Title: A Time Between Author: Emma Keigh E-mail: emmakeigh@ithilas.com Rating: NC-17 Characters: Legolas, Aragorn Pairings: Aragorn/Legolas Category: PWP Status: new, complete Date: 20 January 2004 Archive: The Library of Moria and where posted; elsewhere please ask first Series: ask the muses Website: http://www.ithilas.com/chezemma Summary: Relaxing in Lothlórien. Disclaimer: The characters and melieux from The Lord of the Rings are the property of the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien and New Line Cinema (AOL). I only play with them from time to time for my own amusement and without compensation. No harm; no foul; no profit. Anything or anyone new, however, is mine (left-overs again!). Warning: This story contains explicit scenes of sex between consenting adult males of different species. If you are under age or don't care for this, LEAVE NOW. Beta-read by AC. Thanks, merci beaucoup, tapadh leibh, gracias, danke, grazie, spazebo, arigato, obrigado. Feedback will be cherished. Notes: Estel-nîn = my Estel (Aragorn’s name among the Elves) I hereby witness that J.R.R. Tolkien is God, and Peter Jackson is his prophet. *italics* **bold** A TIME BETWEEN an Aragorn/Legolas story by Emma Keigh **Lothlórien.** The days the surviving members of the Fellowship spent in Lothlórien refreshed them, and for the first time since leaving Rivendell Aragorn took his ease without worrying about the safety of the others. He found a secluded glen beside a quiet pool and quickly stripped himself of his weapons and clothing, folding his garments into a neat pile at the base of an ancient mallorn tree. He unsheathed his sword and thrust it into the soft earth near the bank of the pond, unwilling after so many years of living in the wilds to be too far from his weapon. The water was surprisingly warm for this time of year, but, he reasoned, this was Lothlórien, and he knew better than to question the ways of the Lady. If Galadriel wanted warm water to bathe in, the rivers would run warm; if she wanted cool water to drink, they would run ice cold. Quickly he submerged himself in the fresh water, and tried to rub the grime from his skin with his hands. “You’ll need a stiff brush and some soap,” he heard a melodious voice from the shore. He turned to see Legolas standing next to his clothes, nimble fingers unfastening the dark green tunic. “And I suppose you have both?” “Of course,” the Elf answered, pushing his leggings to the ground and stepping out of them. “And balsam for our hair as well.” Aragorn smiled. He watched as Legolas folded his clothes, the alabaster body nearly glowing in the dappled sunlight. “Come on in,” he suggested. “The water is warm.” Without hesitating, Legolas plunged into the water, surfacing next to the Ranger. His long blond hair was plastered to his skull, and the water dripped from his chin. “Of course it is warm,” he said, lowering his head and looking at Aragorn through his dark damp lashes. He raised his arm, a sack hanging from his wrist. “Here you are,” he said. “Shall I scrub your back?” The soap was lightly scented with lavender, and it worked up to a thick lather as they scrubbed each other from head to foot, a soft cloth taking the brush’s place in more sensitive areas. “Did you come only to bring me soap?” Aragorn asked as he rinsed the last of the suds from his hair. “Or is there some other reason?” The Ranger moved through the water to stand close to the Elf, both of them chest deep in the warm water. Legolas was beautiful, he realized, not for the first time. The dark brows and lashes enhanced his intensely blue eyes, and even streaming wet, his blond hair seemed like spun gold. Without looking away from the Ranger, Legolas tossed the washing kit onto the shore. “This is the first opportunity we’ve had to be alone,” he said, his voice low, but still melodious. “I have missed your touch.” Aragorn drew his fingertips along the line of Legolas’s jaw. “Just my touch?” he asked, leaning forward to kiss the Elf’s waiting lips. His hands circled behind the Elf’s neck, holding them together as he touched his tongue to Legolas’s mouth, seeking entrance. Legolas opened to the Ranger, his own hands grasping the Ranger about the hips, drawing their bodies closer. Their kiss deepened as they embraced more tightly, pressing their growing erections between them. “No,” Legolas sighed when Aragorn moved his kiss to the Elf’s jaw and throat. “Not just your touch.” He turned his head to nip at Aragorn’s earlobe. In a splash of water Aragorn threw Legolas over his shoulder, carrying him from the pond to the grassy shore. Falling to his knees he laid the Elf on the turf. “Did you bring a blanket as well?” Legolas’s laughter was like chimes in the wind. “Of course, m’love,” he chuckled, reaching beneath his folded clothing. “I brought everything we need.” They spread the blanket in the sun and fell upon it, Aragorn leaning over the reclining Elf to kiss and caresses the smooth, pale, body. His fingers stroked the hard column of flesh and teased at the puckered entrance. “Everything?” Aragorn asked, his voice low and thick with his arousal. “You brought oil?” Legolas didn’t speak as he pressed a small flask into the Man’s hand. Aragorn pulled the cork with his teeth and drizzled the lubricant over his own straining organ and onto his hand while Legolas drew his long, lean legs up to his chest. He gasped as the oiled fingers penetrated him, and cried out when they were replaced by the thick length of the Ranger’s manhood. “Ai!” he called out. “Estel-nîn!” The soft, lyrical language of the Elves flowed from both the Elf and the Man raised as an Elf as they became one. Aragorn set a relentless rhythm as he thrust deeply and withdrew, holding the slender hips firmly in his strong hands. Legolas stroked his own organ in the same rhythm, and when he spilled his seed across his chest, his spasms pulled Aragorn’s climax from him, and the Man’s essence issued deep within the Elf’s body. Spent, the Elf and the Ranger lay together in the sun, only the trees witness to their passion. Legolas held Aragorn in his arms, the dark- haired head resting on the alabaster shoulder, their limbs entwined, their hands ghosting caresses across still sensitized skin. Aragorn fingered a scar that crossed the flesh of Legolas’s left forearm. “An archer’s mark,” he said quietly. “You should have worn your vambraces.” “That’s what my teachers said,” the Elf replied. He caught Aragorn’s fingers in his hand and raised them to his lips. Gently he kissed each fingertip, then the center of the palm, before holding the hand to his heart. “And what did yours tell you?” A wistful smile crossed Aragorn’s face as he glanced at a similar mark on his own arm. “To wear my vambraces,” he admitted. They lay in the sun for the remainder of the morning and into the afternoon when their sunny spot was shaded by the mallorn trees. They bathed again, and let their hair dry in the fading daylight before dressing and returning to their companions. It had been a day between time, neither part of the journey that had brought them to the Golden Wood, nor part of the journey that lay ahead. Their spirits renewed, they faced a future in which only uncertainty was sure. The End © 2004 Emma Keigh 1,066 words