12. Chapter Twelve
Rejoiced at evil
be thou never;
but let good give thee pleasure.
There was a pleasure so great it held pain. It was to hold a flame in his arms and know he could be content to hold it forever, knowing it to be his. It was to be breathless from a kiss felt to his toes and nearly curling his beard. It was to caress skin as pale as starlight and as soft as dew on moss.
It was... It was to love Legolas.
The elf sighed softly, fingers entangled in the dwarf's beard and combing through it. Legolas seemed to be in no rush, content with a slow pace of delicious torture. Elves took their time it would seem, because they could have as much of it as they desired.
But Gimli was no elf, and his body ached. His hands went to unclasp the elf's cloak, letting it fall to the ground.
Legolas broke the kiss, and for a long terrifying heartbeat the dwarf thought his friend would pull away and shatter his heart. Instead the elf mirrored his movements and Gimli's cloak fell to the ground, green on green.
"Did you not once say elves talked too much, Master Gimli? It would seem dwarves are fond of talking when they should find better use for their lips too," Legolas replied, his eyes twinkling.
Gimli opened his mouth to speak, only to be silenced by the elf's lips on his, demanding and teasing and so intense he hardly noticed Legolas's hands pull at his clothes. The air was warm, just a gentle breeze caressing the dwarf's skin as it became exposed. He was only vaguely aware that they sunk onto the grass and that a rock was burrowing into his back.
His face burned, though he was not sure if it was hot from the sun or the mere presence of Legolas. Skin against skin made his body shiver, as the elf's hands wandered downwards, downwards, downwards…
"Ai!" Gimli cried out. "Legolas, nay, I cannot..."
"Your body says it can," the elf muttered, his words hardly audible as he trailed a path of kisses down the broad chest of the dwarf. Blonde hair fell around him like a golden crown, shining in the sunlight.
It took all of Gimli's willpower to keep his body under control. His hands dug into the earth, his body felt as tense as a drawn arrow and he had a desire to cry out Legolas's names against the blue sky.
But if he had thought that torture, it was nothing against the painful pleasure as the elf replaced his hands with his mouth.
Swallowed by a flame. Gimli could hear his own voice mutter in dwarfish, begging Legolas to stop and to continue at once, but it felt distant. He was surging upwards until he crashed into blinding light, engulfing him until he saw nothing but gold.
Slowly, he became aware of a soft voice by his ear.
"Nîn meleth," Legolas whispered. "I am sorry, I thought not of your injury."
"Neither did I," Gimli muttered, panting. His head felt light and hot, but he was not sure if it was from his injury or the fever in his blood.
By the Valar, what had he done? He had told Legolas he had desired a prize and the elf must have felt compelled to give it.
Hastily, he sat up, Legolas's hand sliding off his chest where it had rested lazily. His body screamed in protest at the loss of contact, but he paid no heed.
"Gimli?" Legolas said softly, sitting up as well. Green grass had filtered into the elf's hair and with a painful stab to the heart Gimli realised he had for a moment forgotten the difference between them. He had only seen the mirror of desire.
He was mortal. He would die, and Legolas would live with the pain as the ravens would sing of the coming of death. He could not wish such a fate on his Elven friend, for he could scarcely imagine what he would feel if Legolas died. The sun should shine down on the elf until the end of time, granting brightness to his life forever. No pain. No grief.
"This cannot be," Gimli said as forcefully as he could, hoping his courage would not fail him.
"That is not your choice to make," Legolas replied after a moment, and the dwarf turned to look at him and met eyes of steel.
"You approached me, Gimli. It is you who have taken the first steps, even when I offered little encouragement. And because of this you assume it will end just because you say so. I will not let it."
"You will not let it," the Dwarf repeated.
"Nay." Legolas straightened, his whole posture radiating determination – and strangely, power. It occurred to Gimli that never had the elf looked more the son of a king.
"I will not let it, Gimli, nîn meleth" Legolas said more softly, wrapping the dwarf's hand in his own. "And I will gladly tie you to a tree until you see sense. I have been foolish and afraid long enough. I will not let fear blind you as it did me."
"I will die, Legolas."
"Aye. And when you die, a part of me will as well. You have already claimed it, and I have gladly given it. You cannot change that now."
Staring into the elf's eyes, Gimli's resolve faltered. His courage had failed him. He could not turn away from the flame, for he was already burned.
"Touch me. Take me. I am yours," Legolas whispered, and leaned forward.
And when the elf whispered his name reverently, bodies locked and joined, gold running through the dwarf's hands, Gimli found that tomorrow and the cursed ravens could wait.
This is a work of fan fiction, written because the author has an abiding love for the works of J R R Tolkien. The characters, settings, places, and languages used in this work are the property of the Tolkien Estate, Tolkien Enterprises, and possibly New Line Cinema, except for certain original characters who belong to the author of the said work. The author will not receive any money or other remuneration for presenting the work on this archive site. The work is the intellectual property of the author, is available solely for the enjoyment of Henneth Annûn Story Archive readers, and may not be copied or redistributed by any means without the explicit written consent of the author.