Work Text:
Title: Hîr-Nín
Author: surreysmum
Rating: NC-17
A/N: Aragorn has the occasional need that Arwen prefers he satisfy elsewhere.
Part 1
Aragorn came galloping at full speed into the small courtyard beneath the half-ruined tower, cloak flying behind him. He still wore full regalia, and had not even bothered to remove the small circlet of Kingship that served for minor affairs of state. The audience with the delegation from Harad had dragged on for hours past the appointed time.
He hurtled up the six long flights of stairs, taking them three steps at a time, and did not pause before rapping at the solid oak door with their usual signal.
"Enter," said Legolas. The Elf acknowledged Aragorn's arrival with a lifted brow, then returned his attention serenely to his book. To look at him, no-one would have known he had spent the last hour gazing anxiously out the window. He sprawled at his ease in a large chair, the only comfortable place besides the bed in this spartan room they had furnished for themselves.
Aragorn went straight to the shelves at the far side of the room, trying to calm his breathing. He took off his riding gauntlets, and laid them at one end of a shelf. Then he removed and folded his cloak; next he removed the circlet with care, laying it for safe-keeping upon the cloak on the top shelf. His shining, bespurred boots came off, and were neatly stowed below. Then he turned his attention to the stiff cloth-of-gold overtunic bearing the device of the white tree. This, too, he removed and carefully, reverently folded, laying it upon the shelf next to his cloak. By the time he came to the point of loosing the laces at the front of his undertunic, he had regained his breath, and it came off quickly, the coolness of the air making him suddenly aware of the sweat streaking his back and chest. Aragorn paused for a second, gathering himself, clutching briefly at the shelf in front of him. Then he unlaced his breeches and hauled them off, feeling ungainly, as always, as he did so.
There was no sound from the other side of the room but the flick of a page being turned.
Aragorn walked over to the small table, uncorked the bottle of wine that sat there, and filled the single glass. Then he turned and approached the Elf, knelt at his side and presented him with the wine, bowing his head. After a long second, Legolas took it and sipped from it briefly before laying it aside. Then the Elf seized the mithril collar which sat at his long pale fingertips and fastened it adroitly round Aragorn's neck, suppressing a smile as he heard the Human's unmistakable sigh of relief. He lifted Aragorn's chin.
"You are late," said Legolas.
"I beg pardon, hîr-nín, [My Lord]" replied Aragorn meekly. He offered no excuse.
"Speak your own tongue, Man. I do not care to hear mine defiled in your mouth."
"Aye, My Lord."
"Look at you - you are filthy," Legolas went on. "Covered in dust from the road and sweating like a pig. Is this how you present yourself?"
Aragorn bowed his head lower and took a deep breath. No matter how often they did this, it was never easy for him. "I request your correction, My Lord," he said.
"And you shall have it," said Legolas. His voice was not harsh, but rather as sweet as if he promised the delights of the Blessed Realm. "Look at me."
Aragorn met the penetrating azure gaze, and let himself feel all desires slip away except an overwhelming need to please the Elf. His hands clutched automatically at the bottles and vials that were put into them.
"Go," said Legolas sternly. "You know what to do. Cleanse and prepare yourself." He made to return to his book as Aragorn bowed silently and betook himself naked out the heavy door and down the flights of stone stairs, hard and chilly beneath his bare feet.
Legolas perched upon the windowsill with a smile. He loved to watch the way Aragorn flung himself into the cold stream of the waterfall; loved the way he shivered and then shook himself for all the world like a playful mutt to rid himself of the water; loved the way he retreated modestly behind a rock to apply the oils he had been given, though there was none but Legolas to see for miles around. Most of all, he loved the eagerness with which he knew Aragorn would run back up those endless stairs, already half-hard by the time he schooled himself to stillness upon his knees before the Elf.
True to form, Aragorn returned in record time, kneeling panting before his Lord with eyes obediently lowered, legs obediently spread, and organ disobediently rampant. Legolas felt an answering twitch in his own leggings, and reflected, not for the first time, that these evenings could be as much a torment for him as for his willing victim.
"You are keen tonight, Man," Legolas observed. "Let us temper that enthusiasm a little, shall we? Fetch me the tray."
"Aye, My Lord." Aragorn rose to his feet, knowing it would still be tolerated so early in the proceedings, and taking full advantage of the opportunity to stretch his legs. He brought the silver tray and laid it on the table beside Legolas. The Elf had not missed the small hitched breath as the Man first saw the instruments of torment arranged thereon, and mischievously decided to prolong the anticipation.
"I see you have noticed your new toy, Man," he said, touching - nay, caressing - the new carag which was causing Aragorn's agitation. "It is larger than the old one, is it not? I fear you were getting used to the other. This one will make it easier for me when I finally choose to breach you myself." He lifted his hand from the veritable battering ram to give a brief, kindly caress to Aragorn's cheek, and explained, as if to a slow child, "Your suffering will serve my convenience."
A smile of affection almost broke through Legolas' self-imposed calm at the sudden twitch his words caused in the Man's organ. So predictable. So adorable. Service was Aragorn's very soul, whether he gave it from a throne to his people, or naked to his lover.
Legolas shifted his attention to the flogger of soft leather strips. "I like this one greatly" he mused aloud. "So much sting, so little damage. It means I can punish you for so much longer…" He trailed the leather casually across Aragorn's belly, and Aragorn's organ twitched again.
"You seem to have little control tonight, Man," Legolas said reprovingly. "Do you wish me to restrain your impudent cock?"
"If it please you, My Lord," Aragorn acquiesced with a delighted groan. A long session, then.
Legolas' fingers were deft and sure with the leather straps, and to be sure he did not pass up the opportunity to make matters worse before he made release impossible. He pulled Aragorn across the room and indicated he was to kneel and bend forward over the carven oak chest at the foot of the bed.
"Just because this is a little larger does not mean I will be more lenient, Man," warned the Elf. "I expect perfect stillness, as always, as you make acquaintance with your new toy. No unseemly protests."
"Nay, My Lord," acknowledged Aragorn, feeling the familiar bite of the edge of the chest against his taut stomach muscles, and the unevenness of the carving beneath his chest and face. He spread his legs wide and concentrated on relaxing.
It was no use. Though the Elf proceeded gently, a fraction of an inch at a time, Aragorn had to moan and squirm, trying vainly to get away from the terrible burn. "As usual, you suffer for your own impatience, Man," Legolas told him unsympathetically, and, holding him steady with an iron grip at one hip, did not cease until the carag was fully seated within him. Aragorn panted, trying to persuade his clenching muscles to release, to accommodate.
"That was hardly satisfactory, was it?" remarked Legolas, as though commenting upon the weather. "Again, I think." And with a swiftness that completely took Aragorn's breath, the instrument was withdrawn, leaving him hollow and aching. He barely registered the sudden, rather painful intrusion of two long oil-slicked fingers, gone as fast as they appeared, before the burn began again. Three more times Aragorn endured the removal and insertion of the new carag before Legolas pronounced himself satisfied at the Man's self-control and stillness. By that point, Aragorn's muscles from waist to knees were trembling from constant effort, there were unacknowledged tears upon his face, and he could barely loose his white-knuckled grip on the edge of the chest when Legolas quietly told him to kneel up. The shift of the thing within him as he did so drew another stifled moan from him.
"Are you truly ready to submit now?" asked his tormentor.
"Aye, my Lord," replied Aragorn in a heartfelt tone, all notion of play gone from his mind.
"Good, for I expect much of you tonight. Do not disappoint me." Sensing Aragorn's need, Legolas brought his hand close to the Man's lips and permitted a quick, passionate kiss to the fingers.
Aragorn's journey back across the small room to the little table, upon his knees of course, was short but tortuous and Legolas, seated comfortably in his chair, enjoyed every wince and grimace, though his leggings were growing ever tighter. He schooled his features to calm once again as Aragorn looked up at him apprehensively.
"These, too, are a form of service to me," Legolas said soothingly, as he teased Aragorn's nipples to even greater hardness and affixed tight clamps. "Your willingness to endure for me pleases me greatly." Briefly distracted by the patterns still visible on the Man's chest from the carving on the furniture, he traced across the firm muscles with gentle fingers for several moments, before reaching for two small, heavy weights and attaching them to the clamps. The effect was instantly visible in the way Aragorn's teeth bit into his lip.
"There. Now you are ready," said Legolas. His tone was low and caressing. "Try to let the pain focus your mind as you decide which fault you will confess to me."
"Aye, My Lord." Aragorn's acquiescence was little more than a whisper. A hand at his neck reminded him gently that his gaze should be on the floor. Legolas placed the whip and the hourglass within the Man's view, and then withdrew, picking up his book again. And the sand began its measured, unhurried trickle through the hourglass's tiny waist.
Many minutes later, Legolas looked up from his book, expecting to see Aragorn as he had left him, eyes cast down, absorbed in the sensations, trying to stay still and quiet under the onslaught of the unrelenting pain. Instead he was met by a full-out gaze of adoration, directed at himself. The Man's lips were parted, his eyes shining, his chest heaving slightly. For a fraction of a second, Legolas was taken unawares, and nearly jumped to take Aragorn in his arms in response to that look. He caught himself just in time.
"Man," he said sternly. "You have no permission to stare at me."
"Nay, my Lord," responded Aragorn, a little breathlessly. But he did not drop his gaze.
"This impertinence will have a price."
"Aye, My Lord." Incredibly, the Man had a smile on his face. Legolas shook his head, wondering what he saw. The Elf made a swift decision.
"It appears you are bored," he said drily, reaching to turn the hourglass on its side so as to suspend its running. "Bring yourself here so I can put you to work." As he spoke, he undid the braids from his own hair. That was a privilege the Man had not earned tonight. The quick flash of disappointment in Aragorn's eyes showed he had not missed the significance of the action. Legolas pointed Aragorn to kneel behind the chair, and obligingly shook out the long, flowing locks so that they cascaded behind him, then handed back the hairbrush. "Well, what are you waiting for?" he demanded.
Aragorn's brushing was gentle and reverent, carefully taking out the few tangles without pulling or jerking. He daringly seized the opportunity, since even Legolas did not have eyes in the back of his head, to bring a few of the silken strands to his lips, and breathe in their glorious fragrance. "A little more vigour, Man," came Legolas' impatient demand. Aragorn obliged, bringing the brush in long smooth strokes from the crown of Legolas' head all the way down to the ends dangling near the floor.
That was more like it. From the intermittent gasps, Legolas could tell that even such slight physical activity was reviving and enhancing the harsh caresses of carag and clamps. "Lovely," he said, and shook his head slightly so that the hair would float and tease the sensitized skin behind him. "More." Languidly he allowed it continue for a while. This was the very essence of the Man's service, to give pleasure to the Elf whilst he was tormented himself. They could both afford to savour it for a little.
Eventually, though, Legolas made himself turn in his chair and reclaim the hairbrush. Aragorn yielded it with a downcast gaze and slight flush that amused the Elf; clearly the Man was remembering the other uses to which that same brush had been put in the past.
"Good," said Legolas, and watched the Man's chest expand in gratitude and pride. Ah yes, nearly there… so nearly there.
He stationed Aragorn kneeling as before, but this time with hands clasped behind his back. And this time the ominous leather thongs lay not between the quiveringly widespread thighs, but draped promisingly across one of them. Legolas set the hour-glass running once more.
"Now, Man," he said calmly, "it is time to contemplate your faults once more, for your punishment approaches."
Part 2
The very last grain of sand finally made its way into the lower chamber of the hourglass. Legolas was well aware of it, but affected not to notice, testing Aragorn's will to stay silent for a full minute thereafter. At last, he came over and moved the hourglass away, kneeling to be at Aragorn's level and lifting his chin. "Very good indeed," he said. "As reward, you may remove my tunic." He was further pleased when Aragorn remembered to keep his hands firmly clasped behind his back, and bent to take the hem in his teeth. Legolas assisted him silently, not letting him struggle with the awkwardness of the task this time. The Elf sat back, absurdly gratified that the revelation of his fair, smooth skin could still cause such worshipping hunger on the Man's face after all these years.
Legolas quickly detached the small weights, leaving the nipple clamps affixed, then, placing one hand firmly on the Man's stomach, he swiftly removed the carag with the other. At the expected sudden intake of breath, he massaged the hard stomach muscles briefly before sitting back again on his heels to observe. The Man was perfect, utterly perfect. Every aspect of him, from the bowed head to the clamped nipples thrust forward by his backwards-strained arms, from the little ripples of sweat to the unflagging, purpled organ in its constraints - everything expressed utter subjugation to the Elf's will. Legolas was hard put to it not to simply take him right now, as he was, kissing that frown from his forehead. For the Elf knew that what came next was the one part of their rite that Aragorn utterly loathed.
"Kneel up," he ordered, and, matching the Man's position, he drew him tight into his arms, chest to chest. Aragorn pulled away slightly.
"Why do you flinch from my touch, Man?" demanded Legolas, surprised.
"The clamps, My Lord - they will hurt you," and Legolas smiled affectionately, indulgently, knowing the concern sincere.
"Foolish Man," he said, pulling him tighter, and pressing the dark head gently to his shoulder. "Now, what have you to tell me? And no trying to escape with some trivial misdeed this time!"
Aragorn's frown deepened. Caught up as he was in his bubble of pain, excitement and anticipation, the very last thing he wanted to think of was his life outside this room. But when the King and Queen had gone together to Legolas to ask this favour of him, the Elf had agreed willingly with only two stipulations. And this was one of them. So, since Legolas wished it, he weighed the possibilities and resignedly came to the conclusion that one confession was clearly the most important.
"I hit Eldarion," he said reluctantly into Legolas' ear.
"Go on. You know you must say more than that."
"I swore I would never do that; Elrond never once lifted a hand to his children, and I saw what Denethor's harshness did to his. And I knew I would be as good a father as Elrond, or thought I knew. But Eldarion was being so mulish, so aggravating, so sullen; I lost my temper and slapped him and ordered him from my sight."
"That was most unworthy of you, Aragorn," said Legolas, and Aragorn clenched his eyes tightly shut at the disappointment in his tone.
Legolas took pity and let him go, standing to overtower his penitent. "And that is only the beginning, is it not, Man?" he scolded. "You were more than an hour late this evening. You failed to oil yourself sufficiently. You stared at me most impertinently, and failed to drop your gaze even when reminded, a most astonishing piece of disobedience! You fondled and played with my hair, indulging that absurd fetish of yours, when you should have been brushing it! And just in these past few minutes, you pulled away from me!" He kept a sharp eye on Aragorn, seeing him almost relieved under the enumeration of the trivial or manufactured infractions. It mattered not; the incident with Eldarion had been added to the catalogue in Aragorn's mind, and he would find some assuagement of his guilt under the sting of the lash. Legolas knew his Man well.
"I fear it will have to be the full hundred tonight, Man," he pronounced, and was pleased to see the Man startle at the severity of the sentence. His usual meed was fifty, which was quite enough to send them both into paroxysms of lust and need. Aragorn's organ, which had wilted somewhat, surged to attention.
"Since that is somewhat more than you are used to, I grant you a choice," Legolas continued. "You may take your punishment bound face down upon the bed, or standing."
Aragorn knew which the Elf would prefer - standing would give him much better access to the Man's body. "I will stand, My Lord," he replied without hesitation.
The Elf allowed himself to smile fully this time, and expressed his approbation with a brief caress of the Man's hair and a brush of his fingertips against one of the clamped nipples.
"Give me the whip, then," he demanded, and accepted it as soon as Aragorn had given it the requisite kiss. "Now go over to the wall, then stand and grasp the ring." He eyed the Man's as yet unmarked buttocks appreciatively as he crawled his way across the to the far wall.
"Grasp the ring," Legolas had said. He was not to be tied then. Oh for the mercy of bonds! Heaving himself unsteadily to his feet with muscles cramped from kneeling, Aragorn was not at all sure he would last. He wiped the sweat from his hands hastily upon his thighs, and then took a firm grip with both fists upon the iron ring that dangled at arm's length above his head.
Legolas was close behind him. "Be brave, and you will be rewarded," the Elf murmured throatily in his ear, and a finger teased its way down his crack, dancing suggestively against his portal for a second. Then the warmth at Aragorn's back receded, and the Man wished with all his heart he could turn around as he recognized the sound of the Elf removing the last of his clothes.
"Ready?" asked Legolas sweetly.
"Aye, My Lord."
"Well, then?"
"I request punishment, My Lord."
"Granted." The crack of the lashes was much louder than the mild sting of the first blow against his right buttock really warranted. Legolas always started lightly, to let the Man grow used to the sensations.
"One. Thank you, My Lord." Aragorn grew a little hopeful that he could get through the ordeal without shaming himself. The whip cracked again and this time the other buttock took the brunt of the sting. "Two. Thank you, My Lord."
By the time the Man thanked the Elf for the twentieth blow, it was apparent he was finding it harder to stand still, and his buttocks were blushing a comely pink. Legolas stepped forward and casually kicked the Man's legs farther apart, which had the double benefit of stretching out his arms a little more, and providing a broader canvas for the whip to work upon.
Now Legolas set to work in earnest. He varied his target every so often to shoulders or back of thighs, but concentrated on the enticing, reddening mounds that were now beginning to clench and quiver under the pain whether Aragorn willed it or no. The counting, too, was coming after a longer delay, and the thanks with a gasp. With an archer's unerring aim, Legolas settled the forty-sixth blow precisely across the tender crease between buttocks and thighs. Aragorn jerked and whimpered before he forced his voice to the required acknowledgment. His own breath more than a little unsteady, Legolas landed another stinging wallop in precisely the same place.
A wail escaped the Man, though he tried to stifle it. "Forty-seven," he panted. "Thank you, My Lord."
Once more Legolas flicked his wrist with deadly aim at the same spot, and Aragorn's whole body jerked convulsively as a short cry was forced from his lips. But he did not let go of the ring, and eventually he managed to speak. "Forty-eight. Thank you, My Lord."
The forty-ninth blow fanned lovingly across the crown of the Man's buttocks, and the fiftieth quickly followed suit. Aragorn, having forced out his words both times, stood panting, trying to ride out the fiery ache. Legolas, laying aside the whip, moved in close once again, and seized himself two handfuls of heated flesh. Glancing over the Man's shoulder, he saw what he expected: the neglected organ was more rampant than ever in its constraints. His own was not far behind, and once more the Elf had to fight back the temptation simply to plunge in and end this.
Changing his clutch to a gentle rub, Legolas said, "Drop your arms to your sides and take a rest." Aragorn did so with a heartfelt sigh and a muttered "Aye, My Lord." Legolas' hands moved up to his shoulders and eased the tension there with strength and skill. "You are doing very well, meleth," he murmured. Yielding to temptation for a moment, he pushed Aragorn's hair from the side of his neck, and licked the damp, slightly salty skin, ending his caress with a little dig of the teeth. The Man pressed up against him with a noise somewhere between a groan and a purr.
Sensing his own control slipping, Legolas stepped back. "Only half-way, Man," he said in a deliberately cold voice. "Turn and face me." Aragorn did so, and was met with a deliberate back-handed slap across the mouth. He cried out more in shock than anything else. Legolas had never done such a thing before.
"Did that hurt, Man?"
"Aye, My Lord." Aragorn's eyes were wide and bewildered.
Legolas smiled, and traced Aragorn's lips with a fingertip. He had not hit hard enough to cause any damage. Then he ran the same finger along his own lower lip. "Where you hurt, there must you give me pleasure," he demanded. Hoping he had understood correctly, Aragorn leaned forward and kissed him tentatively.
"Aye, that is it," said Legolas, and, reaching a hand to Aragorn's chest, swiftly removed the clamp from Aragorn's right nipple. The Man hissed at the sudden pain as blood rushed back into the area, but he bent his head obediently and tongued Legolas' right nipple in exchange. "Good," said the Elf, as Aragorn licked and nipped gently. Legolas revelled in the sensations and soothed Aragorn's abused nub for a few moments before he reached again, as both expected, for the other clamp. And as the pain surged through him once more, Aragorn bent his attentions to the Elf's other side, following his instructions as best he could. Looking down the glorious golden body, his eye was drawn to the Elf's turgid member, and he shivered suddenly, whether from fear or desire he could not tell.
A hand cupping his chin drew Aragorn up to his full height again. "Ah, I think you have guessed what comes next, have you not, Man?"
Aragorn did not know how to answer. He settled on, "As it pleases you, My Lord," and bowed his head.
Legolas stooped to retrieve the whip and then brought Aragorn's gaze up to meet his once more. "You may not look down," he said. And as he held the Man near-hypnotized in his deep blue gaze, his hands seized upon the Man's over-sensitized organ and then dealt it one, two, three sharp blows with a shortened length of the lash. Hot tears rose in Aragorn's eyes, but he managed not to move, and he was rewarded with a slow smile and a push downward on his shoulder.
"Go on then," said Legolas, and Aragorn dropped to his knees. He seized greedily upon the Elf's member, taking it immediately into his mouth, and sucking upon it as if his life depended on it. It took a sharply uttered "Man!" from the Elf before he remembered himself and removed his hands from the pale flanks, clasping them again behind his back. The Elf tangled his hands in the Man's hair and controlled him, not roughly, but just so that he could hold him still and begin to thrust a little, using Aragorn's mouth for his pleasure. Below him, Aragorn rested his fiery buttocks against the cool soles of his own feet, closed his eyes, opened his mouth and throat as much as he could, and revelled in the use.
"Enough," said the Elf abruptly, as much to himself as to the Man. "We have far to go yet tonight." He looked down at the vision kneeling at his feet. The Man's eyes were shining once more, his lips decadently parted and swollen. "You please me much, Man," said Legolas. "Ask me a boon, and if it reasonable, I will grant it."
"Bind me, My Lord," asked Aragorn immediately.
Legolas nodded. It was reasonable. When Aragorn returned his hands to the iron ring this time, the Elf fastened them there with strong rope and a slip-knot pulled fast. He ran his hand lingeringly down the Man's arm and back when he was done, stopping short at his waist. "Enough resting, then," he said, then stepped back and swung.
"Fifty-one. Thank you, my Lord."
"Thank me in Sindarin." The Elf swung again.
"Fifty-two. Hannon le, hîr-nín."
There was sudden silence behind him and Aragorn wondered if he had failed somehow. But he had no permission to look round and ask. He remained motionless, letting the burning stripes of the last two blows fade into the general heat.
Behind him, Legolas stood rigid, eyes closed, breathing deep silent breaths and gathering himself. The sound of the Elvish words had well-nigh driven him over the edge, without any other aid. He wondered if he had set himself an impossible task.
The next blow was twice as hard as any that had come before. "Fifty-three. Hannon-le, hîr-nín." There was a new strain in Aragorn's voice.
And now the stripes fell fast and furious, each followed by the next before the words were fully accomplished. Aragorn's treacherous body began to dance and twist and dodge under the assault, and his breaths turned into a continuous low moan. There was no place for thought amidst the pain, and twice he lost the count without realizing it.
Legolas merely smiled grimly and did not correct him, choosing instead to drive him onwards.
"Seventy-five. Hannon le, hîr-nín." Aragorn automatically braced himself for the blow to follow. It did not fall. Instead there was only the sound of two sets of panting breaths in the silent room, and, very faintly, the plash of the waterfall outside.
When he spoke, Legolas' voice was distant and sardonic. "Charming though I find this view of you, Man, I grow tired of it. Turn around."
It was difficult but possible. The iron ring allowed it. The Man lurched around, falling back against the cold roughness of the stone wall with a gasp.
Legolas stepped close and seized his face, turning it side to side as he examined it closely. Aragorn opened his eyes and gave him a strained, lazy smile.
"Eru, you're incredible," Legolas swore. "You love every second of this, don't you? What would you do if I made you take two hundred? Three hundred?"
"I would submit, hîr-nín."
"Liar." Legolas brought the lashes harshly down across the front of the Man's thighs, making him buck. "Well?"
"Seventy-six. Hannon le, hîr-nín."
Twice more the whip fell across the front of Aragorn's thighs, and three times across the expanse of his chest. Then Legolas grasped the Man's near shoulder more firmly than he realized, and with carefully moderated blows (though it did not feel that way) gave him three across the quivering belly as well.
"Eighty-four. Hannon le, hîr-nín." It was a mere gasp. Aragorn's misted gaze caught his tormentor's, and his mouth opened and then snapped firmly shut.
"What would you ask, Man?"
"Kiss me, hîr-nín."
Legolas caressed Aragorn's face gently. He did not dare accede to the request. "Later," he promised. And he turned the Man's face firmly to the wall again, having barely won his battle.
Aragorn was tired now, and near the end of his endurance. Though he still registered the pain of each blow that followed - how could he not? - and was as consumed as ever by the burning, unsatisfied ache in his groin, his mind seemed to drift away and detach itself. His responses became automatic, and he began to drown and sink in a terrible, shameful need just to have it all stop, just for a moment, no more, please, no more…
"What was that?" Legolas' clear tones cut through his haze, and Aragorn realized with horror that he had spoken the words aloud. At the ninety-fifth - yes, that was it, was it not? - at the ninety-fifth stroke, he had begged the Elf to stop.
"Ninety five. Hannon le, hîr-nín," he gasped out quickly, trying to atone for the mistake.
"Nay, Man, that was not what you said," replied the Elf sternly. "If you truly wish me to stop, then say your word. I will release you, and you may take to your bed with no more harassment from me. But if you want me to continue, then spare me your whining. I cannot abide such cowardice."
Aragorn's back stiffened visibly, and the Elf sighed even as he admired. All the tenderness in the world would not have brought Aragorn back as effectively as that one word. Legolas insinuated two fingers into the man's portal and found the well-known spot, making Aragorn arch against his bonds. "Choose, Man," said the Elf softly. "Choose now."
"Please, hîr-nín, please, continue, I beg of you," babbled Aragorn.
"Very pretty," said Legolas, feigning contempt. "But I am not inclined to forgive your lapse so easily. You must now ask for each of the next five blows." The Elf withdrew his fingers, feeling the Man settling himself to the new task.
"Please, hîr-nín, grace me with your punishment." The lashes embraced him across the top of his right buttock. "Ninety-six. Hannon le, hîr-nín." A deep breath.
"Please, hîr-nín, grace me with your punishment." This time the whip landed lower on the left buttock, where a bruise was forming, and Aragorn winced aloud. "Ninety-seven. Hannon le, hîr-nín." Another deep breath.
"Please, hîr-nín, grace me with your punishment." A sharp crack across the back of both thighs. "Ninety-eight. Hannon le, hîr-nín." Aragorn's voice grew stronger with each blow.
"Please, hîr-nín, grace me with your punishment." This time the lashes went far to one side, curling painfully round a hip-bone. "Ninety-nine. Hannon le, hîr-nín."
"Please, hîr-nín, grace me with your punishment." This blow landed squarely in Legolas' favourite spot at the base of Aragorn's buttocks. "One hundred. Hannon le, hîr-nín." It was almost a shout of triumph.
Legolas paused for three heartbeats - then struck again.
Aragorn's shock was like a spark in the air between them. The Man breathed heavily. "One hundred and one. Hannon le, hîr-nín."
Legolas could see the Man shaking his head, his mind obviously racing, wondering what rule he had broken, what instruction he had missed… Legolas brought the whip down again. "One hundred and two. Hannon le, hîr-nín."
The Elf brought his left hand to his own organ. It needed no encouragement, but he soothed it with a couple of long strokes anyway. Then he raised the lash and struck once more. "One hundred and three. Hannon le, hîr-nín." The Man's voice was hoarse and apprehensive.
With a groan of pure need, Legolas stepped forward and sheathed himself in one deep thrust, at the same time yanking away the constraints around the man's organ. Aragorn climaxed with a howl.
Legolas gave him no quarter, pounding furiously into him, slapping his hips against the burning flesh. The Man whimpered quietly beneath him, used, serving, yearning for more. Legolas could not see his face. With a most un-Elflike growl of exasperation, Legolas withdrew for a second, flipped Aragorn round to face him, and lifted him bodily with the careless strength he rarely ever used. Aragorn's legs wrapped automatically around his waist, and Legolas drove furiously in again, supporting the Man effortlessly with one arm as he reached above them with the other to release his own knots. Aragorn's arms dropped heavily around the Elf's shoulders, and it was but six steps to the bed.
Now Legolas was fully in control at last. He angled his impatient thrusts to hit the Man's pleasure node over and over again; he seized the Man's organ, which had never fully softened, in an ungentle and rapid fist and brought it quickly back to straining fullness. "Now, Estel, now! With me!" he demanded, and when Aragorn arched painfully up, crying "Legolas!", the Elf let himself loose at last, pouring himself out into the vitals of his lover.
It had been a long night.
When they regained their breath, Legolas looked shamefacedly over at Aragorn. "I am sorry," he said. "Once again I did not make it quite to the end."
Aragorn smiled exhaustedly and pulled the Elf's head to his shoulder, stroking his hair. "You were wonderful," he said.
"So were you," said Legolas quietly, but Aragorn did not hear him. He was already asleep. Legolas gently removed the mithril collar and followed him into dreams.
**********
Some time later, Legolas roused from his reverie to discover that Aragorn was gently touching him, fondling him lightly all over his body. Legolas smiled. It was a pleasure that was denied to the Man during their rituals, and both felt the lack greatly. He pulled Aragorn closer to him, and began caressing in his turn. The rough edge of a welt under his fingers reminded him of something he had to do. He leaned away and lit a couple of candles at their bedside. "Let me look at you," he requested.
"You always worry too much; a few bruises and welts are nothing - they will heal," Aragorn told him, but he rolled over on his front indulgently. Legolas would find a way to inspect him whether he co-operated or not. Besides, he had discovered that if he lay passive under the Elf's hands and perhaps quivered a little pathetically, there was often a lick or a kiss - ah yes, there it was… Aragorn spread his legs and quivered pathetically a little more.
************
They lay in near-darkness once more, Aragorn's head on the Elf's shoulder.
"Is everything all right with Eldarion now?" asked Legolas quietly.
"Oh yes, I think so," Aragorn told him. "We talked about it later, of course, once I had calmed down, and he does not seem to be holding a grudge." He paused for a moment. "I wish with all my heart it had not happened," he added, "but it does seem to have made him more aware that his own actions have consequences. And I saw the beginnings of an understanding that his father is not infallible." He glanced up wryly at Legolas in the faint light. "A painful moment for both of us."
Legolas caressed his face, and wrapped him more tightly in his embrace.
*************
"What was the other thing?" Legolas asked. They had just finished another round of slow and tender love, and lay now a little apart, joined only by their hands.
"What do you mean?"
"The other thing you were thinking of confessing to me. I saw you considering something else before you told me of Eldarion."
Aragorn reached over and poked him. "Stop reading my mind."
"Stop emblazoning your thoughts on your face, then," retorted the Elf. "What was it?"
"I am most anxious about some of my men," Aragorn told him. "I sent out a small patrol to the northern borders to investigate reports of trolls there. I sent only a few, and they are inexperienced; I thought the reports almost certainly false. Now I hear otherwise, and I fear I have sent them unprepared into danger."
"I sent a group of archers into that area to investigate those same reports," Legolas told him. "I will send a message to them that they are to join up with your men, and they can reinforce each other. Will that help?"
"Greatly," said Aragorn, relieved. "Thank you, mellon-nín."
***************
"May I ask you a question?" They had lit some more candles, having silently, mutually decided not to waste any more of their time together in sleep.
"Certainly, Estel."
"What were one hundred and one, one hundred and two, and one hundred and three for?"
Legolas smiled slyly over at him. "You wanted them."
"Son of an orch!" Aragorn pounced upon him and started to tickle mercilessly. It was true, of course.
Legolas lay back and cheerfully begged for mercy. It was his favourite moment, when his King returned.
*********
They sat, dressed, near the window, watching the faint pre-dawn light steal their last minutes together away from them. Aragorn, in consideration for his soreness, had the easy chair; Legolas perched on the arm facing him. One of Aragorn's hands was on the Elf's knee. The other played idly with the ends of the golden hair.
"I still do not really understand why Arwen is so adamant about not doing this for you," Legolas mused. "She is fully capable."
"You would know," Aragorn said, smiling. "She tried to explain it to me once. Something about my needing one person in my life who was always about calm and softness and comfort. Arwen-logic. She has indeed become most successful in being that person, though." He smiled. "But I can tell you truly, in case you were wondering, she takes great pleasure in fulfilling her part of our bargain."
"Really?"
"Indeed. I benefit from it for days afterwards." Legolas grimaced and slapped Aragorn's arm lightly. "Are you coming to Minas Tirith again soon?" Aragorn tried not to make it sound like begging.
"Arwen and I have agreed upon a meeting in two weeks."
"And will you stay afterwards and let us love you?"
"If I can drag myself into your bed. Arwen has promised me she will be especially cruel." They exchanged a conspiratorial grin.
"There need not always be such a pretext, you know," said Aragorn, and this time he knew he was begging. "You are welcome any time, for any length of visit."
"Believe me, Estel, if I could govern the colony from Minas Tirith, I would do it. But you know as well as I do that an absent governor is worse than none at all."
Aragorn needed no reminding of the responsibilities of rule. He nodded, accepting what Legolas said.
"The sun has risen," he said sadly, and pulled himself to his feet.
]************
Legolas came down into the little courtyard to find Aragorn gazing comically at his saddled horse.
"Do not tell me you forgot again!" laughed the Elf. He pulled a cushion out from behind his back and tossed it to Aragorn. "Fortunately I did not!"
Aragorn caught him swiftly in his arms and kissed his eyes, his cheeks, his lips. "Two long weeks!" he murmured.
Legolas opened his lips and let himself melt against the King. "Only two more weeks," he murmured when he was finally released.
"You are right, as always, melethron-nín."
"Of course I am, mellon-nín. Gwador-nín. Melethron-nín. Hîr-nín." [My friend. My comrade. My lover. My lord].
Aragorn shook his head at the last of those. "You must not call me that," he said. And kissing Legolas once more, he quickly affixed the cushion where it would do the most good, mounted his horse, and rode off before he succumbed to unmanly weeping.
Legolas watched him depart. "But of course I must," he murmured after the proud, Kingly figure. "Hîr-nín. Lord of my heart."
fin