The words slipped from Legolas's sweet lips and settled, quivering, upon Aragorn's heart like a cold droplet of water. He exhaled shakily and closed his eyes as Legolas began to run his hand lovingly over his inner thigh. My heart does not belong to you, he thought. He gasped and bucked his hips when Legolas's hand reached his swelling manhood. He desperately tried to conjure up images of his true love in an attempt to prove to himself that he was still loyal to her but for once the thought of her face, her clear eyes inspired nothing within him. Sensing the man's tension, Legolas brought his other hand up to Aragorn's face and pressed his palm against his cheek. My heart does not belong to you, he thought again as layer upon of his clothes were removed and cast aside, quickly forgotten in the heat of the moment. He lay naked and shivering, unabashed beside his smiling companion. But under the stars on this cold, moonlit night you may have my body and all that I am.

Legolas slid atop Aragorn's body as he continued to kiss him, tugging passionately at the man's hair. Then, much to his surprise and pleasure, Legolas began to move his hips ever so slightly against his, the soft friction between them making him dizzy with desire and anticipation.

"My dear Legolas," he cried when he felt that he could take it no more. Gimli snorted in his sleep and he quickly hushed his voice. "Where did you learn –" Legolas slipped his hand from beneath him and placed a long white finger upon Aragorn's parted lips.

"Shh, Ellesar. Be silent," he whispered, "if our good friend Gimli were awake he would implore us not to look too deeply into the dark remembrances of our past."

"Dark, Legolas?" But Legolas would say no more. Sighing, Aragorn sat up and gently pushed the elf away from him. Legolas looked at him in surprise but then quickly comprehended Aragorn's intentions when he put his hand against his chest and gently pushed him down until he was lying flat on his back on the damp ground, his hair shining about him like a golden aura. Years later Aragorn would remember, amongst many other things, the stunning contrast between the elf's smooth, graceful body and his own – so tanned and harsh as was to be expected of a Ranger. He'd always found elves to be a fair and fleet-footed folk (often nothing more than a blur of alabaster and gold when moving or a statuesque beacon of light when still) and as he looked down at Legolas he realized that the young eleven prince was giving himself to him. He was casting aside his own pride and the pride of his people , leaving behind only his beauty, purity, and vulnerability so that the two may find pleasure in each other's bodies on that cold, watchful night. The realization made him swoon and he lowered his head onto Legolas's body, running his tongue over the smooth, flawless skin. Legolas gasped soundlessly and grabbed a fistful of Aragorn's hair when the Ranger's warm tongue found his cock and began to slide over the sensitive skin beneath it. He wanted to say something: he wanted to cry and moan and scream and kick, so overwhelming was his pleasure, but he was unaccustomed to using such passionate displays of emotion so instead he bit his lip and tried to suppress the words – mostly meaningless and barely thought out - that he wanted to say as Aragorn's mouth moved lovingly about his cock. Finally, the Ranger lifted his head, leaving Legolas hungry for more and yet strangely satisfied. Aragorn ran his hand over his chest once before pulling his hips closer and placing his legs on his shoulders.

"This may hurt," he said softly, looking down at him with a concerned expression. At that moment, as he had many times in the past when a strange mood was upon him, he looked, in truth, like the king that he was. His long black hair hung about his face in wavy strands, framing his strong jaw and the curves of his face that at once made him look so handsome and yet at the same time so dark and proud. The moonlight shone upon that weary face and to Legolas it seemed as if he were in the presence of every majestic king that had walked upon the earth embodied within one man. He didn't know whether the though scared him or aroused him. Aragorn put his fingers in his mouth and then slid them between Legolas's spread legs. He felt one finger slip inside of him, followed by another and another. They felt so foreign. He winced.

"Shall we end this?" Aragorn asked.

"No," Legolas sighed shakily and muttered something in his own tongue as Aragorn pulled his finger out and then pushed them back in again, "no, go on."

The pleasure-laced ting in the elf's voice made Aragorn lick his lips and he began to move his fingers faster and faster until the elf beneath him broke into a cold sweat and began to wriggle and mutter a string of broken assents and pleads. The kings eyes swept over the sweat slickened chest and thighs that glittered beautifully in the moonlight and, though he tried to hide it for the elf's sake, his eyes burned with hunger, an insatiable desire, to ravish the perfect body; ravish it in a way that brought them both an unthinkable sort of pleasure. He pulled his fingers out one last time and moved in closer to Legolas. The fierce night wind that blew against his back was cold, icy, almost, but Legolas's thighs were warm and oh so velvety soft as they rested against his body. He nuzzled the elf's snow white ankles and kissed his toes in a display of affection but found, much to his disappointment, that Legolas seemed more anxious than not.

"Look at me," Aragorn commanded as he slid one hand between his legs. He pulled Legolas close – impossibly close with the other. Legolas looked up at him, a look of trust and confusion breaking through the anxiety. "Look at me and do not look away."

With that he guided his cock into Legolas's tight hole, grunting ever so slightly with the effort. "Legolas," he muttered, trying to catch the elf's eye. "Legolas, look at me. Look into my eyes. Do you trust me?"

"I trust you."

Aragorn reached down and stroked Legolas's cheek, the last gentle form of affection that he was to spare that night and then placed his hand back on Legolas's ankle. Gripping tightly, he shoved the rest of his length into the elf's body until he felt himself buried to the hilt in a tight, quivering warmth. He could feel the waves of passion began to roll through his body; clouding his mind and making him clumsy with desire. He grabbed Legolas's thighs and began to thrust , making the elf gasp and cry out in pleasure and pain. His own cock bounced helplessly against his belly with every thrust and, seeing that the elf would not allow himself (was he perhaps ashamed?) the added pleasure, Aragorn wrapped his hand about it and pumped it in time with his own movements. The friction between Aragorn's palm and his own manhood combined with the strange yet pleasurable sensation that came from the feeling of Aragorn's thick length inside of him was enough to make the elf cast aside all previous doubts. He found that if he clenched exactly at the right moment he'd experience a new sort of pleasure that caused a funny fluttering sensation in his stomach and made him cringe. Legolas bit his finger and moaned deep in his throat as Aragorn bent down and kissed his neck while at the same time quickening his tempo. He wanted to say something to the king – his king at that moment– but found that he was incapable of speech. Right at that moment Aragorn raised his head and looked into his eyes, a faint smile playing around his lips. Legolas felt a laugh rise within his chest but the feeling was quickly replaced by a jolt of pleasure that spiked through his body and made him shudder. He quickly closed his eyes and the cobalt blue light that had held captive Aragorn's heart only a moment ago quickly vanished. His kissed Legolas's neck once more before running his tongue up to the strong jaw and nibbling along the rim of the elf's pointed ear. He felt Legolas laugh beneath him and knew that he had achieved his goal. Assured of the elf's comfort now, he allowed himself to indulge completely in the ecstasy that was quickly rising within him. His thrusts became uncontrolled, erratic and the only sounds that could be heard at that moment were Aragorn's quick, studded breaths, the elf's higher-pitched cries, and the quickening sound of flesh against flesh.

"Aragorn…Aragorn…I think I am going to -!" suddenly the elf arched his back and cried out into the night: a cry that was quickly muffled by Aragorn's palm. But the Ranger could do nothing to stop the suddenly wild bucking of Legolas's hips against his own as the elf spilled his seed all over his chest. But it did not matter for, spurred on by the fluttering and tightening of Legolas's body, Aragorn emptied himself in one final, mighty thrust.

Panting, Aragorn lowered himself onto the elf's body and closed his eyes. He suddenly felt extraordinarily tired and drained of all energy. Legolas's chest was warm and soft against his cheek and he felt as if he could lay there forever: basking in the muted euphoria that warmed him and the sound of Legolas's slow breathing. He could feel the wetness between their bellies and thought to himself through a cloud of drowsiness that he ought to do something about it but, at that moment, he was content with letting the sound of Legolas's heart beat soothe him into a light, dreamless sleep. He felt hands run through his hair and caress his back.

"Aragorn…" Legolas breathed. He kissed the top of his head.

"Yes, my dearest friend?" He looked up at Legolas and had to suppress a laugh. The elf wore a look of intense confusion as if he were trying to remember something long since passed.

"For the first time in my life…I feel as if I do not possess the words with which I can express how I feel."

"Then use your lips."

"But that is the problem. I cannot –"

"No," Aragorn said, his eyes flashing mischievously, "use your lips." With that he tilted his chin up and kissed Legolas once again. The elf had to crane his neck to in order to catch Aragorn's lips in his own and because of it the kiss was awkward and sloppy and yet they found pleasure in the soft wetness that was their lust. Legolas pulled away and looked Aragorn in the eye.

"Well, Aragorn? Do you feel sufficiently rested?" Aragorn smiled a true, full smile of the sort so few had ever had the privilege of seeing. He could find no witty words to complete this banter so instead he laid his head back down on Legolas's chest and ran his hand over his smooth forearm.

"Yes," he said and with that he drifted off to sleep. But Legolas's could not sleep. He stayed awake all night, watching the stars fade away into a misty blue until finally, as the birds began to sing their morning ballads, he was taken by shameful, biting dreams.