TITLE: Prism of Light
AUTHOR: Jenwyn (velvetfancypants@yahoo.com)
RATING: hard R
FEEDBACK: I'm down on my knees, begging for it.
DISCLAIMERS: Lots of individuals and corporate entities can legally and 
credibly claim ownership of these characters; I'm not one of them.
NOTE: I think of this as movie!fic, because I can't remember the book 
well enough to know if the characters play the same to me. No spoilers.
SUMMARY: Before setting out from Lothlorien, Legolas goes to Boromir 
to feel out his mind.


When the man beside him stopped speaking, the elf nodded once to 
indicate his understanding. As he rose to go, his face came close to the 
other's; the man neither flinched away nor inclined towards him, and so 
the elf simply took the man's hand in his own and dipped his head, 
brushing his lips to the back of the man's fingers before he took his leave.

+++

The man was found easily, feinting and parrying with his unsheathed 
sword against the play of light that filtered through the trees.
Though he had not intended to sneak up, Legolas paused at the edge of the 
clearing to watch for awhile, noting both the man's skill and the agitation 
of mind that underscored this shadow-dueling. Seeing the physical and 
mental state to which the man had worked himself up,
Legolas thought that perhaps this was not the time. It might be better to 
slip away again before the man - so focused on his own movements, so 
deep inside his own thoughts - noticed him.

Then the man asked in a tone just above a growl, "What is it that you want 
of me, Elf?" He continued to practice, his back pointedly remaining to 
Legolas.

The words arrested Legolas before he had moved. Now he shifted to stand 
clear of the tree he had been leaning against. "Only to speak with you, 
Boromir, Son of Gondor."

Though he'd kept his voice soft, something about the address seemed to 
provoke the man, for he whirled to face Legolas. "To speak?" he repeated, 
considering it as he wiped sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. 
Then again, nearing incredulity: "To *speak*?" He cocked his head as he 
stepped towards Legolas, his next words confirming the elf's suspicions 
about the meditative preoccupations he had just interrupted. "And when 
will we have action rather than lip-service from your people, Legolas?"

"Come, Boromir," Legolas replied reasonably, nodding to indicated the 
sword Boromir was pointing at him, "I have no wish to fight you."

"What will it take for you to fight, then?"

"Have you not already seen my bow in battle, Boromir?" Legolas pointed 
out. "Or have you forgotten Khazad-Dum already?"

As was often the case in Legolas's experience of showing the truth to
Men, this only enraged Boromir further. "You know this is not what I 
speak of!" Boromir exploded, rapidly closing the distance between them in 
exasperation. "I mean the greater cause, the common cause of
Good - it is one thing to speak of Quests and Fellowships, and another 
thing again to bleed for them. It is the blood of Men, the
Sons and Daughters of Gondor, that holds the Evil of the East at bay!"

Though he kept a stranglehold on both his voice and the movements of his 
sword as he gestured, he was near to ranting; the cessation of his physical 
activity apparently had not slowed his mental exertions.
Legolas, who had heard this tirade before, felt his own temper flare.
With conscious effort, he stiffened his lip and kept his own council even 
as his eyes flashed warningly and an angry flush colored his cheeks. "The 
blood of *Men*, not of Elves nor of any other race!"
Boromir went on heedlessly, the fury in his voice giving way to a pleading 
that was no less dangerous, and perhaps more so in its desperation. "You 
do not think as we do, that you have made clear; but do you not weep, do 
you not bleed? Is there not blood to shed in these Elvish veins?"

The sword that Boromir still held aloft was not so close to Legolas that he 
was in any way at immediate risk from it, intentional or accidental; yet not 
so far that it was out of range. At Boromir's insinuation, he reached out for 
the weapon. Anticipating the
transgressive gesture but unable or unwilling to evade it, Boromir 
countered with one of his own, grabbing Legolas by the hair. As
Boromir wound his fingers in a tight grasp to the roots, Legolas curled his 
hand around the blade.

Drops of blood welled in his palm and slid down the gleaming edge 
towards the hilt.

Legolas released the blade, and Boromir dropped it at his side.

They stopped then.

Stopped railing aloud, stopped scheming in silence.

Stopped everything but breathing, or trying to catch breath.

They were so close to each other that Legolas saw in Boromir's eye the 
reflection of his bloody hand as it hovered. They stood in the frozen 
moment - Boromir's fingers still tangled in Legolas's hair,
Legolas's own stretched open before them - as another droplet beaded at 
the deliberate slash.

As it dropped free, Legolas felt the fingers in his hair tense.
Knowing that he could not get free of the tightly-wound grasp, he tried to 
relax enough to move with and thereby diffuse the violence, planning how 
he would use the energy flow against the man who momentarily held him 
at advantage.

But instead of the brutal snap Legolas was anticipating, a gentle but 
insistent tug tilted his head back; in place of a sharp blade at his exposed 
throat, fingertips were pressed to the pulse point on his neck.

"Is there a heart, too, that pumps this blood through your veins?"
The ragged tones betrayed the words Boromir tried to keep casual.
Gaze locked with the other's, Legolas took the man's hand and slipped it 
under his tunic, laying the palm over his heart to feel its rhythm, the steady 
acceleration from beating to pounding.

Boromir unclenched his other hand, letting the silken strands slide through 
his fingers. "Everything is impossibly golden here," he mused, transfixed. 
He shifted back to Legolas's eyes. "Even in your eyes, there are golden 
flecks I never noticed before." Though his gaze penetrated Legolas, he 
spoke as if to himself: "Gold is the color of enchantment, is it not?"

Hearing beneath the words a different question bordering on accusation, 
and not wanting to break the delicate peace they had come to, Legolas 
closed his eyes. Boromir made a sound then, like laughter suffocated by 
something more intense.

"Can you shut out enchantment by shutting your eyes, Legolas?" The 
voice at his ear was softer than Legolas had ever heard it, softer than he 
would have believed the man capable of. Tracking Boromir's movement 
by the feel of the man's breath on his face, he opened his eyes to find 
Boromir looking at him with an intent yet unreadable expression.

Eyes locked with Boromir's, Legolas moistened his lips, the tip of his 
tongue flicking out in a subtle invitation that drew the man's gaze to his 
mouth. Boromir glanced up into his eyes again and kept his own open as 
he leaned in while Legolas let his eyelids flutter shut, parting his lips to 
welcome Boromir's tongue.

Opening himself to Boromir's every initiative, he relaxed and let Boromir 
canvass his mouth while the man's hand drifted down from Legolas's 
heart. A callused thumb grazed his nipple, brushing back and forth over it 
repeatedly before the forefinger joined it in pinching and rolling the 
hardened nub, eliciting small sounds of pleasure. Legolas sighed into 
Boromir's mouth, luxuriating in the fingers stroking his hair and the 
tongue massaging his. As Boromir's hand began to tease his other nipple, 
Legolas slipped his tongue into the man's mouth and shifted his body 
forward. His groin brushed Boromir's, and the heat and hardness he felt 
caused a shiver to thrill through his body. He brushed his uninjured hand 
against the man's erection deliberately; Boromir tensed as if to draw away, 
then relaxed and pressed into the touch.

Legolas explored the stiffened length, squeezing and stroking through the 
fabric, making the man squirm, swallowing his intermittent moans as they 
continued kissing... until finally Boromir could take it no longer and 
reached between them himself.

Not for the first time, the man surprised him. Instead of unlacing his own 
breeches, Boromir's fingers fumbled at Legolas's, opening them and 
slipping inside to coil around Legolas's shaft. His own hips thrust forward 
permissively and Legolas accepted the invitation, deftly undoing 
Boromir's garment.

The cock Legolas held was remarkably familiar in size and texture to 
another; and yet, as his fingertips teased the length and circumference, he 
discovered new textures in the pattern of ridges and veins. He curled his 
fingers around the shaft just below the head, his thumb swirling through 
the drops of precum welling at the tip. Legolas moaned as the hand around 
him began to stroke up and down, taking the hint and matching the rhythm 
on the cock he held. As they rocked together in each other's hands, 
Boromir broke their kiss only to trace a path down Legolas's throat, 
licking and nipping at the pulse point.

The roughened hand, a sensation which first had delighted Legolas, began 
to abrade him. He disentangled his fingers from Boromir's hair to feel in a 
pouch at his waist, drawing forth a small vial. When he let go of Boromir's 
cock, the man pulled back just enough to look at him. Wordlessly, Legolas 
poured several drops into his own palm before handing the vial to Boromir 
and rubbing his hands together to coat them with the oil. Understanding, 
Boromir followed suit. He was about to ask if the oils didn't sting 
Legolas's cut, when he noticed without comment that the superficial 
wound was already closing.

As if they had not been interrupted, they took up once again, their newly-
slickened strokes easing and enhancing the rhythm, increasing in pace and 
pressure until Legolas began to tremble, his knees buckling as the bones 
there liquefied; it was only pleasure, sheer pleasure and the pulsing cock 
in his hand that held him up. Sensing Boromir just ahead of him on the 
curve of rapture, Legolas held his hand still and let the man fuck it, closing 
his fist over the head with each thrust until he heard an unmistakable and 
irrepressible grunt, and felt the man's seed splash out over his fingers.

Satisfied that he had brought Boromir to the pinnacle, Legolas finally let 
himself go completely. As a bliss he had not felt in many moons began to 
suffuse him and wash over him, his head fell back in abandonment, his 
hips pumping into the tight fist encircling him; his awareness of the eyes 
upon him only intensified his own pleasure, and with a low sustained 
moan, he let loose his own orgasm.

Legolas's eyes were still shut as they leaned into each other for support, 
ecstasy ebbing, shudders subsiding, breathing growing steady once more. 
When Boromir brushed some stray silky locks from his face,
Legolas inclined into the touch, felt the fingers that Boromir held still slide 
against his cheek as he turned his head to kiss the tips, tasting there traces 
of himself.

Boromir moved away from him then, and Legolas regretted the display of 
affection; he'd forgotten himself with Boromir, forgotten that Men do not 
take kindly to such tenderness from other males, human or elf.

They tucked themselves away and straightened their clothing in silence 
before Legolas said quietly, not knowing what compelled him to speak, 
"There was no enchantment."

Boromir nodded. "Only my own desire." He turned half-away, rubbing the 
back of his neck though the muscles there had not yet returned to their 
normal state of tension. The light of Lothlorien played in streaks through 
the hair that fell down the back of his neck. //Impossibly golden//, Legolas 
reflected, allowing a smile to reach his eyes though not his lips.

"Aragorn sent you, didn't he?" Boromir said abruptly, startling Legolas out 
of his wistful reverie. He turned back to give Legolas an appraising look. 
"Whored you out, to discover - what? What it is in my mind to do? Did he 
tell you - or ask you, perhaps - to do whatever you had to do, to determine 
my loyalty to the Fellowship?"

Like all elves, Legolas was not given to lies. His head barely moved in 
assent with the merest of nods.

"I could have had you on your knees, then," Boromir mused. A statement 
of fact not desire, and Legolas felt no need to respond as he would have to 
an invitation. Boromir turned from him again, pacing away. He took only 
a few steps and so Legolas waited. Just as he knew there were two things 
Boromir wished to ask, he also knew that pride would not allow the man 
to inquire of comparisons or sublimations. So he waited instead to be 
questioned, somewhat ironically, about intentions.

After a moment, Boromir let out a short, humorless laugh and turned back. 
"And what will you report to him?"

Legolas considered the question carefully, considered the man before him 
more carefully.

//That your soul is shaded as infinitely and variably as the colors captured 
in a prism of light.//

Aloud, he said only, "The truth." With a slight bow he departed the 
clearing, leaving Boromir bemused and mystified by the words and the 
smile that had graced the elf's face when he spoke them.

+++

The end