Title: The Municipal Reception  
Author: OceanWilde        (nanhithoel@hotmail.com)  
Pairing: Aragorn / Legolas  
Rating: NC-17  
Summary: As the King is visiting the various parts of his realm, Legolas  
helps Aragorn regain a bit of the freedom he lost when he became king...  
Disclaimer: characters not mine, I only use them shamelessly for my pleasure  
and others' I hope, no profit made whatsoever from writing this   
Authors Note: Feedback most appreciated, especially as  
this is a first story!  
 
 
The Municipal Reception  
 
Throughout the feast Aragorn's eyes kept straying back to the place far down  
the table where Legolas sat, his head bright amongst the dark-haired  
warriors and silver-haired counsellors. Speech followed speech and he longed  
to be away, anywhere, out on the dark moors, where he had lived for so long,  
hunted and hunting. Even now, in the heat and wood smoke from the great  
fire, he could remember the smell of the morning mist on the heather....and  
freedom.  
 
He sighed. He missed Arwen, but she was with child and could not accompany  
him on his progress through the towns of the North. He worried, too; to  
match with an Elf, what might happen when the time came...  
 
He felt someone watching him and looked up into the eyes of Legolas. He felt  
his face grow warm but the Elf just smiled, cool and pale even in the heated  
room. The burghers of the town were growing loud in their drink, even in the  
presence of their king, but their crude remarks did not offend Legolas.  
Cool, bright, aloof, Aragorn felt a sudden heat in his groin and a desire to  
put his hand on that long smooth white throat.  He pushed the thought down.  
He could not do as he wished now, he was king....but he had never done what  
he wished, even then, when he was hunted and alone. Even then eyes were on  
him, for he was the hope, the one destined to be king....  
 
He started; Legolas' carved and richly worked seat was suddenly empty.  
Aragorn looked round quickly and saw a heavy tapestry ripple at the end of  
the hall. He bit down a smile. Did the Elf guess? Another burgher was rising  
to speak and Aragorn's heart sank. But then deliverance; the mayor stood up  
and said;  
'No more, his grace is weary from his long journey, we will let him  
withdraw, our duties to our king!'  
At this the table rose and all bowed. Aragorn rose too and bowed low in his  
turn, and within a few minutes the feast hall was empty. The firelight  
played on the tapestry, seeming to move it. Aragorn set his eyes on the  
material, hoping. Then he felt a hand on his shoulder and started violently  
and put his hand to his sword. Legolas laughed;  
'Even now you fear, Aragorn. You are king, what do you fear?'  
'I fear....' Aragorn had started to speak before he thought, and stopped.  
Legolas ran his hand across his shoulder and down his back, resting it on  
Aragorn's lean hips. The king sighed, and looked round.  
'Not here, someone might come....'  
And as if at a signal servants came into the hall, bowed and began to clear  
away the feast. Legolas whispered;  
'The minstrels' gallery.....'  
 
It was empty in the gallery, dark and cool. There were no musicians, the  
town had not recovered sufficiently from the war to afford them, and had  
apologised to the king for the lack. But Aragorn had spent years at war; he  
would not miss a few fiddlers.  
 
From the gallery they could see the tables being cleared and the chairs and  
trestles carried away. Aragorn stood staring down, knowing he himself was  
hidden in the shadows. Legolas came to him from behind and pushed his hand  
down the front of his dark red velvet breeches. Aragorn closed his eyes and  
threw back his head as the Elf found him, closed his fingers round him, and  
began to comfort him.  
'Legolas!' he breathed, but the Elf was bent on his seduction, his smooth  
long fingers moving constantly. He bent his golden head and Aragorn smelt  
the bright hair, then felt a sting as Legolas took his throat in his sharp  
white teeth and bit hard. Aragorn whispered to him;  
'Don't spare me!'  
 
They were the same height, but the Elf was slenderly built and not as heavy  
as the man, but he pushed him back and down, stripping his leggings from him  
to run his cool white hands over his belly, his hips and along his lean  
scarred back. Then he moved his lips up onto Aragorn's lips, pushing a  
fierce kiss onto his mouth, pushing his tongue into the man's, pushing and  
holding Aragorn's head, tasting, sucking, devouring. Aragorn began to gasp;  
he was already hard, and Legolas grunted with pleasure and pushing the man  
down and down at last laid him on the wooden floorboards, strewn with  
sweet-smelling river reeds.  
 
Lying beneath the Elf Aragorn wanted to struggle, to push him off. He felt  
it was wrong, as he had the first time. But it was too sweet, too necessary  
now. Legolas was kissing his bare back, his tongue travelling down. Aragorn  
moaned, letting a little cry out, so soft, barely audible.  He could not  
help it, he had to let it out, his breathing getting more heavy, more and  
more so, as Legolas' tongue was travelling down reaching his lower back,  
kissing, licking it, tasting the man, gently pulling the soft hairs in  
teasing. On their own will it seemed, Aragorn felt his hips lift in tacit  
consent, wanting more in spite of everything.  A hot breath warmed his skin  
as Legolas caught his breath with a soft moan, and feeling and hearing him  
he felt his belly pierced with a sting so hot it almost hurt.  
'Legolas!' he cried again, his voice almost pleading. But the Elf was  
heedless to his king's cries.  He had laid him down.  
'My king', breathed Legolas, and his voice was a hoarse whisper in the  
king's ear.  The Elf smiled cunningly and turned the man on his side. Biting  
and flinging his tongue on his waist and down, down, to nearly touch the  
hard throbbing length of the man, but not quite so, with his long hand he  
then rounded and stroke Aragorn's shaft, so hard now, so full of blood.  His  
strokes were rough, and defying all reason, Aragorn was feeling the  
sweetness of being at the mercy of the Elf. He could not explain it, but he  
would let him do, he could scream so sweet was his pain.  
'No, my lord, I will not spare you' Legolas whispered knowingly, and  
circling his long white fingers around him harder, he pushed and pulled  
again, always avoiding the sensitive end, now oozing its hot clear water.  
Aragorn thought madness had caught him. Everything in him was telling him he  
could take anymore, he was breathless.  Suddenly he arched with a soft  
pleading wail, and tried to grasp Legolas' hand to stop him, this was too  
much.  But the Elf would have nothing of it. With a thump he swiftly put  
Aragorn's hand and arm down on the wooden floor.  The Elf was deceptively  
strong despite his slender frame, and his hands had handled much in his long  
years.  Aragorn could not move, he was prisoner.  And he...loved it.  
 
Legolas searched for the man's mouth again, like an animal searching for  
water in the dark.  With his lips he found it, sucking, licking and biting  
lips and chin and throat. In him was frenzy now, and each time his own  
swollen length touched the man's skin, he felt close to lose control.  But  
he would not. Not now. He was breathing hard into the man's mouth, submerged  
by a burning desire he could less and less conceal.  
 
Then with a quick thrust, Legolas turned the man on his belly, not letting  
go of him.  He continued his rough slow movements up and down even against  
the floor.  Aragorn could smell the wood, old and alive, and the strong  
scent caught to his throat and mingled with the smell of sweat.  Then  
suddenly without warning Legolas in his long ascending stroke reached the  
tip, his fingers eagerly smearing the warm trickling liquid along the  
burning length.  Aragorn gasped as if struck with arrow, his breath taken  
away, his whole body shivering.  He tried to arch his back.  The Elf smiled  
for himself, aroused and hard as he had never been.  How Aragorn's pleasure  
was his own.  How beautiful he was under him now, at his mercy, how great  
was this man's will to resist him.  
Closing his mouth near Aragorn's ear he breathed a hot whisper:  
'Tonight, my king, you are mine'. He shifted his lean body to mount the  
king, and climb on the man, his belly now heavy on the king's back.  
'And nothing you can say or do will change anything'. He moved upward so his  
swollen length would nestle between Aragorn's muscular cheeks.  
'I make all decisions tonight, my lord'.  And at that, Legolas lifted his  
slender hips, his painfully hardened shaft finding the tight entry into  
warmth.  He entered his throbbing end, in and out, gasping with every try,  
his long bright hair hanging on the man's back.  Then, in a single powerful  
thrust the Elf buried himself whole with a cry.  
 
Aragorn took him with a gasp and bit his lower lip, feeling weak with  
pleasure and sweet pain.  He closed his eyes.  Only at the hand of such a  
friend could he allow not to be in control like that.  Tonight, yes tonight  
his pleasure, his body, his mind, he was abandoning it all to the Elf.  No  
more obligations, no more thinking, no more reasons, receptions, no more  
kingship, no more....  He was feeling Legolas' body against him, burying  
himself, in and out, hammering, loving him, wanting him, wanting him inside  
him. The Elf then thrust himself again and with a few strokes he exploded,  
releasing a fierce grunt, gasping for air.  
 
He collapsed on the king's lean scarred back, holding his friend's waist,  
glistening with sweat.  After a moment, he said:  
'Aragorn...' and in his soft voice there was a call, a question.  He  
released himself and climbed onto the king's back up to his ear.  
'I...I used you...'  
'You freed me' replied Aragorn, his voice calm and low.  
Legolas smiled, understanding the king's need.  Turning to face each other,  
in the warmth of their heated bodies they looked into each other's eyes for  
a long moment, there in the dark of the minstrels' gallery.  Legolas kissed  
his friend lightly on the lips, then slid down with a smile.  Aragorn needed  
only the tender bites and kisses of the Elf to be fully aroused again.  
Spreading his legs apart he offered his cock to his trusted sweet tyrant.  
He was breathing deeply, heavily, releasing a moan each time the Elf was  
finding more ways to please him.  Legolas took the hard treasure in his  
mouth between his lips, with teeth and tongue, knowing where and when to  
stop, making his king gasp with pain, or pleasure, or both.  And soon in the  
heated gallery there was a cry, loud and beautiful.  
 
Legolas climbed up again and took Aragorn's mouth, kissing him fiercely with  
his reddened lips. Aragorn tasted himself as he devoured the Elf, sucking  
his lips, eating him as he did.  He had needed this for so long, yes it had  
been necessary, tonight, and the Elf had known it for days and months.  They  
released their embrace at last, gasping for air, smiling.  
 
'I think you have found some distraction from your obligations, my king'  
said the Elf in his clear voice.  
'Yes, I admit there are some compensation for these.... dreadful speeches'  
and he smiled at the Elf, 'never again will I travel across my kingdom  
without you my dear Elf', he added lightly, his eyes shining.  
'When the Queen is not travelling with you, of course' added Legolas softly,  
looking at the king's grey eyes.  
There was a brief silence.  
'When the Queen is not travelling' Aragorn repeated.  
 
Then for a fleeting moment there was a shadow on the king's face.  
 
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