Title: Control Freak.
Author: Razzle (hungryhungryhippo1@hotmail.com) (journal: 
http://hipposlash.blogspot.com) 
Pairing: Aragorn/Legolas
Rating: NC17 
Summary: The boys get jiggy with the help of a secluded glade, 
some leather straps and a bunch of filthy intentions. Plot? Not on 
your arse. 
Disclaimer: Kiss my disclaimer. Only the sickness is mine. 
Warnings: Oh, god, lots. Swearing, bondage, S, M, more S. a little 
Q. spanking, rape(ish), domination, spanking, an underused sexual 
position and I think the elf gets a hair out of place. I frighten 
myself sometimes. 
Archive: Take me, take me, take me. Let me know when it’s in. 
Feedback: is the only way I’ll learn.
Author’s note: Really sorry about this, but I had to get all of these 
thoughts out. Plus, I’d been bombarded with requests for less 
smoochin’, more spankin’. And more of dominant Legolas, who 
has quite the little fanbase of his own, bless him. 
 
 
Aragorn turned over in the royal bed, and tried to get comfortable. 
It was no good; the bed was too large and too cold to sleep in 
alone. He punched the pillow in a vain attempt at making it 
comfortable, but to no avail. He turned to stare out of the window, 
through the light curtains that waved gently in the night breeze. 
A movement disturbed him, and he sat bolt upright, scanning the 
room for its origin. It was extremely dark, and he could barely see 
a thing. But he sat still as the dead, waiting for further movement. 
After a few minutes of nothing, he shook his head. 
Getting paranoid in my old age, he thought. 
And then there was a blur, and what little light remained was 
gone. 
 
 
His head pounded when he came to, and he tried to open his 
mouth to swear. A leather strap, he noticed with increasing terror, 
impeded this action, and his hands were bound to preclude its 
removal. He got onto his knees and looked around wildly. He was 
in a glade, he guessed in Ithilien, from the smell, and the colour of 
the trees. He was about to try and get up, ostensibly to run from 
whatever faceless attacker had brought him here, when the figure 
stepped between the trees and into the glade. 
Aragorn sagged in relief.
“Well, aren’t you a sight to behold?” 
He gave Legolas a sarcastic look, which turned to confusion when 
the elf walked straight past him and took up occupation on a 
boulder across the glade. He did not appear to be about to help.
Legolas lifted his feet onto the rock either side of him, and rested 
his elbows on his knees. 
Aragorn’s eyes fell to Legolas’ groin, his leggings stretched tight, 
the unmistakable bulge of his penis fairly hard to ignore. 
Looking up, Legolas caught his gaze, and the man had the 
decency to look sheepish. Legolas dropped from the rock, strode 
towards him and caught him a slap across the cheek. 
The blow stung, but was meant as a reprimand, rather than a 
wounding blow. 
“Stop looking at my dick, you fucking pervert,” he growled, 
kicking a patch of dirt at the man. 
Legolas looked down on the captive, who squirmed in his 
bindings and stared back up at him balefully. Legolas snorted in 
disgust and rolled his eyes. 
“What?” he asked scornfully, “you want sympathy? Pity? Oh boo-
fucking-hoo. Poor little Aragorn, what a difficult job he has.” 
Legolas bent down, tracing the pained cheek with his fingertips, 
lifting the face towards his own. His fingers skirted along the 
man’s hairline and over his ear as he continued in his mockery. 
“What he needs is a kiss and a cuddle and a bucket of 
understanding.”
He kissed the man’s top lip, so briefly and so softly it was barely 
real, then grabbed a handful of hair and pulled so Aragorn’s head 
jerked away. He winced as much in shock as in actual pain. 
“Bull fucking shit” he snarled, “Estel needs a good cry, Elessar 
needs a holiday, and it’s about time Strider had a good fucking.”
Aragorn’s eyes widened. Legolas released him, shoving him 
gracelessly back onto the earth. He landed heavily, unable to 
break his fall with his bound hands. 
Legolas inspected his fingernails as Aragorn kicked in the earth, 
retreating slightly from the merciless elf. 
“So, Aragorn,” he said, coolly, “what are we today? Are we going 
to whine like a little girl, or take it like the man you think you 
are?”
The elf strode after him, soundless in footfall but with the 
determined pace of a huorn. He planed a foot squarely on the 
man’s chest, putting paid to his retreat, then dropped to his knees, 
one either side of the man’s waist. 
“No answer for me?” his tone almost reproachful. “Well then, 
perhaps we’ll come to our own conclusion.
“It’s my understanding that what one is introduced as is what they 
should hence be referred to as.” He grinned evilly. “Do you 
remember when I met you, you were a mere ranger?”
Aragorn whined under his gag. The elf leant down, seizing the 
back of his neck and pulling upwards. Aragorn resisted, and his 
neck stretched out unprotected below the elf as he turned his face 
away. Legolas grinned, and lowered his head to taste the flesh 
presented to him, causing Aragorn to gasp for breath through the 
twist of leather in his mouth as he sucked mercilessly at his tender 
throat. 
Legolas pulled back enough to see the blue-purple welt that rose 
up where his lips had been, and grinned to see the fruits of his 
labour. He flattened his tongue against the bruise, but pressed too 
hard for his stroke to be a comfort. Aragorn stared fixedly at a 
point above his head, trying not to react to the ministrations of the 
elf. He felt Legolas’ fingers at the collar of his tunic, slowly 
untying the chord that secured the top two inches of his shirt. 
Legolas smirked. 
“Hope you’re not too fond of this shirt, Aragorn,” he murmured 
against his skin. Those same skilful fingers fixed themselves on 
either side of the split in the fabric, and pulled the two sides 
roughly apart. Aragorn squirmed futilely, trying to wriggle away 
from the elf, who was sucking his skin in patches. Legolas 
fastened his mouth over Aragorn’s nipple, flicking his tongue 
across the tip, revelling in a feeling of enormous self-satisfaction 
when it hardened to his touch. 
He bit down firmly, and Aragorn arched his back, his moan 
muffled by the leather strap. 
The other nipple was soon receiving the same treatment, and 
Aragorn was twisting beneath him, whining and growling in the 
embrace of his muscular thighs. His struggles put a strain on his 
arms, and his shoulders ached as if they were trying to detach 
themselves. Legolas sat back, and drew his nails down the man’s 
chest. Aragorn shifted, trying to evade the painful score marks the 
elf was leaving on his skin. The red paths increased in number 
with each pass, tracing over his chest and stomach, around his 
waist, each terminating at his waistband. 
Legolas made short work of the chords at the top of his britches, 
and went to pull them down and off the man’s legs, but the man 
still retained enough control to slam his legs together and bury his 
arse in the ground, determined not to let the elf undress him. 
Legolas put his head on one side and tutted. He sucked in a breath 
and punched Aragorn in the stomach. 
Aragorn gave an agonized yell, or as best he could in the 
circumstances. The pain was far too much for him to maintain the 
tension, and as he reeled, choking on his gag and retching, 
Legolas stripped the man’s trousers from his body, humming an 
infuriatingly jolly little tune. Legolas held his ankles tightly, and 
pushed towards him so his knees bent and his heels hit the sides of 
his backside. The elf pulled up in-between his knees, and smiled 
down at Aragorn’s dick, which was definitely enjoying the 
experience more than he would like to admit.
“Oh, Aragorn,” he said appreciatively, “is that for me?”
The man didn’t look at him, he was far too uncomfortable to be 
embarrassed, and was just trying to breathe enough to stay 
conscious. His eyes averted, he didn’t notice the elf lower his 
head, and so the sudden wet pressure on his ass came as a huge 
surprise. Legolas’ tongue moved past the ring of muscle, and 
Aragorn bucked beneath him as the tongue shivered inside his 
asshole. After a few moments, the tongue retreated, and two of 
Legolas’ fingers replaced it, thrusting harshly into the man, so that 
he had to grind his teeth against the pain. Legolas’ teeth grazed 
the end of his dick, not hard enough to wound, but harder than 
such a sensitive organ was designed to find pleasurable. 
A third finger joined the first two, and pressed in until Aragorn 
felt his knuckles graze the edge of his opening. He was stretched 
achingly far, and he clung onto sparks of relief as the invading 
digits brushed his prostate, dulling some of the anguish. 
Through the pain, in a moment of unexpected clarity, he realised 
his legs were free of the elf’s grip, and lifted his foot, pulling back 
to kick the elf in the shoulder, and force him away. But Legolas 
was faster, and grabbed his heel as it came towards him. 
The relief of having the fingers removed from his ass was short 
lived as Legolas twisted his ankle, and lifted the other up to the 
same height. 
Without a word, he placed the man’s ankles on his own shoulders, 
and leant forward so he couldn’t move them without dislocating 
his hips. He winced again, and tears sprang to his eyes as Legolas 
moved forwards. 
He grinned cruelly. 
“You don’t learn, do you Aragorn? I *like* it when you fight me. 
Right now you’re doing a really good job of seducing me.” He 
moved his hand down Aragorn’s thigh, almost soothingly. When 
he reached the edge of his ass, his hand left the man’s skin, only 
to return a moment later, slapping hard against his hide. “Fight 
me, Aragorn.” He slapped him again, harder. “Come on, fight me. 
No? No fight left? Fine.”
He reached down, and with no warning or preparation, buried his 
cock deep in the man. Aragorn threw his head back, arching his 
back against the soil, and howled in agony. Legolas shut his eyes 
and gritted his teeth at the enormous pressure, stopping for a few 
moments once he was buried inside him, savouring the heat that 
surrounded his dick. 
The world stood still for a moment, before the elf returned to his 
stride. He drew himself almost fully out, and then threw himself 
back into the helpless body below. Aragorn screamed against his 
gag. The weight of the body of top of him, hammering against 
him drove his shoulders into the earth, increasing the pain of their 
being stretched behind his back.
As Legolas pushed forwards, his legs were crushed closer to him, 
especially when the elf lifted his hips to drive his flesh in even 
further. Every so often as the elf pulled out he would fetch him 
another ringing slap on the ass, and tell him to stop his fucking 
whining. 
But Aragorn couldn’t stop the wails that issued from his throat as 
such punishment was dealt, and when Legolas reached round his 
legs to squeeze mercilessly on his erection, his cries became sobs 
of desperation. 
Legolas taunted him,
“Why do you struggle? You need this. Because you’re a fucking 
whore. You’re my whore now. And if you ever forget it I’ll hunt 
you down and tear you a new one.” 
Aragorn groaned. He could feel Legolas’ nails skirting the sides 
of his penis, then his slender fingers wrap around and squeeze 
once more, drawn along his flesh rapidly and cruelly. He felt the 
wave begin, and ground his teeth, trying to suppress the 
unmistakable cry that would accompany his orgasm, but to no 
avail. He howled through the fabric that bruised his lips, and 
found himself convulsing with the force of the climax that ripped 
through him. He thrashed within his restraints, the sound of 
Legolas’ laughter ringing in his ears as he spent himself over the 
elf’s hand. Legolas released his organ, and wiped his hand on 
Aragorn’s face. He could smell himself; feel his own semen 
drying on his skin. His body shivered with aftershock as Legolas 
held him by the throat and pounded into him, restricting his 
breathing as he slammed into him again and again, until he too 
cried out in ecstasy, swearing unintelligibly from deep in his 
throat. Aragorn felt the hot seed fill him, his attacker branding 
him with a signature of his assault.
Legolas pulled himself from Aragorn’s body without looking at 
him, and stepped back, holding an expression of deliberate 
nonchalance as he reached for Aragorn’s discarded trousers and 
wiped his cock with them. 
Aragorn drew his legs together, and turned onto his side to face 
away from the elf, curling his knees into his chest. 
“Aragorn?” the elf’s voice was softer, almost concerned. He 
turned enough to acknowledge the question. The last thing he saw 
was the pale fist approaching, before darkness descended. 
 
 
 
Light returned to his life. Slowly it filtered through the net of 
sleep, and he woke, shedding the last ties of unconsciousness. 
Then the pain arrived. 
It was mostly ache now, he couldn’t say how long he’d slept, but 
his injuries lacked the sting of their arrival. It helped that he was 
lying in a comfortable bed, his own bed. The air was faintly 
humid, and smelled somewhat of herbs. It reminded him of 
Rivendell. And he was not alone. 
A soft cloth, wet with warm water, ran over his shoulder, which 
felt instantly soothed. 
Aragorn tried to move onto his back, but a sharp pain below his 
tailbone made him wince. A strong hand pushed him gently back 
onto his side. Lips met the shoulder where the cloth had just been. 
“I think it’s best you stay on your side for now,” a soft familiar 
voice reached his ears. 
“Worked that one out,” he replied, and realised how much his 
mouth hurt, “What do you have there?”
A sigh. “Various herbs and the like. Provided by your father, 
some time ago. Help you heal faster.”
“It’s working. How long was I out?”
“Most of the day.”
“Then it’s working fast.”
Another sigh, somewhat guilty, “You okay?”
“I’m fine. Legolas?”
“Hmm?”
“How did you know?”
“Shall we put it down to my excellent skills of perception?”
“No.”
“Fine. Elledan made a comment. About rough and tumble being 
your thing. I followed it up.”
“Efficient.”
“Too far?”
“By no means. But I don’t think we should make it a weekly 
event.”
“Agreed. I don’t have that much nasty in me.”
“I know, love.”
Legolas stopped bathing his lover, running his fingers over a 
bruise skirting the man’s hip. He laughed briefly. 
“What’s funny?”
“Just wondering how you’re going to explain these bruises to 
Arwen.”
“I fell down the stairs.” 
“Don’t be ridiculous, she’s not that stupid.”
Aragorn turned slightly and inclined his face in Legolas’ 
direction, arching his eyebrows. 
“Ah, yes, forgot who I was dealing with.” 
“Why? Who else have you been doing this to?”
“Oh, no one.” 
“Damn right.”
“No one else is sick enough to like it.”
 “Sick? I’ll give you sick, you little bitch.”
And he turned over, ignoring his moaning muscles to pin the 
laughing elf beneath him, and made to prove that pain endured 
may be its own reward.