Fic name: Under the Stars Chapter name: 1. The LessonAuthor: Shir'ann (Mearaigh@yahoo.com) Pairing(s): Legolas/Aragorn, Legolas/Elladan/Elrohir/Aragorn, Elrond/Glorfindel, Elladan/Elrohir Rating: NC-17 Summary: Eventual Legolas/Elladan/Elrohir/Aragorn foursome, and other pairings. PWP Disclaimer: None of the characters are owned by me. *Sob*. They belong to a wonderful man named Tolkien, who is very nearly god. Warning: Incest inside! Authors Note: Plot? What plot? There's no plot. Really. Only smut. And lemon. But no plot! ******************************************************* 1. The Lesson Aragorn, son of Arathorn, foster son of Elrond Halfelven and true heir to the throne of Gondor leaned on the delicate Elven railing in Imladris with both elbows, hands folded together and staring out at the silent, starlit night with unseeing eyes. Behind him, the doors to his chambers stood flung open, deserted in the early hours of the morn for lack of the comfort they usually brought. As always, the quiet, ever-present rumbling of the hundreds of waterfalls and streams that ran through Rivendell soothed his turmoiled thoughts, and brought a peace to him that could be found nowhere else. From far off in the distance the merry sounds of the night's celebrations still lingered, even though it was now almost close to dawn. The Ranger smiled. The Elves, it seemed, had a communal weak place for ale and laughter, as Aragorn had on many an occasion discovered. Even his Valar blood could not withstand the endless nights of merrymaking, and he oft found himself retiring many hours before the Lord of the house. Tonight was no different, and though he was unable to find rest in the form of sleep, he was content to merely stand outside in the gentle cool of the night and ponder on the happenings of the day. For the arrival of the youngest prince of Mirkwood and a few delegates from his father’s courts – bearing some or other message from Thranduil that the Man had no whim nor wish to know of – Elrond had spared no pleasantries. Rich cakes and breads still warm from Rivendell’s best kitchens lay proudly amongst easily the best fruits and freshly hunted meat from the Lord’s own forests. And then, of course, there too was the abundance of spiced Elven wine and thick ales for the enjoyment of all. Alas – the celebrations again proved one too much for the Man’s human form to handle, and after exchanging only the most necessary formalities with the Mirkwood prince, the Ranger had claimed fatigue and retired here, to his quarters. Aragorn sighed in content, wishing not for the first time that the night could last forever. Outside, far removed from the joyous laughter and song in the great feasting halls, all was quiet. The gentle peace that prevailed here soothed even the most troubled of hearts into surrender. A sound from below him caught his attention, startling him out of his reverie. His inquisitive gaze was drawn from where he stood, high up, to far down below where one of Imladris’ countless rivers flowed into a silent pool, encircled on three sides by the ageless trees that grew throughout his home. It was a peaceful clearing that Aragorn knew well, for often had he gone there to think, or just to be alone, privately shielded from the bustle of everyday life by the ancient trees that stood sentinel to his solitude. The Rangers eyes travelled slowly over the familiar foliage, searching for the source of the sound that had first alerted him to someone else’s presence. There. His gaze came to rest on the centre of the quiet pool, where two figures stood, bathed in the ethereal glow of the near-full moon. Although too far off to discern facial features, the familiar stance the persons shared was immediately recognisable to the Ranger. Elladan and Elrohir, his foster-brothers. They were twins, so alike in features and movements that the only way for someone who did not know them to tell them apart would be by the colour of their eyes - though few indeed had the privilege to be in such close proximity to be able to - and Elladan’s penchant for wearing garments brightly-hued, usually light green and yellow, whereas Elrohir preferred the darker greys and browns of the earth. Now, however, their clothes lay in a crumpled heap on the riverbank. Aragorn frowned, his gaze travelling from the jumbled bundle back to the Elves in the water. The Ranger had no trouble in telling the two apart as they stood, waist-deep, in the pool. He watched in fascination as Elrohir lifted his brother’s long, wet, black hair from clinging to his neck to draw a bar of soap carefully down his back. It seemed Elrond’s bathhouses were not to the brothers’ liking this night. They obviously didn’t expect anyone to be about at this hour. Aragorn stared in wonderment as the bar of soap was drawn repeatedly over the other Elf’s back, verily caressing the pale contours in its quest to achieve cleanliness. Elladan’s head moved slightly; the words formed by the Elf’s lips lost in the distance to the Ranger’s ears. Elrohir’s shoulders shook with laughter in response, his hand temporarily ceasing its ministrations, resting lightly on the other’s shoulder. Aragorn knew he should not be staring so, and yet he found it impossible to tear his gaze away from the brothers. They seemed so . . . happy. So the Ranger looked on once more, the quiet scene before him suffusing him somehow with much-needed calm. Elrohir had by now completely ceased his washing. The soap lay discarded on the banks, near their clothing; the effect of a well-aimed toss of the Elf’s hand. Elrohir moved forward slightly, placing both hands on his brother’s back and leaning his forehead against the other’s neck. Warning-bells went off in the Ranger’s head as he stared, intrigued. What was he doing? Elrohir’s arms slipped around his brother’s waist, drawing him into a tight embrace from behind while his head come forward to whisper in the other’s ear. Aragorn expected Elladan to pull away from his brother’s strange actions in startlement and disgust, and was very surprised when the Elf’s head instead fell back to rest on his brother’s shoulder. They stayed so for a long while, merely exchanging silent whispers in the quiet restfulness of the night, Elladan’s arms coming up to cover his brother’s, clamped over his chest, so that he doubled his brother’s embrace. Aragorn watched in riveted fascination, his mind refusing to believe what his eyes saw and continually denying the fact that it was his brothers before him, the twins he had known all his life now obviously knowing each other with an intimacy that stretched the limits of propriety even amongst Elves. The corners of the Ranger’s mouth turned up in a sneer of disgust as Elladan started slowly stroking his brother’s arms, a gentle caress that was almost an opposite to the Elf’s outgoing nature. Yet, Aragorn could not bring himself to look away. And then something happened the Ranger did not foresee. In a curious unison, so perfect that it seemed almost a strange, choreographed dance, the two Elves’ heads came together and lingered in a way that twisted a knife through Aragorn’s heart. Elladan and Elrohir, twin brothers and sons of Elrond Halfelven, his kin by heart if not by blood, shared a lover’s kiss, deep and passionate beneath the gentle starlight and moonlight that watched with benevolent eyes. The Ranger did not realize his mouth had dropped open until the cold night air burned its way down his throat. He shut his mouth with an audible click, eyes still fixed on the yet-kissing pair, refusing to be torn away. “Jealous?” Aragorn jumped in startlement at the voice murmuring close behind and next to him, and whipped around in surprise, only to come face to face with the prince of Mirkwood. The blonde Elf laughed merrily at the Ranger’s evident shock and moved forward to lean on the railing next to where he had been standing but few seconds ago. “L . . . Legolas,” Aragorn stammered, “I – I did not hear your approach.” The Elf turned to look at him, amusement clouding his eyes. “You forget you are amongst Elves, Estel. My race are not known for heavy tread nor laboured breath.” Aragorn frowned at the use of his Elvish name, moving forward to resume his previous place next to Legolas. His gaze unwittingly travelled back to his brothers, still in each other’s embrace, and the frown deepened. “You have not answered my question.” Legolas’ voice was quiet, almost disappearing in the gentle hum of the surrounding waterfalls. The Ranger turned his head to find that the Elf was regarding him with his head cocked to one side, clear blue eyes piercing the Ranger and seeming to see right to his soul. A moment passed before he could find his voice, and he cleared his throat before answering. “What question?” “Are you jealous?” Aragorn frowned, looking from the blonde Elf to his brothers and back. “Of them?” Legolas nodded once, a slight smile playing over his lips. Aragorn looked again at Elladan and Elrohir. As he watched Elladan turned in his brother’s arms, moving closer into his embrace and deepening their kiss. The Ranger’s words escaped his lips automatically, his gaze remaining fastened yet again on the two in the pool. “What they’re doing . . .” He shook his head. “It’s wrong.” There was a slight pause before Legolas’ reply, a hesitation, as if carefully considering Aragorn’s words before speaking. “Wrong?” “It shouldn’t be this way.” “You do not agree with it, then.” It was a statement more than a question. “They are both men. And brothers. It’s just not right.” A hand came to rest on his shoulder. He turned his head slightly to regard the pale fingers, long and slender, yet strong – an archer’s hand. “And why,” Legolas asked, “should love be restricted by gender?” “But they’re brothers.” Aragorn turned fully to look at him. “Direct kin.” Legolas regarded him for a long while, until the Ranger shifted uncomfortably under the Elf’s piercing gaze. Finally, the archer drew breath to speak. “Come with me.” The hand on the Ranger’s shoulder moved down to grip Aragorn’s upper arm, and he turned, dragging the man behind him down the corridor before he could protest. Aragorn was led with fast steps through the many twists and turns of Rivendell’s passages, the Elf before him never faltering in pace nor direction, until finally by way of a long flight of steps they emerged outside, close below Aragorn’s room, yet far enough from the twins for them not to hear their approach. Here Legolas slowed finally to a stop, turning suddenly to face the Ranger with almost catlike agility. Aragorn moved back a pace, trying to free himself from the Elf’s grasp, but instead found the grip on his arm tighten painfully, effectively preventing him from breaking lose. Suddenly Legolas turned to face him fully and with a speed the Ranger’s mind could not follow, shoved him back roughly against the wall next to the staircase. Aragorn gasped, startled, and glared at the Elf as his breath was knocked from him. Legolas moved to stand close before him, their faces almost touching as the Elf’s left hand came to rest on his shoulder. “You have a lesson to learn, Aragorn,” the Elf breathed, no louder than a whisper, and Aragorn could smell the lightest touch of ale lingering on his breath. Aragorn stared into his eyes, the blue depths seeming to consume him until the world around them vanished and only the Elf before him seemed real. Legolas’ other hand moved between them, coming to rest on the slight bulge between the Ranger’s legs. Aragorn gasped and the spell was shattered. Shocked, he brought his arms up to roughly shove the Elf away. “Legolas! What are you doing?” Legolas stumbled back, eyebrows raised in surprise. For a moment he just stood there. Aragorn thought him about to leave, angered by the Ranger’s rash actions. Then he laughed, a merry chuckle of amusement that coloured the quiet air and seemed to ease the tension from the Elf, ebbing away like a departing tide. But the next instant, before he could register fully what was going on, he found himself pinned again to the wall under the superior strength of the Elf. Legolas threw his left arm over the Ranger’s chest, pressing down and so effectively preventing any movement from the man. Aragorn glared at the Elf, who was still smiling, but said nothing, letting his eyes reveal his anger. Legolas’ gaze never left his, as once more the slender Elven hand moved between the Ranger’s legs. The Man’s eyes widened at the touch, his breath quickening as the Elf moved his hand slowly up and down, gently rubbing and caressing Aragorn’s length. Legolas obviously looked much more innocent than he was. The Ranger let his eyes travel over the gentle plains of the high Elven cheekbones and sensual mouth, and finally left them staring once more into the Elf’s consuming eyes. The Man felt his face flush hotly in embarrassment as he hardened, desire and pleasure mixing to cause an intoxicating elixir of lust pooling in his abdomen. He shut his eyes tightly, trying to keep in mind that Legolas was male and should definitely not be in so intimate position with him, repeating it like a mantra in his head. But the Elf only smiled knowingly and pressed down sharply causing the man’s eyes to fly open and all thought to flee. He gasped and arched unconsciously into the pale hand, throwing his head back in ecstasy. The Elf twisted his hand to the side, the friction sending a jolt of pleasure through the man’s body, his breath now coming in ragged gasps and his heart battering wildly against his chest. He realized the drawn-out moan decorating the air emanated from his own lips. And then the hand was gone, leaving the man desperately aroused and painfully unfulfilled. He lifted his head, a tiny whimper escaping his lips, begging the Elf with his eyes to complete what he started. Legolas’ eyes slid downwards, trailing languidly over the Ranger’s body and came to rest finally between the man’s legs. A smile spread across his features as he saw the grey leggings straining madly over the hardness of Aragorn’s arousal. The Elf then turned his eyes up again to meet the Ranger’s gaze. “Legolas . . . “ Aragorn was surprised at the amount of desperation in his voice. “ . . . please.” The Elf laughed and stepped away from him, crossing his arms before him. “Consider your lesson complete, Estel.” Aragorn frowned in confusion, desire and arousal still clouding his thoughts. “Lesson?” He barely managed to form the single word of reply, and his eyes fell shut as once more the throbbing desire between his legs made itself painfully evident. Legolas’ voice sounded dim through the haze of lust that surrounded him. “You have learned, now, that love shows no prejudice. If Elladan and Elrohir choose to be together who are you to speak against it?” Aragorn’s head dropped further, small beads of sweat forming at his temple as he frowned at the ground. “I . . .” His voice cracked, forcing him to swallow loudly before continuing. “I . . . have learned. Just . . . please . . . “ He would beg the Elf if necessary. He needed desperately to find his release. The Elf laughed again and drew breath to speak, before he was interrupted. “What about us?” To Be Continued . . . ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~