Title: Quivering Hips Author: Eremir (eremir82@yahoo.se) Website: http://leaves.forgottenjuliet.net/ Pairings: Legolas/Aragorn, Legolas/Boromir Rating: NC17 Summary: BADFIC!!! One of the winning contributions to the Library Of Moria Badfic-Challenge. Warnings: Ehm...ick? Notes: I tried my best to do my worst. Enjoy (or not). ---------------------------------- Legolas pranced across the meadow, like a jolly schoolgirl eagerly anticipating her first homework, and giggled loudly with severe merriment as he was thinking naughty elf lovemaking thoughts about his furry mortal bushman friend. Aragorn Estel Elessar Strider Longshanks of Arathornson was waiting for him. In the meantime, Elessar Estel Strider Aragorn Arathornson of Longshanks was hornily awaiting his prissy pointy-eared love bunny under the shade of a thick-membered tree. “Thick and sturdy, like my very own peepee,” the ruddy man said to the tree, posing in front of it and gesturing with his hand at the same time as his hardened stick of joy was pointing friskily at it. Aragorn, son of his father and brother of no one, swayed his hips and let his swollen penis wave back and forth like the pendulum of a Swiss clock (not that they had Swiss clocks in middle earth, but when raised in Imladris there was a similar clock in his stepfather Elrond’s study, but that would be too complicated to put in this sentence), and let a cool breeze play over his cherry-red cockberry. “You would not let the wind take the place of my hot, wet insides upon your manly rod, would you?” Legolas asked the man giddily as he approached, his own love rod already spewing out slimy precum inside his overly tight leggings. “Well then, come over here and let me expand your rectum with my veiny handle of flesh,” said Aragorn Arathornson of Dúnedain with his most sexy voice, and obscenely wetted his lips with a wormlike pink tongue as he was masturbating in front of his elven cuddle puff. Legolas skipped over to his mortal loverboy, dropping his clothes along the way, stripping fast and sensuous, as if his name was Lola Humpalot and not in fact Legolas Greenleaf. Standing butt-naked opposite each other, their dickheads kissing one another while drooling white goo onto the ground, their bodies made the form of an H in ying-yang sort of way, considering their differences in skin colour. “Now, you man-slut of an elf,” said Aragorn son of the heir of Isildur, or some other important guy, and grinned widely, showing as many as possible of his yellowish brown ranger-nubs (which the elf found a big turn-on). “Turn around so I can gawp at your pouty buns.” Legolas chuckled happily and twirled around, sticking out his arse for the ranger to grope. “My buns are at your command, my rude rump-rider,” Legolas said to the man with a thousand names. “Paw me.” Aragorn Elessar Dúnedain of Arathornshanks greedily grabbed hold of twin cups of elf meat and fondled them harshly, as if he was kneading very tough dough into elvish bottom-bread. The elf groaned like a flatulent dog as his butt-cheeks were spread open like cupboard doors, leaving his wrinkled love grotto exposed and vulnerable to intruders. Aroused, Estel Aragorn of Longstrider (or whatever the hell his name is), stuck two fingers through the brown eye, and groped them around inside Legolas’ hot anus. When the elf moaned his lust, the man’s wing-wang twitched like a mare’s vulva during mating season. He pulled out his digits with a loud plopping sound, like a cork being pulled from a bottle, and turned his boy toy around. “Fall upon your knees and worship the pink snake. Treat him well, and he might bless you with salty cream.” Elessar Strider Aragornson pushed down the elf, who eagerly began praising his lordship Captain Winkie. Putting the lollipop-like cockhead past his lips, he swallowed the dingeling whole, his teeth getting caught in the rough curls at the man’s root. “Yes,” hissed Strider Longshanks of Dúnedain. “Sheath my passion sword in your oral places.” As the elf painfully retreated, he ripped out several hairs in a primitive bikini-wax. Black pubes stuck in his perfect teeth, like a fly in a $50 glass of champagne, he continued suckling the pulsating man-teat. Aragorn Estel Arathornson of Stridershanks came like a fountain, squirting milk-like ooze onto Legolas’ porcelain features, aiming at any and every orifice in his head. Sticky slime covered his face and trickled down a pale chest, much like when a child has had too much ice cream. He smeared the white nut butter over his erect nipples and loudly slurped the last sperm soup out of the now flabby dangler. “Honey-buns?!” came a silly, British voice from the meadow. “Where is my puss...” Boromir stumbled upon the two sodomists, wet with man juice, and froze in shock. Legolas merely turned his head, looked at the man, and licked a snotty string of cum that was dangling from his curved bottom lip. He slurped it up and swallowed a few times, forcing the sticky substance down his fuckable throat. “But...but...but...but...” the Gondorian soldier stuttered helplessly, like a total retard, and nearly began blubbering. “Oh, Boromir, don’t be pathetic,” said Legolas and got to his feet. Meanwhile, Aragorn Estel of Arathorn slumped down on his arse and commenced scratching his crotch vigorously, as if he were an ape, and didn’t seem to bother about bruising Boromir’s brittle pride. “You said I was your special someone,” the steward whined, as Legolas walked towards him with big puppy-dog eyes. “Boromir, darling,” he said, as softly as if he was wiping a baby’s bottom with it. “Do you not realize I was practising for you?” “What?” Boromir sniffled in his palms and blinked the tears out of his eyes. “You want me to be good at satisfying you, do you not?” he said innocently and started shuffling his feet. “You always tell me ‘practise makes perfect’, so I thought...” “Oh my shite,” exclaimed the man quietly, and glanced over at where the ape was sitting, now picking his nose and flicking the boogers with his fingers. “This was my fault!” “I’m sorry, sweetie. You never said I shouldn’t practise sex like I practise swordplay. Safely and regularly.” Legolas waved thick lashes at the man and spoke in a strained childlike voice. The Gondorian claimed his soiled lover in a possessive embrace, smearing Aragorn’s little soldiers all over his armour. Legolas smiled contented, and suppressed an evil giggle. He could play Boromir like a fiddle. Actually he couldn’t play the fiddle, so a flute then. But ‘he could play him like a flute’ doesn’t have a very nice ring to it, does it? The apelike Dúnedain merrily lifted his leg and farted loudly, after which he broke into a fit of laughter, spoiling Boromir’s romantic moment. The Gondorian let Legolas go, and realized the other man’s seamen was all over them both. “Eewwwww!” At the same time the smell of Aragorn’s bio- hazardous gases reached his protruding nose hairs, and he was compelled to flee the clearing, dragging the nude pixie with him. Aragorn’s hysterical laughter echoed between the trees as they hurried away. The steward had trouble running with the fat hump that grew in his groin. He needed to bugger the elf right away. Dragging him into a clearing, he pulled the blond person into his arms and frenched him wetly, Elessar’s unborn children clinging in his beard. “Oh, my manly man you,” Legolas breathed hotly. “You kiss almost as good as Éomer!” “What?!?!?!” “Oh! Ehmm...I...I snogged him once...no big deal,” Legolas tried to sound innocent while fondling Boromir’s wiggling flesh-rope through his leather undies. “No big deal!?!?! Oh, that feels good..... How many mortals have you porked exactly?!?!?! Oooooh, lower....yes... You’re a whore!!!! More.... You dirty slut....yes....” The arrow-shooting type elf worked his bony fingers over Boromir’s delicate urinating-instrument, to fully inflate it with blood. Legolas grinned as the man melted before him, turning into play-dough in his hands. He could turn Boromir on like one switches the light on in a dark room. Well, they didn’t exactly have light switches in middle earth either, but you get the point. Skilfully, Legolas played the meat-flute until it sang with juices. “Do you want to conquer my secret tunnel?” he asked the Gondorian idiot and rubbed up against him like a cat in heat. “Do you want to knife me with your throbbing sex-blade?” The man groaned like a cow with indigestion, and nodded feverishly. “Yes, but tell me honey-puff,” he panted. “How many has been there before me?” “Oh,” the elf stopped his ministrations. “Let me see...” He started counting on his fingers. “Well, I am nearly three thousand years old... If I’m lucky I meet three new men each year... plus the average elves I fuck... So that would be...” “Oh, forget it!” Boromir yelled and tossed the pointy eared neverdying magical being to the earth. “I will claim your love-seat now!” “Finally!” Legolas propped himself on his elbows and watched as the man undressed. After endless seconds, the tower of Ecthelion was at last revealed. The blue or brown eyes the elf possessed widened with delight. “It is like a big, floppy donkey dick!” “Why thank you,” the man proudly strutted to show off his organ. “I grew it myself.” “But have you the power to wield it, I wonder,” the blond boy teased. “I will show you my power, slut. I will boldly go where no man... boldly go... Oh, sod it! Just turn over and stick your arse up!” “Yes, sir!” Leggy exclaimed, and did as he was told, pouting his shiny globes to the sky. He wiggled his quivering hips at the man, urging him to seize his bunghole. The aroused steward snorted like a wild boar at the sight of the slutty prince, swaying his bum so temptingly, like a carrot in front of a horse. Or an ass in front of a mortal, whatever sounds more tempting. Boromir knelt between hairless, girlish limbs, and poked his fingers in a sweaty cleft. The elf moaned and pushed back, slurping up the man’s fingers in a tight, warm grip. “Ow...darling...my knuckles..” “Sorry sweetie,” Legolas said adoringly, and relaxed his throbbing sphincter. The man’s fingers exited with the sound of a balloon letting its air out, and he held his crushed phalanges tenderly. “Wow, elf. Some grip you got there.” The hot elf giggled in response. “Can’t wait to force your sausage between my buns, can you? You want to squirt your pale mustard inside me, don’t you?” “I love it when you talk dirty!” Boromir said, and dove his face into Legolas’ wet crack, tonguing him deeply. The pointy prince squeaked with pleasure as the slimy mollusc wiggled through his rectum, mimicking the movement of a maggot moving through dung. The elf proceeded in moaning and groaning and making all those other sounds that are associated with sexual activity. Much like when you hear what mom and dad are doing through the wall, and you cover your ears going ‘lalalalalalalalalalalalalalala....’ “Have mercy upon my odourless colon!” Legolas cried desperately. “I need your blunt pleasure-staff inside me!” Boromir was not late to comply. He grabbed one last slurp of Legolas’ tight ass, before positioning himself to impale the white creature on his wood stake. He held his breath when he pushed the head of his cock through the tight ring (that is the tip of his dick, not the head of an actual cock!). “By the horn of Gondor! You are as tight as a fourteen year old boy!” groaned the steward as he pulled at the elf’s hips to sheathe his passion-poker in warm flesh. “And have you stuck your horn in many fourteen year old boys, son of Gondor?” asked the Leggy blonde, trying to keep a straight face while the man’s pole was pushing against his ‘hidden spot’. “Well,” panted the man. “I did my brother Fa... I mean I did my fa... I mean... Oh, stuff it! Be quiet!” Legolas giggled impishly and clamped his inner muscles around the invasive stick of meat, causing the Gondorian to swear some more. “You are so articulate, my furry knight,” said the elf. Boromir slapped Legolas on his tempting butt several times, until red hand marks appeared on the impossibly smooth, soft, pale, perfect skin all elves apparently possess. Gripping his greedy hands on sweat covered flanks, he began pumping his mighty organ in and out, in and out, in and out, in and out. The elf ooooh’ed and aaaah’d to this repetitive thrusting in his rear compartment. “Faster! Harder! Deeper! Longer! Better!” the pointy eared bimbo’s cries seemed to encourage the smelly man behind him to try harder to please the insatiable immortal. Did that sentence make any sense at all? So anyway... where were we? Oh, right. They’re doin’ the nasty. Humpin’, and pumpin’, and doin’ it, and.... sorry. As Boromir, the man with only one name, was jabbing his third leg into a childlike behind, the beautiful, immortal, annoyingly perfect elf was writhing with delirious ecstasy. Doing the prince doggie-style was a power rush for the otherwise powerless coward of a mortal. He grabbed onto yellowish hair, and began thrusting in a new angle, hitting ‘that secret spot’ inside the tight passage. “Scream for me, baby!” the man demanded. “I am an adult!” cried the elf, protesting the term. “Shut up and scream for me!” Boromir panted between thrusts, rubbing hard on the elf’s ‘hidden gland’. “How can I shut up and scream at the same time?” the elf groaned as he neared his climax. “God damn it, just scream will you! Jeeez!” The elf tried his best to supply a satisfactory scream, and set the man over the edge. Hot cream spurted against ‘his secret spot’, filling his love canal with more doomed genetic material. The sated mortal collapsed, forcing his weight on top of the lean sex-machine below him, causing his elf to fall flat on his belly. That last bit of pressure on his ‘hidden pleasure spot’ made him cry out legitimately, and spill his own little swim-team on the ground. After a few seconds of heavy breathing, the man’s flabby meat-dangler blopped out of the stretched anus where it previously had been resting, and the steward that would never be king rolled off his sodomised companion. The forever-young immortal sighed with relief, and rolled over on his back, exposing a sticky blotch of sperm-cocktail on his front. The man with no more names than his first, pulled the elf close, and they cuddled up to each other, fingering the other’s hair. “Am I really your special someone?” asked Boromir hopefully. “Until you die, or I find someone better,” the elf answered calmly. The man’s brow furrowed, and he seemed to be thinking. An action quite unusual for the Gondorian. Finally he shrugged. “That’s good enough for me. I love you, puppy!” “I am an Elf!” “I didn’t mean... you... Oh, shut up!” The elf giggled and spat out a few lingering pubic hairs from his teeth. “You are so eloquent, my hairy beast,” the elf said, furling his hands in golden brown chest hair. And so the couple snuggled. The fellowship proceeded with their perilous journey. Boromir died, and Aragorn Elessar Estel Longshanks Arathornson of Dúnedain became king of the apes. Sorry; men. Eventually, Legolas married Gimli and they lived happily ever after. They sailed into the west on a grey ship, and lived happily ever after. I said that already didn’t I? Bugger. Not to be continued... ever.