Title: The Beauty Of A Mortal
Author: Eremir (eremir82@yahoo.se)
Website: http://leaves.forgottenjuliet.net/
Pairings: Legolas/Éomer
Rating: NC17
Summary: Sort of a sequel to The Beauty Of Another, but it can be read 
separately. Legolas is feeling frisky, and searches the crowd for a suitable victim. 
But things do not always go as planned.
Warnings: Smut, somewhat PWP
Disclaimer: All characters, names and places belong to Tolkien; I’m merely 
having my way with them and will bring them back alive and unspoiled.
Feedback: Would be great. :)
Notes: Beta’d by the wonderful Half Elf Lost. All remaining mistakes are mine, 
intentional as well as unintentional.


----------------------------------------

Part 1 – First impressions

It was finally time for rest. The battle for Helm’s Deep had been won, and the 
remaining fellowship followed the Rohirrim back to Edoras. Legolas, being an 
elf, would never admit how tired he was, especially in front of the dwarf, but he 
was exhausted. He was truly looking forward to a long nights sleep by the 
fireplace inside a warm house. Even the deepest of snores from the dwarf could 
not bother him this night. When morning came, Legolas felt almost reborn. He 
woke first of his companions, and stepped outside to watch the sun rise over the 
mountains. A gentle wind played with his hair, and he felt a light of hope shine 
through his heart.

As the people of Edoras started waking and going about their business, Legolas 
sat on the steps of the Golden Hall and watched them. Aragorn too was awake 
now, but he had dealings with the king, and paid no attention to his elven friend. 
Legolas felt his body embrace the spirit of the morning, and the sight of the ranger 
quickened his primal urges. He had not felt his physical needs this strongly for a 
while now. They had all been under such pressure, what with finding the hobbits 
and trying to save the people of Rohan from certain destruction.

There had been times when he wanted to grab hold of Aragorn and just have him 
in the bushes somewhere, but the man had not been very willing since Boromir 
fell. Legolas had had Boromir as well. The son of the steward of Gondor had 
always been willing. In fact, there had been times when Legolas had to push him 
away. He had possessed much stamina, for a man. There was no end to the elf’s 
fascination with mortals.

Remembering their follies along the journey only made the heat inside him 
stronger. Legolas grew restless and decided to take a walk. Away from Aragorn, 
who would certainly only deny him if he approached him. He looked back at his 
friend as he left, but Aragorn did not even notice him. Legolas missed the 
Gondorian. Rangers were a peculiar breed, but they had their advantages. 
However, the elf had grown to care for the man of Gondor, and that unexpected 
turn of events had restored some of his hope in the human race. But all he could 
think of now was his morning heat, so he kept walking, trying to distract himself.

After a while, he found himself in the stables. At the far end of the row of stalls he 
came upon a tall black horse, its head hanging sadly towards the floor. Legolas 
put a comforting hand on the horse’s soft muzzle, and spoke Sindarin words of 
kindness softly into his ear. The dark horse lifted his head, and gently nudged 
Legolas in the stomach. Legolas laughed with surprise as this old stallion proved 
he still had playfulness left in him. Legolas stood by the horse for a moment. 
Stroking him on the neck and face as he fed on fresh straw from his manger. But 
the smile on the elf’s face quickly vanished as he realized he was being watched.

“Good morning, my elven friend,” Éomer said, and stepped out from the shadows.

Legolas had not expected to receive any words of such kindness from this man. 
They had gotten off on the wrong foot the first time they met, and since then they 
had not spoken at all. Only exchanged silent glances from a distance.

“Good morning, rider of Rohan,” Legolas answered, and inclined his head to 
show his immense respect.

He felt he needed to make up for his rash behaviour at their first encounter. As 
mentioned, the pressure on them had been great. The hobbits had been abducted 
by Urûk-hai, Boromir had died, and Legolas had not gotten laid since their 
journey from Lothlórien. Then came the Rohirrim pointing spears at them. When 
Éomer had threatened Gimli’s life, Legolas had snapped. He regretted that. The 
man in front of him seemed inclined to bury the hatchet as well.

Éomer was quiet for a long moment, surprised at receiving such reverence from a 
prince of elves. He was very much aware that an elf could make a mighty foe, but 
also a powerful ally, and he did not want to be on the wrong foot with this one. 
This elf was close friends with the future king of Gondor, and a fierce warrior 
despite his lithe form. He had seen it with his own eyes at Helm’s Deep. He had 
to make amends. He walked over to stand opposite the elf, and those watchful 
elven eyes never left him.

“This horse has seen better days,” Éomer said and placed a careful hand on the 
weathered old face.

“He is but a fraction of my age still,” Legolas stated sadly and petted the horse’s 
neck.

Éomer looked at the elf and thought to himself what sensitive and sensual 
creatures elves were. He would not believe that this slender figure was capable of 
any kind of violence had he not seen it for himself.

“He will be well taken care of, until the last days of his life are spent,” Éomer 
said. “Our people owe a lot to the horse. It is a mighty beast, and we have great 
respect for it.”

“So I can tell,” Legolas said, smiling.

He started to feel a sudden affection for this man. The love and respect for nature 
and its creatures was clearly not a quality reserved for the elven kind. His brown 
eyes were soft, and not at all stained with the paranoia Legolas had previously 
seen in them.

The elf smiled so warmly at him, Éomer grew a bit uneasy. “If you will excuse 
me, I have work to do.”

“Of course,” Legolas said and watched the man begin to walk away. Then his 
groin let him know it had other plans. “Is there something I can do to help?” he 
asked in reflex.

Éomer stopped and turned around. He was slightly puzzled at the elf’s eager 
helpfulness, but also realized there wasn’t much else for him to do in their city.

“Come with me.”

Legolas leapt at the opportunity to do something, anything, to keep his mind off 
sex and also spend time with this interesting man.

-------------------------------------

Part 2 - Entrapment

They worked together in the stables all morning. Loading hay in the barn, 
bringing water to injured horses and caring for their wounds. During this time the 
two got to know each other and found they had much in common. At Éomer’s 
suggestion, they took their lunch in the loft. A tall ladder led to a hatch in the wall 
of the barn. Up there they sat in the hay, eating freshly baked bread with creamy 
butter, roast chicken and sweet fruits. They sat side by side, leaning back against a 
wooden beam running alongside the barn wall under the sloping roof. They both 
made tiny sounds of pleasure as they enjoyed their meal.

“Is it not strange how food seems to taste better after hard work?” Éomer said 
with a mouth full of chicken.

Legolas merely gave a grunt of pleasure in reply as he relished the last bite of 
bread. His head leaning back and his eyes closed, he swallowed and sighed. 
Éomer looked at him with a wide grin.

“Good bread?”

Legolas looked up and nodded. “Aye.”

They sat quietly in the loft for a few minutes, listening to the horses moving 
below them. Legolas was enjoying the silence, but most of all he enjoyed the 
proximity to the Rohir. The scent of the man was more than intoxicating. A 
musky, manly scent, not unlike Boromir’s, but still slightly different. Éomer 
smelled of polished leather, birch and juniper. Legolas drew a deep breath, 
inhaling as much of it as he could before sighing blissfully.

Éomer looked at the strange elf. He had not met many elves and knew none 
intimately. He had heard many stories, but had taken to heart the rule of never 
believing anything before he saw it with his own two eyes. Éomer could barely 
wait to learn more about this fascinating creature. The two of them simply sat side 
by side, enjoying their rest. There were still many chores to be done in the 
kingdom of Théoden this day.

Eventually Legolas started feeling a lazy tiredness come over him, and he 
stretched out on his back in the hay. Éomer sat beside him, watching him intently. 
The elf was a sight. Tall, slim, and incredibly beautiful. More beautiful than any 
woman Éomer had ever seen. He enjoyed watching this elf. He was a prince and a 
warrior, but the Rohir had now learned that there was more to him. There was 
something in the way he moved, the way he spoke, that made it impossible to 
look away. Lying with his eyes closed he looked so inviting to touch. Éomer 
wondered if his skin was as soft as he imagined.

Legolas tried hard not to smile. He knew the man was watching him. It was so 
easy. Men were so easy. Éomer had fallen into the trap and he didn’t even know 
it. Legolas let the man think he was in control by lying back, and letting him make 
the first move. The prince of Mirkwood was a master at this, but the mortal didn’t 
have to know that. Legolas could hear the man’s heartbeat quickening the 
moment before he received the unfamiliar touch to his lips. Éomer’s lips were soft 
and gentle, as expected, but different from other mortals Legolas had been with. 
But then, he had never bedded a man of Rohan before.

Éomer had tried to stop himself, but in that moment he would have betrayed his 
uncle for a kiss from this elf. He was afraid the fair prince would punch him out 
cold for forcing himself on him, but the elf hardly reacted. He enveloped the 
unimaginably soft lips in his own, and tasted them. Savoured them. To his delight, 
Legolas started to respond. They kissed each other slowly, hesitantly. Ever so 
carefully touching their tongues together briefly.

Legolas could taste the man’s arousal. Along with the scent of him, the leather 
and the horse, it was enough to make the elf soar.

When Legolas did not oppose his advances, Éomer moved to lie on top of him 
and deepened their kiss. All care was disregarded, as they both grew increasingly 
excited. Legolas tangled his hand in Éomer’s fair mane, and pulled his head closer 
as their tongues started wrestling around each other. They were both groaning and 
panting as they struggled to find a comfortable position in each other’s arms, their 
mouths never disconnecting. Éomer kept pushing his hips against Legolas’, and it 
was now very obvious that they were both quite aroused.

A hand that had been sitting on Legolas’s backside started to slowly move 
upwards, seeking a way in under his tunic. A strong leather belt halted every 
attempt, and Éomer’s frustration was clearly visible. He reluctantly broke off their 
kiss to sit up and remove the irritating obstacle. It was an amusing sight for the elf 
as the overly excited mortal struggled to unthread his belt with fumbling fingers.

Humans had always fascinated Legolas. Rough, rugged, crude and covered in 
hair. Quite different from elves. His favourite quality in men though was their 
passion. No doubt, their short lifespan forced them to take every opportunity to 
indulge themselves. They were like a drug. One taste and you had to have more. 
Legolas had been addicted to them since he kissed his first mortal boy when he 
was but a century old. The taste still lingered in his mouth. He did not often 
seduce mortals, merely because there was usually a shortage of interesting ones 
travelling through Mirkwood. But now he was the one travelling, and interesting 
mortals were everywhere he turned.

Éomer finally got the belt undone and tossed it aside. He looked down at the elf, 
who now had a mischievous smile curving his lips. Éomer grinned and laid back 
down on top of him. Legolas put his arms around the man’s dark golden head, and 
looked him deeply in the eyes. Éomer’s heart fluttered and his body was filled 
with an immense heat. The elf winked at him, urging him to resume their kiss, and 
Éomer did not linger in his response. Their kiss grew more passionate, as their 
tongues danced wetly around each other. The man kissed more eagerly, since the 
taste of the elf in his mouth was too intoxicating to bear. He could barely restrain 
himself.

He started to cover the prince’s face and neck wet kisses with such delicious 
precision that it made Legolas pant with excitement. Éomer felt the elf writhe in 
his arms, and when he looked at him he saw beads of sweat forming on the elf’s 
brow. He had heard stories that elves never sweat or freeze from external 
temperatures, but only for emotional reasons. That was one thing he now saw 
with his own eyes.

He trailed gentle kisses down a perfect pale neck, but was halted by the sensation 
of cloth against his lips. He moved his hands up, clenched his fists around the 
clothing, and was about to rip the tunic apart when something inside him told him 
to stop.

Legolas was enjoying the man’s kisses, and he felt an ache grow within him. It 
took him a few seconds to realize Éomer had stopped. He lifted his head to see 
what the man was doing. He was lying quietly on top of Legolas, eyes fixed on 
his chest. He was gently running his fingertips over the fabric of his tunic.

“What is it?” Legolas asked him.

“This is beautiful,” Éomer answered, without lifting his gaze. “I never noticed this 
fabric before.”

“Well,” Legolas began, and raised himself on his elbow. “You’ve never been this 
close to me before.”

Legolas lifted his free hand and caressed the man’s face. Éomer finally looked up. 
He saw the elf’s bright blue eyes looking back at him, and he wanted him now 
more than ever. Éomer threw himself on top of the blond beauty, kissing him 
violently, and forcing him down on his back again. Legolas smiled into the kiss, 
still letting the man think he was in charge.

----------------------------------

Part 3 – Ambush

After several minutes of heavy smooching and stripping, Éomer was getting 
impatient. He had a naked elf in his arms, and his member was painfully hard. He 
was still on top and he wanted very much to keep it that way. Still kissing the 
object of his desire, Éomer tried to ease his legs between the elf’s knees, hinting 
that he wanted to take him. That’s when the tables were turned.

Legolas chuckled loudly. The poor man looked so shocked lying on his back in 
the hay as an elven warrior straddled him, keeping him down. It had happened so 
fast, the man needed a few seconds to realize he was no longer on top. Legolas 
grinned and leaned forward, bringing his face close to Éomer’s.

“Did you really think it would be that easy?” he whispered against red lips before 
he kissed them.

Legolas kissed the confused mortal until he relaxed, then proceeded to trail kisses 
down his neck. When he reached the man’s broad chest, he stopped to fondle the 
soft brown curls that covered its surface. He giggled as the fine hairs tickled his 
nose. He groaned and started rubbing his whole body against Éomer’s, feeling the 
fuzzy stimulation of the mortal’s fur on his skin.

Éomer’s eyes widened and he gasped. The elf’s movements on top of him were 
excessively arousing. He had to concentrate not to lose control of his body from 
simply hearing the pleasurable noises the blonde was making. Legolas rubbed 
their erections together, and let the ministrations of his palms travel up strong 
arms. The mortal shuddered beneath him. The lord of the Rohirrim was 
completely at his command.

Legolas was very pleased with the man’s current state; groaning softly and 
bucking against him. The poor mortal probably thought the elf wanted to ride 
him. Legolas grinned impishly as he knew he was about to shatter the horselord’s 
hopes. Once again, Éomer was oblivious to any events around him, until the sharp 
pricking of hay moved from his back to his front. A firm hand between his 
shoulder blades kept him down as the elf straddled his legs. Finally, realisation 
dawned on him.

Éomer was about to protest when a slick finger intruded his body, applying 
pressure to a sensitive gland hidden inside, and forcing a sound across his lips that 
not even nearly resembled a ‘no’. Behind him, the elf chuckled at the man’s fierce 
reaction. Éomer was barely coherent when Legolas poured more oil into the 
awaiting cleft and inserted a second finger, stretching the tight entrance. A shard 
of thought in the back of his mind wondered where the oil came from. /Little does 
he know, the prince of Mirkwood is always prepared for any eventuality,/ Legolas 
thought, grinning.

He curled his fingers inside the man’s body, absorbing every sweet moan that 
escaped his throat. His other hand slipped against the broad back, as sweat was 
rapidly covering it. It was time. Tangling his hand in Éomer's hair for leverage, he 
oiled up his pounding erection by rubbing it in the man’s slick cleft. He moved 
slowly, tormenting the mortal with what was to come next. He felt the body below 
him begin to tremble.

Éomer still wanted to protest. He was very frightened. No one had ever taken him 
this way before. But the elf’s skilful ministrations had convinced him there would 
be more pleasure than pain, so he lay still, waiting. Legolas sensed his 
apprehension, and leaned forward to whisper into a rounded ear.

“Relax. I will not hurt you. Submit to me, and you will be granted greater pleasure 
than you have ever known in your short life. That is a promise.” The elf’s voice 
was thick with desire, and his breath was hot against Éomer’s skin. There was still 
hesitation in the man’s posture, so Legolas whispered another promise. “Trust me, 
and tonight I will give myself to you.”

Éomer held his breath, not sure if he dared believe this offer. He risked a glance 
over his shoulder, very much aware of the grip on his dishevelled hair, and the 
straining arousal separating the mounds of flesh at the end of his back. Meeting 
the azure circles, which were exuding rapture, Éomer understood what drove this 
sexual predator. The elf wanted to be taken as well, but he would not surrender to 
a stranger, especially one who did not know his place. His voice was hoarse as he 
replied.

“Then take me, prince.”

Legolas let out a breath of relief, for a moment unsure if the mortal would accept 
his offer. But as permission was granted, he could finally let out some of the 
frustration he had been keeping inside for so long. Pressing a hot kiss to the 
reddened ear, he whispered thickly.

“You will not regret this, Rohir.”

With one smooth stroke he entered the man, pushing himself to the hilt. Éomer 
tried to hold back his screams, but was not entirely successful. His erection 
pounded with gratitude from the internal onslaught, but his pride feared outside 
interference. He could hear the horses moving below them. Voices of men in the 
distance. He wanted to tell the elf to stop, for the pleasure Éomer was being 
granted would sooner or later make their location known to the whole of Edoras 
from his sounds of ecstasy. But he could not stop.

Legolas paused inside the man, struggling to withhold his release. He had waited 
so long for this. It had to last. But the mortal was incredibly tight, causing spots of 
light to dance inside elven eyelids. The prince waited for the both of them to 
adjust to the new sensations before he dared to move. Setting a slow, agonising 
pace, Legolas stroked the man from the inside.

Éomer tried to push against the elf. The sweet torture filled him with a sense of 
approaching eruption, but the friction was far from enough. He groaned in 
frustration. Never had he imagined there to be so much pleasure in being the 
bottom. He had always thought that the top position was the best one. Suddenly a 
lot of things made sense. He had always thought elves a bit strange, and the look 
in Legolas eye had not surprised him at first. It would appear Legolas was only 
playing top so that later he could be bottom, but with his pride intact.

All traces of coherent thought suddenly evaded the man when the elf sped up. 
Legolas set a mind-blowing rhythm to their coupling, slamming into the man with 
full force, no longer considering the risks of causing pain. Assaulting the mortal’s 
inner nerves, the prince forced loud groans to escape Éomer’s bruised lips. 
Legolas panted heavily into the rounded ear, clenching his fingers around slim 
rider hips.

Éomer tried to raise himself on hands and knees, eagerly pushing back against 
every thrust. When the man rose, Legolas got moved into a better position, and 
returned one of his hands to the blond curls of his mortal friend, holding onto 
them for leverage. He could feel the man shaking below him. Éomer was so tense. 
Every muscle was preparing for orgasm. His fingers clenched the hay under 
sweaty palms.

Legolas took pity on the man, and decided to show him mercy. Letting his other 
hand wander around the firm body, he gave a nipple an experimental squeeze. 
Éomer whimpered, and tensed even more. Legolas could not help but grin. The 
poor mortal was so close. The elf could easily continue for several hours if he 
wanted to, being very well taught in the art of restraint. He could easily torment 
the Rohir for hour upon hour, but this was not the day for such play. This day was 
about relieving tension, and the best way to do that was usually the quick way.

Snaking his hand further down the body, tickling the stomach of the mortal, 
Legolas took hold of the seeping erection that resided further down. The elf began 
pumping it, sliding his thumb over the head with every upward stroke, matching 
the pace of his thrusting. Éomer groaned loudly and without shame, now sweating 
profusely. As much as Legolas wanted to retain his air of Elf, that possibility was 
long gone. He let out all his remaining frustration, pounding violently into the 
man’s tight passage, pumping him to completion.

Éomer felt his whole body tightening. His nipples grew painfully hard, and his 
testicles appeared to be receding back into his groin. He could no longer tell up 
from down, time from space, himself from the elf. It all blended together, and all 
that mattered was the feeling. Every nerve in his system buzzing. The shaft 
sliding in and out of him creating an immense heat in his lower body. Tiny insects 
crawling under his skin. It built and built until Éomer of Rohan could take no 
more.

The horses below started rearing up, kicking the walls and whinnying loudly, 
drowning out the scream that the mortal let out in the heat of his passion. The 
dark passage suddenly tightened painfully, clamping down on the elf still inside. 
Legolas gasped, losing his breath from this intimate assault. Another wave of 
orgasm hit the mortal and the circle of entrance grew impossibly tight, causing the 
elf to spill his essence, breathless. His fair face contorted in release.

It was not until Éomer collapsed, all spent, that Legolas got his breath back. 
Falling heavily on top of the mortal, he panted furiously. They lay motionless for 
several minutes, recovering from their carnal act. Éomer started regaining his 
ability to think, but had forgotten where his mind had last left him. The elf. 
Something about the elf. Éomer was surprised at how long they could remain still, 
one on top of the other, but then again the elf was as light as a feather pillow. 
Surprising considering his lean, muscular form. Éomer was learning many new 
things about elves this day.

“There is a straw in my eye,” he said jokingly, trying to urge the elf to get up.

Legolas chuckled softly and planted a soft kiss on a glistening shoulder before 
moving off the man to sit in the hay. The horseman sat up as well, and the two 
looked at each other, assessing the situation. Éomer had many questions for his 
new friend, but had not the courage to ask. He moved his feet in the hay, 
considering different ways to address the matter at hand.

“You...you said something about tonight?” he finally said, making the elf grin 
mysteriously.

“Yes? Are you wishing it was evening already?”

Éomer wondered about that. Perhaps the elf was the one doing the wishing. “No. 
Unlike you, I need rest.” The elf made a face at that comment and looked away, 
and Éomer was afraid he had somehow insulted the prince. “No offence,” he 
added quickly. Their eyes met, and there was a moment of tension in the air. 
Éomer started feeling cold. Sweat drying on his exhausted body. And the elf’s 
stare was enough to make him shiver. He had to say something. “So...what am I 
supposed to do until tonight?”

“Walk funny is most likely.”

The two men looked at each other, and then burst into laughter. Legolas tipped 
over in the hay, giggling with lightness of heart. He felt free again. Éomer 
crawled over to the elf and laid down beside him. They looked at one another with 
mirth. Legolas gently cupped the man’s bearded face and pulled him in for a 
quick kiss, but Éomer took charge, deepening the kiss and snaking his tongue into 
the sweet elven mouth. Legolas sighed happily, petting the damp hair on his 
lover’s head. With a final kiss to the mortal lips, the prince looked up at the 
weathered face above him.

“Tonight I am yours, rider of Rohan.”

----------------------------------

Part 4 - Keeping up appearances

Some hours later the sun set over Rohan. The King’s honoured guests assembled 
for dinner in the golden hall of Meduseld. Aragorn sat next to King Théoden, the 
two lords speaking of battles fought and of battles yet to come. There was a 
pleasant murmur of voices in the hall and the mood was relaxed and merry. Gimli 
was gnawing on a large bone, gulping down ale and telling the Rohirrim loudly of 
the proud dwarven culture. The hobbits were dancing on a table, singing songs 
from their homeland. But the elf did not join in the spirit of the evening.

When Mithrandir took Théoden aside, Aragorn turned his attention to his elven 
friend. He knew he had been ignoring Legolas lately and he felt bad. The elf sat 
further down the nearly vacant table, eating his food at a slow pace. Aragorn 
shivered. He had always enjoyed watching the elf eat. Legolas had this way about 
him, this sensuous manner in everything that he did. But to watch him eat was 
something out of the ordinary. The way his lips closed around a piece of fruit, the 
muscles in his jaw moving as he chewed.

Legolas was finishing his dessert, and when his lips closed to suck the cream off a 
spoon it was quite obvious to Aragorn that the elf did it on purpose. He was about 
to move closer to his friend when Legolas looked up. But it was not Aragorn’s 
eyes he met. The future king of Gondor followed the intense gaze of his 
companion and his eyes fell upon Éomer.

Aragorn felt heat rush to his cheeks. It was apparent that the two were flirting 
across the table, but no one else seemed to notice. But then again, no one else 
knew Legolas the way he did. Legolas was a dangerous creature to tangle with. 
He would infect you and run like poison through your veins. Once he was under 
your skin there would be no going back. Aragorn knew he had no right to be 
jealous, but anger grew in him still.

----------------------------------

Legolas could not enjoy the spirit of the evening, nor had he much interest in his 
meal. All his attention was fixed on that knotted feeling in his stomach, the 
anticipation of things to come. He looked at Éomer and knew the man was 
experiencing the same thing. Legolas provocatively licked his spoon, watching 
with delight the dilation of dark eyes. He tried not to grin, knowing very well 
what the man was hiding under the table.

Éomer hid behind his mug of mead, trying hard not to look at the elf. He could 
not leave this party early. They were honouring their fallen brethren and his uncle 
would not appreciate it if his marshal did not attend. But Éomer was reaching a 
point where he would gladly push the elf up against a wall and have him right 
there. He still remembered the taste of him, the smell of him, the feel of him... He 
did not know how much longer he could stay there, but he could not get up. He 
was wearing far too few clothes to hide the now fully erect flesh that jutted out 
between his legs. He would have to stay seated for a while still.

Legolas had a devilish impulse to force the man on his feet, exposing his 
condition to his men just to see him blush, but he settled for doing it in his mind. 
He stifled a grin that threatened to dominate his face and suddenly became aware 
of other eyes upon him. Aragorn was watching him. Legolas pretended not to 
notice, but the stare did not relent. Eventually he got sick of it and rose to leave. 
He nodded his excuses to Éomer, but knew that the man would probably be 
relieved to see him go. Legolas walked towards the guest quarters where they 
were staying, knowing very well that he would be followed. As he turned the 
corner in an empty corridor, he waited for his stalker to catch up before turning 
and meeting him head on.

Aragorn started back as Legolas suddenly appeared in front of him. He did not 
look pleased. “What do you want, Estel?” the elf said. The ranger remained silent, 
not really knowing what he wanted to say. The elf’s intense stare pierced his very 
soul.

“Have you lain with him?” was all he said. He did not mean to sound as 
judgmental and jealous as he did, but he could not help it.

“Have I what with whom?” Legolas answered haughtily, waiting with interest for 
the man to make a fool of himself.

“Éomer! Did you...sleep with him...?” the words fell out of his mouth. Aragorn 
was getting more frustrated by the second. He did not want to have this 
conversation, and yet his mouth kept moving.

“I would not exactly call it sleeping, but if you are interested in my sex life I can 
let you know that it is none of your business,” the elf answered in the same tone, 
suddenly appearing far taller than the mortal he was facing. Aragorn did not meet 
his friend’s gaze. Legolas’ voice took on a more intimidating tone, and his fair 
face came closer. “I am not your personal slut!” he hissed angrily. “You had your 
chance.” With that he turned and walked away, leaving Aragorn to silently curse 
at himself.

-------------------------------

Éomer closed the door to his rooms. As soon as he had been able to rid himself of 
his erection he had fled the hall, not bothering to find the elf. He was hoping that 
the prince would come find him. The fire was crackling in the hearth and Éomer 
sat down in his favourite chair for a few moments, catching his breath. He was 
still unbelievably aroused and it would only be a matter of time before his 
erection flourished again. He noticed a bottle of wine on the desk and got up to 
pour himself a goblet full.

He swiftly emptied the goblet on his way to the bedroom and set it down on the 
nightstand. Sitting down on the edge of the bed he bounced a little, testing the 
spring of the mattress. He snickered to himself, shaking his head. What was he 
doing? But picturing himself on the bed with the elf made his balls tighten with 
desire. Éomer groaned and ran his hands over his face, as if to smooth his 
weathered features. A bath. A bath would be just what he needed. A nice soothing 
bath.

He stood up and headed for the bathroom. He would have to send for some hot 
water and he did not look forward to the wait, but he had to empty out the tub of 
old water from last night first. As he opened the door the first thing he noticed 
was light. Who would light candles in his bathroom without being asked? As the 
door opened completely, it revealed a stunning sight. In the tub of steaming water 
sat a creature of unparalleled beauty, wet blond hair clinging to glistening 
shoulders, one long leg draped over the edge of the tub, strong hands wringing the 
water from a washcloth. And then, blue eyes looking up.

“And what might you be doing in my bathroom, sir?” Legolas smirked, the 
crinkle by his eye telling of his humour. Éomer simply stared, his jaw hanging 
open.

“This is my bathroom....” he wanted to kick himself for saying such a stupid 
thing, but it was all he could think of.

“Is it?” the elf grinned. “I suppose you want me to leave then?” Legolas fondled 
the washcloth, rubbing it against his neck. He was thoroughly enjoying seducing 
the mortal, although he knew it was completely unnecessary. The cunning prince 
was prepared for a more calm setting this time, both of them having gotten rid of 
their most dire need earlier, but Legolas also knew mortals to be quite 
unpredictable. And he quickly understood the rules of this evening when Éomer 
did something totally unforeseen.

The man of Rohan had a sudden impulse. He wanted that elf and he wanted him 
now. Within a couple of seconds he had crossed the wet floor that lay between 
them and forcefully leapt into the tub, clothes, boots, and all, water splashing over 
the edges. Legolas shrieked with delight and held up his arms to shield his eyes 
from the raging water. He started laughing the moment he opened his eyes and 
saw that he was sitting opposite a soaked human. Éomer looked like a drowned 
dog, wet curls hanging over his face.

“What are you doing!?” Legolas said with an ear-to-ear grin and splashed more 
water on the already soaking wet man. Éomer didn’t even flinch.

“I am bathing. What does it look like?”

Legolas was not entirely certain he understood where the mortal was going with 
this, but he was much enjoying the banter. His grin never faltered and neither did 
Éomer’s blank face. “You are mad!” he giggled. “Jumping in the tub with your 
clothes on...You’re soiling the bathwater!” Éomer started losing his composure 
now as well and once again he shook his head at himself, chuckling.

Éomer was blushing fiercely, but somehow found the courage to look up at the 
elf. The heavenly azure eyes were twinkling with laughter and the soft, full lips 
were curved in the most tempting of smiles. That’s when Éomer remembered his 
throbbing arousal, which resulted in his smile fading. Bracing his arms on the 
edges of the tub, he inched closer to the elf, moving in between long, slender legs. 
Legolas’ smile vanished instantly and he gazed up at the man hotly, spreading his 
legs to let him closer. The man now towered over him, clothes and hair dripping 
cool water onto his hot skin. Legolas’ chest started heaving with excitement and 
by the time the mortal’s soaked clothing first touched his naked skin, his erection 
was in complete hardness and pulsating with need.

Éomer slowly and teasingly lowered himself on top of the elf in the hot water. 
Whenever the elf reached up to kiss him he would pull back a little, always 
keeping his lips slightly out of reach. He was amazed at his own restraint, but 
ultimately the elf was far too tempting to resist for much longer. Their mouths 
clashed together and Legolas flung his wet limbs around the other body. In their 
heated passion the kissing and fondling got suddenly urgent, and as they struggled 
to get Éomer naked they managed to empty half the tub onto the wooden floor.

Legolas didn’t really care about the bathwater. Nor did he care that he was ruining 
Éomer’s fancy outfit. As long as the mortal’s tongue was in his mouth and his 
bristle-framed lips covered elven ones, Legolas cared about nothing else. He 
whimpered into the kisses and pulled at the horseman’s shirt. When the sodden 
garment hit the floor with a smack, Legolas turned his attentions to the man’s 
breeches. He was only able to get them halfway down since Éomer had his knees 
planted firmly against the bottom of the tub.

The man’s weeping length sprung free and he rubbed it against the elf’s groin, 
causing the heated Sinda to groan into his mouth. Legolas’ hands slipped against 
the mortal’s slick back as he tried to readjust them in the tub. The elf had no way 
of steadying himself and kept sliding lower in the tub, water rising over his chest. 
Eventually he placed his hands on the furred chest and pushed Éomer away, afraid 
he would soon not be able to breathe.

Éomer saw the hesitation on the elf’s flushed face, and wondered if he had 
suddenly changed his mind. “What is it?” he asked, his erection pounding with 
need, demanding attention.

“I cannot do it like this,” Legolas panted, water splashing against his chin. Éomer 
looked confused, so he clarified. “Help me up.”

Realisation dawned on the Rohir, and he helped Legolas sit up. The elf leaned 
back against the head of the tub, breathing deeply. “For a moment I thought you 
would love me to death,” he said with a smile, and Éomer gave him an apologetic 
look. With his index finger Legolas gestured for the man to come closer, and they 
shared a calming kiss before their eyes met again. “I think having sex in this tub 
would mean endangering both our lives, Rohir-nín,” Legolas said. “Take me to 
bed.”

Éomer shivered with anticipation. Hastily squirming out of his breeches and boots 
and leaving them in the cooling water, he stood, lifting a stunned elf into his arms 
as he did. Legolas happily wrapped his legs around the man’s waist and allowed 
himself to be carried out of the bathtub. Éomer left a wet trail over the floor as he 
took the dripping beauty into the bedroom. When his knees touched the bed, he 
simply let himself fall forward on top of it, landing softly in the elf’s arms. 
Looking deeply into those endlessly blue eyes he could not help stealing another 
kiss from the beautiful prince.

Continuing on a trail down the pale neck, Éomer planted wet kisses on already 
wet skin, paying extra attention to the rosy nipples that graced either side of the 
muscled chest. Legolas panted, feeling hotter by the second. As the mortal moved 
further down the flat stomach, the elf sucked in his breath. A wet tongue teased 
his navel, and Legolas could only squirm waiting for that skilled tongue to move 
lower. He raised his hips in frustration, seeking contact with the man’s warm 
body.

Éomer grinned seeing the reactions he could draw from the elf. The body beneath 
him shuddered when he let his tongue travel the length of Legolas’ arousal. The 
blonde lifted his head, looking straight into the brown eyes of his lover as hands 
moved up his thighs, spreading his legs further apart. Éomer teased the hardened 
length with his lips and teeth, kissing the soft sac below. Legolas whimpered, 
desperately trying to push his hips upward, but strong hands on his inner thighs 
determinedly kept him down. 


Legolas nearly bucked off the bed when the tip of a malicious tongue teased the 
slit of his erection. It was a sensation of pure bliss that saved him, the moment his 
length was engulfed into the sweet warmth of a mortal mouth. Éomer forcefully 
moved his lips up and down over the hard shaft, applying more suction with every 
stroke. He let one hand fondle the tight sac, tickling his fingers behind it, ever so 
slowly inching closer to the forbidden area. When sensitive fingertips found the 
puckered opening, his mouth let go of its task, and Éomer froze.

Legolas could not help but giggle at the baffled expression on the mortal’s fair 
face. “Surprised?” he asked, amused.

“You are a wicked elf,” Éomer said, tracing the entrance with his fingers. The 
opening into the elf’s body was soft and slick, oiled up, stretched, and ready for 
anything. “Very wicked.”

“I would like to think I am well prepared,” Legolas chuckled. “Now, are you 
going to sit there and stare all night or are you going to come here and fuck me?”

Éomer did not need much more encouragement. He immediately threw himself on 
top of the elf, smashing their mouths together in a heated kiss. His hungry tongue 
wanted to devour every flavour of the elven prince, and it fervently searched the 
elf’s mouth and lips for tastes not yet sampled. Legolas could not help but giggle 
into the kiss at the man’s eagerness, but then a blunt object pressed against his 
hidden opening, and heat returned to his loins once more.

----------------------------------

Part 5 - Top vs. Bottom, Round 2

Legolas crawled up higher on the bed, allowing Éomer to raise his legs as he 
followed. With his back in the pillows and his legs draped over the man’s arms, 
Legolas waited for Éomer to continue. A slick shaft rubbed his cleft and the elf 
could not resist letting out a groan of anticipation. The man grinned and planted 
teasing kisses along the pale neck of his lover. Clawing at Éomer’s shoulders the 
elf tried to urge him into action, but the mortal continued his teasing.

Éomer was once again in awe of his own restraint, but teasing the otherwise so 
composed and stable elf was far too much fun to resist. Ever so slowly he pushed 
his erection against the tight ring of muscle, feeling it yield in time with the elf’s 
whimpers. Éomer grinned. The elf was trying to push back, but with his legs 
braced against the Rohir’s powerful arms there was no moving about. As slow as 
his state would allow him, Éomer pushed all the way in, forcing his body down on 
the gasping elf.

Legolas held onto the man, trying to breathe. The slow pace was driving him 
insane with arousal, the throbbing length inside him pushing against his most 
sensitive nerves. Éomer moved his hips in tiny circles, almost making the poor 
Sinda scream with frustration. Legolas waited for his opportunity. The moment 
Éomer let go of his legs, the prince of Mirkwood claimed control. Easily flipping 
the man onto his back and straddling him, Legolas kept him pinned to the bed. 
Éomer was just about to protest when Legolas started moving.

The elf displayed great skill in his movements, rocking his hips in a fluent motion 
while working his internal muscles over the mortal’s trapped member until the 
man was gasping for breath. Now it was Legolas’ turn to grin. He stopped for a 
moment, allowing the horselord to breathe.

“I thought it was my turn to be on top,” Éomer panted. Legolas just grinned 
wider.

“I said you would have me, but I never said you could be on top.”

The mortal stared at him, mortified, not knowing what to make of this creature. 
He had thought he had him figured out, but elves proved once again to be full of 
surprises. Éomer grabbed hold of lean hips, holding them still as he looked into 
the intense eyes of his superior.

“Please...name your price. Just let me do the work. Let me show you what men of 
Rohan are made of. I beg you.”

Legolas leant down and kissed the man affectionately. “Name my price?” The 
man nodded. “All right. No more teasing, Rohir-nín. If you are going to fuck me, 
then fuck me hard. You don’t have to worry about breaking me. I am not a girl. 
Do you understand?” The man nodded again, sweat breaking out on his forehead. 
The pressure on his arousal was still quite present. “Good,” Legolas said and 
straightened up. “Then show me what men of Rohan are made of.”

With a newfound determination Éomer sat up, throwing the elf on his back and 
topping him. Their eyes met for a second, the blue depths of the elf dark with 
passion. Grabbing hold of slim wrists, Éomer pinned them to the bed before his 
first plunge into the elf prince’s heat. Legolas gasped, his breath stole away from 
Éomer’s hard thrust. As the man sped up, his thrusts gained strength, and the 
man’s eagerness was clearly visible on his strained features. Spreading his legs 
wider, Legolas tried to raise his hips to meet he man’s thrusts, but was constantly 
slammed back into the mattress by the mortal’s strong hips.

Legolas whimpered and groaned, shutting his eyes to concentrate on the 
sensations rushing through his body. The shaft stretching his entrance, the tight 
balls slapping against his behind, the furry chest against his own, the hot breath in 
his ear, and the strong hands holding his hands captive. Legolas whimpered and 
tried to rub his face against the mortal, inhaling his smell. That’s when hungry 
lips discovered a delicious pointed ear.

Éomer suckled the tip between his teeth, delighted with the reaction he felt in the 
elf. Legolas arched his back and bucked like a wild horse when a skilled tongue 
worked the sensitive point. /So that’s what it’s for,/ thought Éomer son of 
Éomund, as he continued to torture the hyped elf.

“Ooh...ooh...not the ears!” groaned Legolas, bordering on delirious with pleasure. 
Contradictory to his words he cocked his head, allowing the mortal better access 
to his sensitive pointed ear.

Éomer was delighted to say the least. Another surprise from this mysterious elf. 
The man continued his pelvic thrusting with more urgency than before, feeling 
more aroused with every breath, every noise coming from the blonde. Letting go 
of Legolas’ wrists, Éomer clawed at the sheets for better leverage. The prince was 
quick to nestle his fingers in a mass of curly hair, crying out his need to the 
horselord.

Éomer’s body began to quiver as he moved, and with every shuddering breath a 
tingling sensation spread through his loins. He could no longer hold onto the 
reddened ear tip, for he much needed air in his lungs. Legolas did not notice the 
loss, for he was far beyond the point of no return. The world was gone to him, and 
all that existed was the rush of ecstasy through his veins. His hands automatically 
grabbed onto Éomer’s rear, trying to force the delving spear deeper into his body. 
The man groaned loudly, no longer able to withdraw very far between thrusts. He 
resorted to small movements, each time rubbing hard the spot that would undo his 
lover.

Legolas cried out, nails digging into mortal flesh. The tiny, almost vibrating 
movements drove him over the edge, his assaulted prostate already swollen with 
need. Throwing his head back, he gave into his orgasm, allowing it to conquer 
him completely. Screaming out his release, he let go his essence, spilling himself 
between their sweaty bodies.

Éomer felt like he lost all his senses. Eyes rolling to the back of his head, he could 
no longer see. The orgasmic scream from the elf drowning out his hearing. The 
tightness around his member eliminating all other sensations and paralysing his 
ability to breathe. The body below him tensed with release and the only noise that 
left Éomer was a strangled gasp as hot seed pulsed into the dark depths of the elf.

The two bodies paused, frozen in position for long blissful seconds. Heartbeats 
raced, chests heaved and neither of them was willing to let go of the moment. But 
ultimately Éomer needed to breathe lest he would faint. The first fill of air in his 
lungs spread a heavy tiredness through him and he collapsed on top of the 
calming blonde. Legolas’ eyes were closed and he seemed to be riding the waves 
of aftershock. The prince welcomed the heavy mortal into his arms and petted the 
sweaty back, wet strands of hair clinging to the skin. As they lay together their 
hearts slowly returned to a normal pace.

-------------------------------

Part 6 - Lover, Ally, Friend

Aragorn could not sleep. His earlier confrontation with Legolas gnawed at him. 
How was it that every time he tried to talk to Legolas these frogs continued to 
leap from his mouth? Since when had this elf, one of his best friends, had the 
ability to make him lose his wits as well as his tongue? He had known the fair 
prince of Mirkwood for seven decades, but still there was tension between them. 
For all the years they had known each other, Aragorn had changed from boy into 
man into ranger and would soon be king. Legolas had not changed at all. It was 
inevitable that their relationship would change, but perhaps it was not desirable.

Aragorn could not decide. He wracked his brain trying to figure out the 
complicated elf. Once the elf had leapt at the opportunity to be lovers, and then a 
moment later he wasn’t interested. The ranger was beginning to think he should 
never have gotten involved with elves at all. The whole immortality issue was far 
too complex. With a grunt he got out of bed and put his clothes back on. 
Apparently there would be no sleep for Elessar this night.

He decided to take a walk outside and get some fresh air into his system. He 
always did sleep better outdoors than in the safety of a house. Somehow he was 
more relaxed when forced to stay alert. Stepping out into the cool Rohan night, he 
stood on the steps of the golden hall and took a few deep breaths, clearing his 
head. That was when he became aware of another presence. Out on the edge, 
overlooking the land, stood his elven friend. His golden hair flowing loose over 
his naked shoulders, the elf wore only a pair of thin sleeping pants, embroidered 
with shapes of running horses at the hem. Aragorn felt a sting of jealousy, 
knowing immediately where he had gotten such a garment.

He carefully walked up to his friend and stood at his side. Legolas had his eyes 
closed, his arms crossed over his chest as thought he were freezing, but Aragorn 
was sure he was not. The elf looked so peaceful, almost as if he were sleeping on 
his feet. The ranger didn’t know what to say or how to start, but he wanted to 
apologise for his misplaced jealousy.

“Nice night, is it not?” the elf suddenly spoke.

“Yes.” The blue eyes opened and fixed on him. At first he was frightened, but 
there was no anger in the elf’s gaze.

“I am sorry, meldir,” Legolas said. “I did not mean to shout at you earlier. I 
was...feeling a bit...out of myself. It was not your fault.”

“I am sorry also, my friend. It was not my place. You are far older and wiser than 
I. I have no right to question your choices.”

“You seem to forget that sometimes.” Legolas smiled affectionately. “I still 
remember a time when you could not even hold a bow straight. When the swords 
you now wield so easily fell out of your grip from their mere weight. I remember 
a time when you called me master, and respected me for my skill. Now you are a 
leader, and think you no longer need my advice.”

The elf appeared seized by sadness and Aragorn felt guilt rise in him once more. 
“I still need you, mellonen.”

“Do you?” Legolas looked sternly at the man. “If you had listened to me, would 
we have lost Gandalf in Moria? Would Boromir have fallen at Amôn-hen? When 
was the last time you listened to anything I had to say? Even as I defended your 
honour before the council you told me to sit down and be quiet. I no longer have 
your respect.”

Aragorn could not meet the elf’s stare. Part of what he said was true. Aragorn was 
a ranger. He had travelled across the lands for decades, making friends among all 
peoples of Middle Earth, and Legolas was a fair prince who had never travelled 
far beyond the borders of his own home. Perhaps Aragorn had indeed ignored his 
advice. Maybe that was why he felt so guilty, and ended up ignoring Legolas even 
more. He bowed his head in defeat. He had no retort for the elf’s harsh words.

An affectionate hand petted his hair. “Men,” came an ironic snort. “You are all 
the same.” Aragorn looked up and saw the smiling face of his friend.

“You are not angry with me?” he asked, bemused.

“I could never stay angry with you, Elessar.” The elf looked him deep in the eyes, 
his voice taking on a more serious tone. “I only wish for you to be a better man 
than the rest. It is not a sign of weakness to take advice. Whether that advice 
comes from an elf, a dwarf or a hobbit is irrelevant, for even young or seemingly 
foolish creatures possess wisdom you do not. If you remember this, you will be a 
greater king than the ones before you.”

Aragorn nodded gratefully, and the elf granted him a soft kiss from his immortal 
lips. “I will try not to let you down again, my friend.”

“I am not worried,” said Legolas, his new cheerful mood obvious in his voice. He 
folded his arms around the man, hugging him tightly and giving him one more 
kiss on the cheek before letting go. “Have faith in yourself, Aragorn. Everyone 
else has.” Legolas left then, leaving the man to his own thoughts. What needed to 
be said had been, and Legolas wanted only to return to the warm bed of his 
newfound friend.

As he entered the dark chamber, the horseman looked up. “Where have you 
been?” he pouted. “I’ve been lonely in here all by myself.”

Legolas smiled. The human was all too adorable. “I needed to talk to someone. It 
is settled now.” Crawling back beneath the covers, strong arms instantly enfolded 
him in a protective nest of warmth, and he cuddled up to the other body.

“You are one strange elf,” Éomer said, his voice already drifting off as he slowly 
drifted asleep. “Very strange...peculiar elf...”

Legolas smiled to himself as the mortal man started snoring softly. It had been a 
good day. The men of Rohan apparently had a lot to offer. Legolas grinned at the 
thought of telling his father of the passionate horselords of the Mark. Nuzzling up 
against Éomer’s warm body, Legolas began dreaming of what tomorrow would 
bring. More sex, hopefully. They would soon leave for Gondor and war, so 
Legolas wanted to take every opportunity to enjoy himself. But then again, who 
knew what would await him in Gondor? With that thought, the prince of 
Mirkwood fell asleep.




Rohir = horselord, rider, knight
Rohir-nín = my knight
meldir = friend
mellonen = my friend