Title:	One Alone
Authors:Zoe & Half Elf Lost
Email: dixonofdockleaf@hotmail.com, halfelflost@hotmail.com
Pairings:Legolas/?, Merry/Pippin
Rating:	NC-17
Warnings:Short, silly little PWP.  Don’t look for any deep thoughts here, dear
reader.
Disclaimer:While we grieve that beloved Professor Tolkien is dead, it at least
guarantees that he won’t be offended by this horrible little story.  Who could
possibly make money from this, and even if we could, we wouldn’t.  The thought
that we actually wrote this is more punishment than a lawsuit.
Summary:A little slip of a bedtime story to carry the idea of a character’s secret
fetish.  This story was written for the Library of Moria 3rd Challenge: The Secret
Fetish.
Feedback:Please spare us the rotten fruit and vegetables, but everything else is
welcomed.


The council at Rivendell had concluded.  The Fellowship had been formed: The Grey
yet game Wizard, two hot men, a damn’ fine elf, a not-so-hot dwarf, and four horny
hobbits.  The group now had some time on their hands, as the Wizard and Lord
Elrond had not yet decided the ideal time for them to depart on their quest.  The
two consulted each day, in quiet discussion within the privacy of Elrond’s
library.  At least, that’s what they claimed to be doing, although the moans and
panting noises seemed to indicate otherwise.  While they all waited, Gandalf had
challenges on his hands: How to get the group prepared for the hardships ahead,
how to get them to get comfortable with each other and learn to get along before
the deprivation of the coming months took its toll on their libidos.  And, of
course, how to persuade Elrond into that thing with the gherkins.

So most mornings, Gandalf led the group on daily hikes through Rivendell.  Rising
before dawn, they were fed a big breakfast before setting off into the
countryside.  They returned exhausted each afternoon, but had the luxury of hot
baths and big meals when they returned.   Hiking fully loaded with equipment, the
Fellowship had a chance to get stronger, in many ways.  Their routine became a
ritual, which even if it wasn’t looked forward to (due to the effort involved),
there developed a warm camaraderie.  Most evenings, the hobbits fell asleep piled
on top of each other in front of the fire, the rest of the group ending the day by
talking quietly over goblets of wine, watching the hobbits snore, and debating
which would provide the most sport in shagging.

But there were other rituals observed by a certain member of the group.  Before
the Fellowship left for training each morning, the Elf spent much time stretching
all parts of his body. This included bends in which he put his hands flat to the
ground, leg stretches, and all sorts of unusual positions which were the secret
envy of the less flexible members of the group.  He did this apart from the rest,
a few yards into the woods where he could gain some privacy, although not so far
that he could not be seen by the others.  Elves are notorious exhibitionists and
Legolas was no different in that respect.  For the most part, the group left him
alone at this time, but the hobbits were fascinated, particularly (surprise,
surprise) the irrepressible Merry and Pippin.  They followed Legolas into the
woods, whispering and laughing over the elf’s strange, yet oddly arousing
postures.  Legolas studiously ignored them, but Aragorn eventually noticed and
tried to put a stop to their perving.

“Leave him alone, lads.” he said, grabbing them by their collars and dragging them
closer to the Last Homely House and away from the woods.

“But Aragorn, it’s fun to watch.” giggled Pippin smuttily.

“Yes, please, Aragorn, we’re waiting for the Elf to tie himself in knots.” begged
Merry (he loved to be submissive).  “Why does he do it anyway?  It looks bloody
painful.  Hobbits would never do that.”

“And besides,” added Pippin, rubbing his bum, “We’re sore enough each day.  Why
put oneself through more pain and agony, when pleasure is so much better?”

“Truth be told, little hobbits, it’s none of your business why Legolas does what
he does.”  Aragorn chided the two.  “Elves do things that may seem strange to you,
but they always have their reasons.  Besides, if you two would quit molesting each
other every time we stop for a comfort break, you wouldn’t be as sore”.

Still, Aragorn had a twinkle in his eye when he said it.  Filthy man.

And the pair of hobbits eventually noticed another ritual followed by Legolas. At
first they didn’t realize he did it, since it occurred after they returned home
each day and were busy bathing and stuffing their faces with afternoon tea.  But
not the Elf: Legolas went back to the woods each day, taking with him a jar of
honey.

Pippin was on a balcony of the Last Homely House one afternoon, when he noticed
the Elf striding off towards the forest.  He told Merry, and the two observed him
doing this a few more days.

Every day, Pippin would ask Merry, “Where do you think he goes? And what does he
do when he gets there? And what’s the honey for?”

And Merry would giggle, “I don’t know, my dear Pippin.  It’s too mysterious!”
“Now come and show me what exactly Elrond said about the gherkins.”  And Pippin
would obey.

Finally, when they ran out of pickled cucumbers and they had nothing better to do,
their curiosity could be contained no longer.  Even though it meant missing tea,
Pippin and Merry followed the path they knew was always taken by the Elf in the
afternoon.  Following a now well-worn path, strangely sticky in places, they moved
quietly, not wanting to disturb whatever it was they so wanted to see.  Who would
wish to gain the Elf’s ire at being followed?  While they hadn’t seen Legolas show
anger, they knew of his strength and the prospect of him in a hissy fit made them
go more carefully.

Finally, they found what they sought.

There in the clearing sat the elf.  Naked.  Cross-legged.  The two curious hobbits
crept slowly forward, with a clear view of the elf from the side.  A convenient
hedge hid them nicely, and they settled down for the show.

“You know what would be great right now?” asked Merry “Popcorn!”

“Shhhh. You don’t want to miss this, do you Merry?”  Pippin stared pie-eyed at the
elf.

Legolas gave no sign of hearing the voyeuristic hobbits.  He leaned back on one
arm, and with the other, he scooped a generous amount of honey out of a brown
pottery jar marked with the word “Hunny”.  Using the handful, he took a lick, and
then smeared the rest on his turgid tonker.  His head fell back, not a hair out of
place.  Then, with a mighty stretch forward, he leaned downward and his upper body
began bobbing.

The secret was revealed: Legolas could do something every male creature in Middle
Earth yearned to do – suck his own Willie!

“Coo, will you look at that?” trembled Pippin, his breeches standing instantly
away from his groin.

“They don’t do it like that in the Shire, Pip, do they?” choked Merry, whose hand
wandered downwards unconsciously to his crotch.

“Well, no,” whispered Pippin, “If they did, we’d never have come on this quest in
the first place.”

“Blimey,” said Merry in awe, “With a fetish like that, you never have to worry
about getting a date.”

Still oblivious to the rampant groping now occurring in the nearby bush, Legolas
continued to feverishly fellate his fucktool.  Those stretching exercises clearly
paid off: he showed no signs of slowing and nary a drop of sweat formed on his
alabaster ass.  The bobbing sped up, until with a mighty muffled groan, the elf
exploded into his welcoming mouth.  Chest heaving, he fell onto his back on the
grass, his once-hard sentinel softening as the Hobbits watched open-mouthed and
hands frantically worked themselves within their breeches.

Legolas looked lazily over at the bush.  “Show yourselves, you little rampant
rabbits,” he commanded.

Merry and Pippin sheepishly emerged from the shrubbery, hands sticky with their
own brand of hobbit honey.

As a result of the afternoon’s activities, Merry and Pippin became willing
students under the gentle tutelage of the elf.  Yoga lessons then ensued, in
addition to the daily hikes.  Pippin become quite petulant until Legolas agreed to
let him smear himself with dairy by-product, the short one having mis-heard the
name of the activity.

Soon, thanks to the fact that Merry and Pippin could no more keep a secret than
bitchslap a balrog, the entire Fellowship was in on the self-pleasuring act,
contorting themselves all over the Rivendell and turning red in the face as they
sucked away at their silken swords.

This soon got back to Elrond who, once he’d finished playing with the Crazy
Braider Gandalf had bought for him as a leaving present, called another Council.
Once the Nine were assembled in front of him, slightly out of breath, and
surreptitiously readjusting their clothing, he fixed them with a basilisk eye and
upturned brow, hitching up his mangirdle.

“Nine there shall be in the fight against Evil, pervery their creed, and Lechery
in all forms their code.  I henceforth rename thee, The Fetish-ship of the Ring!”

Finis