings for ~him~ , it was more 
than the elf had ever thought possible that he had admitted he could. 
But, sobering, his thoughts dwelt again on Arwen and he bitterly 
regretted that part of him felt relief knowing she did not hold his 
Lords heart. The relief however was tempered and overshadowed by 
disgust that he let himself feel so, and remembering the two were 
betrothed, he was angry that Aragorn could treat her such. 

Rest eluded him that night. His anger switched often to regret when 
he found himself feeling sorrow that Aragorn had clearly born such 
unhappiness and guilt. But then the anger returned that his Lord 
would treat the Lady that loved him so callously, intermingled with 
regret that he, Legolas, had not offered himself to his Lord when the 
admission was made. It was too much to bear, and setting the anger 
deep and immovable inside him he took what rest he could, centring 
his mind, focusing only on what he could control. 

********
The next day was difficult. Unbearably so. All around them in the 
halls of Edoras, preparations were made for the flight to Helm's 
Deep, a flight that the elf, the man and the dwarf bore with contempt 
feeling it dishonourable. Dissatisfaction lay heavy on them all, and 
though the man tried to find a moment to converse with the elf about 
he night before, it was not to be. 

At the end of the long day, finding the elf's chamber empty the man 
left a letter there on the window ledge feeling certain the elf would 
stand thus to look out over the fields beyond. 

In the early hours when the elf returned to his chamber, he did 
indeed find the note that had been left for him as he looked out at 
the beacons that burned brightly in the night sky. His hands trembled 
hoping that it would be from his Lord, the script in which his name 
had been written on the front had given away nothing and the wax that 
sealed the fold was branded only with a thumb print. As he opened it 
seeing the elvish scrawl of green ink on pale parchment his breath 
caught and he began to scan the words hungrily.

My friend

I hope I may still presume to address you such after my shameful 
outburst yestereve. I asked you how you perceived me and in that 
moment, truthfully, you must have seen me as how I fear I look to 
others, as worn out with cares and turmoil. When the lady Eowyn came 
to me yesterday seeking to ease my pain it was more than I could 
bear. The pain I perceived in her at that moment was such that could 
not easily be thrown aside and yet I compounded it by bidding her 
leave, my previous demeanour unwitting thought it was convincing her 
that such denial would not come to pass.  

In truth I have bought it upon myself, I have dealt unfairly with the 
hearts of others by long denying that which is of what I dream. But 
no more. It will pain you to learn I fear that the Lady Arwen has 
left Middle Earth forever, she and I no longer betrothed, she has 
left at my command for I see now that it was indeed just a dream. And 
though you may think further ill of me, I confess I am glad that she 
has gone. Too long did I suffer under a caress that sought only to 
comfort me, and I claim the fault as my own for I was not true to my 
desires as you reminded me last night. 

I am sorry for the pain caused by rudely bruising your ears with 
these things, and more so than I can say for the hurt that I have 
done your kin. You have advised me truly and in good faith, and I 
hope it may serve as a little penance for you to know that I have 
sworn to act as you suggested. I am not ashamed of how I feel but I 
know that it is not always agreeable and I fear I have offended you 
by speaking so bluntly, for this too I am sorry. 

Please do not think I meant to tempt you. Your friendship which is my 
sole desire is so dear to me, I would do nothing to disturb the 
balance of camaraderie that we share. In truth, it has been a comfort 
to me since the formation of the fellowship and I will not change or 
disrupt the essence of it while it is in my control, though, in the 
last I leave myself in your power for I hope we remain friends even 
aft my misspoken words.

In all.

Aragorn.

That the archers hands were shaking was testament to the turmoil 
inside of him. 'Your friendship which is my sole desire' The words 
bought him a bittersweet relief, he had in his darkest desires longed 
for Arwen to no longer be his rival but now, when it was such, he had 
irrefutable proof that Aragorn only wanted him as a friend. Had 
Legolas voiced his desires to his Lord before, the gentle rejection 
he would have received would not have been as painful as this 
unlooked for turn of events. That Aragorn would have refused him in 
favour of Arwen would have been pain enough, but to learn that he 
would refuse him even though he sought a beau was an agony. Legolas 
realised in that moment how much comfort he had always drawn in 
believing Aragorn would look upon him as Legolas would look upon a 
woman.  Such comfort had tempered the pain, and lessened the hurt he 
felt for at least it was not a rejection of him more over of his 
brotherhood as a whole. 

The trembling sought to undo him, and note fell to the floor along 
with all his unspoken hopes and desires as his fingers clenched the 
sill in front of him in order he could maintain his stance. The moon 
was high, a thin scythe across the night sky, but the pitiful pale 
light it granted was enough to light the silent tears that stained 
the elf's face as he stood until the sun rose anew in the morn. 

********

The sun rose high and the city was to empty at nightfall by order of 
the King. All day preparations were being made, and the man, the elf 
and the dwarf pored over maps of Helm's Deep detailing its defences 
and proposing strategies. Legolas was observing the mans muscular 
back as he leant over the dusty parchment, admiring the way he coiled 
one leg underneath him, and every so often, impatiently brushed the 
molten brown hair from his eyes. A sudden image of the man leaning 
over him such and he removing the offending strands of hair by 
wrapping his fingers in them and pulling the man down for a kiss came 
unbidden in to the elf's mind. Nay, not unbidden he acknowledged, but 
best left until he was alone.  

The man had caught the elf at dawn in a vacant hall on the way to 
breakfast, and asked if he had received his missive. The elf had 
confirmed the same and that yes Aragorn still had his friendship. The 
man had let out a breath he had not realised he was holding and 
grabbed his friend warmly by the upper arms, though quickly releasing 
them, remembering the events of two nights before. His reply was 
branded in the archer's mind

'That is well Legolas' he said, relief obvious in his voice and he 
had tried a shaky quip trying to ease the tension  'would I find 
someone like you I could love' he chuckled in a somewhat forced tone. 




The elf had swiftly averting his eyes and moved away. 

Aragorn had remained standing there for a moment, stunned at the 
explosion through his body emanating from his hands where he had 
clutched at his friend, desperately seeking his reassurance. He 
slowly followed the elf to the feasting hall, contemplating the 
warmth that flooded through him and the tingling sensation high on 
his cheekbone that bore the wound of an evening recently passed. He 
had been so consumed with the fear of losing his friendship with the 
elf that there had been no space for any other thoughts to resonate. 
And yet now he had finally spoken of his fervour aloud the true focus 
of his desire had become apparent to him. 

As he watched the elf eat breakfast, a strangely quiet affair, 
unsurprising considering the Kings edict, he was struck that for once 
he did not return the good-natured jibes from the dwarf sitting 
beside him with equal retorts. He ate slowly and deliberately, rarely 
lifting his head to meet the eyes of anyone around him, and though 
Aragorn's gaze settled on him almost unbrokenly he did not meet the 
elf's blue-eyed glance once.  The thought struck him that though 
Legolas had assured him to the contrary, maybe his own admission had 
bothered him more than he had admitted. He had seen such things 
happen before. 

As he leant over the bowl of steaming broth before him, he was aware 
of the elven jewel at his neck hanging forward, reminding him of his 
vow that he would only ever speak the truth in matters of the heart 
from now on. If he truly felt about Legolas the way that Aragorn 
suspected he felt, then he had no choice but to let the golden haired 
archer know. Now bitterly did he regret his written words for if the 
elf felt he had lied to him then surely this would disrupt what now 
seemed the fragile friendship they shared even further, perhaps 
beyond repair. 

As they spent the day preparing for the journey and battle that would 
soon come, they pored over maps and discussed tactics, meeting with 
the shield men of Rohan and bitterly wishing that Eomer was there. 
That Gandalf left on his mission to seek him was of only small 
comfort. Though the task was a serious one and Aragorn devout, he 
could not ignore the elf who sat alongside him and he was struck with 
a wave of desire stronger than he had ever felt before. It was like 
scales had fallen from his eyes as he comprehended the beauty of his 
friend, and recognised the solace that the elf's voice brought to his 
heart. Truly had he been blind while shielding his desire for a 
kinsman. As a particularly carnal thought struck him, involving him 
the elf and the fabled strong soft and supple rope of his kind, he 
could not help but steal a glance at Legolas only to find him looking 
at him, a somewhat confused look on his face. It was not clear who 
broke the look first, for it seemed instantaneous on both parts but 
Aragorn thought he had seen a line of fire connecting their gaze, 
sizzling, ready to ignite into flame, but he put this down to his 
sudden recognition of what he now knew to be a long suppressed desire.

The day dragged on and soon it was time for the city to empty. They 
were to do so under cover of darkness, hoping that this would avoid 
the long arm of Saruman, and so they left in silence, fearing the 
route to their refuge would be a long and vulnerable one. Legolas 
followed behind Aragorn, marvelling at his rapport with his stead 
Brego, recognising in him a connection with animals only established 
from being raised with elves. The thought smote his heart. The two of 
them would be as close as possible between man and elf, but Legolas 
knew it was not to be. Aragorn was glad that the elf was not in his 
line of sight, he had silently watched the archer practice earlier 
after retrieving his quiver and knives from the men at arms and his 
eyes had strained to watch the ever faster movement of the blades but 
had been unable to do so. When Legolas began singing as he scythed 
the air it had tightened his heart, and Aragorn knew he must speak to 
him. Not a moment was to be had that day though, so he knew it would 
have to be when the company rested. 

They did not stop until night fell the following evening. All around 
the perimeter of their company stood scouts, for none amongst them 
trusted the silent air. Aragorn had lay down to sleep and yet as he 
heard Legolas carefully remove himself from the ground and exchange 
words with their nearest guard that he wished to feel the cool water 
of the nearby stream, Aragorn knew that the time had come to admit 
his desire. He followed the elf to the water's edge, out of sight and 
hearing of their fellow companions, and as he brushed through the 
clearing and the elf turned, hands already on his bow, Aragorn let 
out a sigh.

The shirt the elf wore hung open, the top three buttons separated 
from the fastenings, and the scant inches of flesh they revealed 
shone luminous and achingly soft. As the man approached him the elf 
read the desire in his clouded eyes. Aragorn could not tear his eyes 
from the sight of the smooth skin and when he was eventually able he 
looked up to find he was standing only inches away from the archer in 
front of him. The elf regarded him silently. 

'Legolas' he stuttered, 'I would speak to you' but again he was lost 
in the beautiful sight in front of him and he leant forward, 
unknowingly, and kissed the elf on the mouth, his tongue exploring 
the soft flesh of the lower lip, and though realising the kiss was 
not returned and ceasing the intrusion, he held his lips against 
those in front of him for a few more blissful seconds. 

Legolas felt the lips tremble beneath him. He disengaged himself from 
the touch, and leant forward to whisper into the man's ear, carefully 
avoiding any contact between their bodies. 

In a cool, detached tone he asked

'Surely you do not wish for my concerned ministrations?' .

The man groaned audibly as Legolas stood straight once again and 
lifted one finger and traced a delicate trail from brow to breastbone 
of the man in front of him, who wore simply a russet coloured shirt 
and dark breeches.  He continued speaking in the same tone, so softly 
the man had to strain to catch his words 

'Surely you do not wish for my gentle touch and tame caress, for that 
would not satisfy you?'

The man's frame was shaking now beneath the cool, slender hand and he 
dared not move lest the exquisite pleasure cease. His eyes were shut 
and he rolled his head back as the voice continued

'Aragorn, tell me, what is it you would have this fabled 'him' do to 
you, for you stopped mid sentence the other evening in your chamber'

The man emitted another moan. The voice continued, harder now

'Finish the sentence. Tell me, for I am intrigued, what is it you 
would have him do?' The cool fingers inched over the wound on the 
man's cheek.

Aragorn's breath was shaky as he strove to find the will to speak

'I would' he gasped as a nail slid inside the wound 'I would have him 
consume me'

The hand withdrew, and as the mans eyes snapped open aching at losing 
the touch, the hand grabbed hold of the front of his shirt, the other 
snaked across his chest grabbing his shoulder and throwing him 
roughly to the floor. The man ended up face down on his hands and 
knees in the dirt, the shirt ended up torn to pieces in the elf's 
hand. 

Legolas was fast. He knelt astride the man's hips, forcing one hand 
into the small of his back and the other against the back of his 
neck, so the man was lying flat against the turf.

'Don't move' he ordered softly, and he began stroking softly the 
downy hair in the small of the man's back, trailing his hand from the 
left to the right and back again. The man was writhing beneath him 
when he slid his hand round to his groin, tantalisingly nudging the 
hardened shaft, as he removed the man's belt. And then used it to 
secure the man's hands behind his back. Aragorn was whimpering now, 
the sound bringing shards of desire to the elf's heart as he fought 
to maintain control. If the man wanted to be consumed he would 
consume him, though the urge to surrender to him was almost 
unbearably strong. 

He began to remove the man's breeches, not softly and gently, but 
insistently and roughly as he believed the man desperately needed. 
When the smooth flesh of the man's buttocks was revealed to him, he 
roughly parted them, kneading the skin coarsely with his fingers, and 
then he leant down, strands of golden hair tantalisingly falling on 
the bare skin below creating a diversity of sensations, soft and 
gentle, hard and rough, and as he held the flesh open he entered the 
man's tight pink opening with his tongue. 

Aragorn was undone. The differing impressions on his body dragging 
him into a void from which there was no escape and he could not help 
the gasps and moans his body emitted. His mind was filled with 
longing, and when he felt the hands and mouth withdraw he was flooded 
with desperate need. The elf fell forward over him, his hands planted 
in the earth either side of his shoulders and he leant forward, hair 
sweeping across the man's back in a painfully sweet caress and said 

'Aragorn. Could it be that you want me?' The voice still cool and 
detached, at odds with the feel of the elf's cock which was hard and 
insistent against his back.  

The man could barely speak. 

'I... I... love you' he gasped painfully. 'Oh, Legolas, please.....'

'Surely' said the elf 'you do not wish me to yield without question 
to your every demand?'

Another moan. The sound of clothing being removed. 

Without waiting for a reply, the elf straightened, grabbed the man's 
hips pulling him towards him, and, wetting his cock with his hands, 
thrust deep into the man's most secret hollow. 

The tightness overwhelmed him as the man flinched in pain, and it was 
all Legolas could do to maintain control and not apologise for the 
scant warning. As the man relaxed Legolas thrust deeper and deeper 
into him, feeling the warm, velvet tunnel grip him like a vice. He 
reached forward and grabbed the man's bound wrists, forcing his arms 
higher so that his shoulders were pushed harder into the earth. To 
compensate for the pain in his arms the man raised his hips and, the 
angle changed, the elf drove deeper and deeper into him, finally 
hitting that sweet spot inside Aragorn from where all his pleasure 
now came.

Aragorn had thought himself already undone, but now he unravelled 
completely feeling that sweet, secret part of him repeatedly struck 
by the relentless thrusts of the elf. He muttered incoherently, 
alternating begging, then declarations of love and submission, first 
in the common tongue, then in elvish and again the former.

Legolas was riding him harder and harder and now with the man's hips 
rising to pound against him he reached round to clasp the man's cock, 
slippery wet, and in seconds the man came and the incoherent sounds 
changed to his name repeated over and over.

'Legolas... Legolas' which proved the undoing of the elf, and 
ruthlessly pushing the mans arms higher still he drove into him with 
a fury and eventually spent himself deep into the man's very core.  

They collapsed exhausted, each trying to catch their breath and 
disentangle their limbs.  When finally they lay facing one another, 
the man unbound at last, the elf gently took his face in his hands 
and kissed him softly.

'I love you too' he said, finally allowing the emotions he felt to 
flood his expressive features 'but what if I can't always consume you 
thus, for I would have you...'

The man grasped his chin and silenced him with a kiss, 'Later' he 
growled 'I will make you finish that sentence, for I am intrigued'.

The passionate kiss that followed lasted a long while.