The soft curls of pipe smoke were
easily visible against the dark backdrop of the night sky, and Gimli
squinted up at them, entertaining himself with fanciful thoughts of
creatures shaped into smoke. No artist was he, unlike Gandalf, but
his imagination served him well enough.
The Elf was seated not far from him, crouched atop one of the smooth
boulders that lined their camp as he scanned the forest with bright
eyes. Gimli drew in another mouthful of smoke, savoring the rich
taste for as long as he could before exhaling it into the night air.
Pipe weed was very much a luxury and he would appreciate each breath
until their supply was finally exhausted.
A soft breeze carried the billow towards the Elf, and he watched as
Legolas inhaled, his nostrils flaring delicately as he scented it.
He had grudgingly offered his pipe to the Elf a few nights ago,
thinking it only courtesy, and had been rebuffed, though Legolas had
confessed to trying it before and not finding it to his liking. He
did admit that though he did not care for the flavor, he found the
scent compelling, which would explain his nearness whenever Gimli
smoked.
Across from them, past the sleeping shapes of the Hobbits and
Gandalf, he could see the dim outlines of Boromir and Aragorn moving
around. He thought perhaps Aragorn was dressing the wound on
Boromir's hand, received earlier that day. The Man had tried to
conceal it from them, in some foolish bit of pride, but he could not
hide the scent of blood from the Elf. Surely Aragorn would insist on
seeing it despite any protests, though Gimli wondered wryly why
Boromir would resist when any fool could see how he looked at the
other Man.
Or perhaps that was his reason for resisting.
Shaking away the thought, Gimli looked instead at his companion, who
was reclining lazily against the boulder as though it were a bed of
feathers and satin.
"Are you sure you will not have any, Elf?" he asked gruffly, again
offering his pipe. Legolas had taken off his boots and Gimli noted
his feet were as shapely and smooth as the rest of him. "Perhaps it
will put some hair on the naked skin that you call a chest!"
Legolas laughed softly and rubbed his foot against the boulder as
though feeling for something. He gestured at his chest, still hidden
beneath his tunics. "I assure you that this field is fallow and
shall not grow, no matter what seed you spread over it."
Though he tried to resist it, the Elf's words brought an image to
his mind that would not be dismissed. Days of travel had forced a
certain familiarity between them until it no longer had to be forced
and to his shame Gimli had found himself seeking the Elf's company.
He would have guessed he would dislike any Elf he might meet but
Legolas had proved to be strong and loyal, and the brilliance of his
smile would have lit a torch. They were slowly becoming friends, and
for that he tried not to think of the seed he would have liked to
spread over that 'fallow field', to glisten on the Elf's delicate
face and in the moonlight he would shine like the gem that he was.
To his surprise, the moment that guilty thought appeared in his mind
something in the Elf's eyes changed, and the curve of his lips
shifted into something closer to a smirk. "Indeed?" he asked softly,
raising a brow at the dwarf.
Flustered, Gimli tapped out his pipe on the side of the boulder and
looked away from those knowing eyes. It was a poor enough thing to
seek an Elf's company without thoughts such as these to torment him.
To his shock, the Elf slithered across the rock with a movement more
appropriate to a beast than a creature that walked on two legs. He
settled himself in front of Gimli, batting away the Dwarf's
protesting hands like he might an annoying insect, and nuzzled
softly at the front of his trousers.
"Do you invade my thoughts then?" Gimli gasped, equal parts annoyed
and aroused, for how could he remain unmoved with a creature such as
this kneeling before him?
"I am no mind reader. One would not have to be to see that thought
in your mind."
Legolas plucked open the fastenings of Gimli's trousers, pushing
through the opening to wrap slender fingers around his shaft and he
could not help but groan and arch into that touch. It ended far too
quickly, only a few teasing strokes before Legolas pulled away and
Gimli would have snarled bitter words at him, called him the
pasty-faced cockteasing cunt that he was if he had not lowered his
head, shoving Gimli to lean backwards so he could bury his face into
the Dwarf's lap.
The Elf's mouth was hotter than any forge, with a wickedly clever
tongue to circle and tease at the head of Gimli's cock. He did not
flinch from the first tentative thrust of Gimli's hips and it took
no encouragement for the Dwarf to fill his hands with the cool silk
of Legolas' hair and fuck that eager, too-hot mouth, and did all
Dwarves know of the sluttish nature of Elves then surely there would
never have been distance between them.
Legolas hummed softly, contentedly, as Gimli forced himself deeper
into that sweet heat and he groaned at the vibration, hunching
upward frantically, brutally, trying to wrench another sound from
the Elf, even of protest, and yet none were forthcoming. It mattered
not; the flaring sparks of pleasure in his balls were about to
ignite, he could feel it, and at the last possible moment Gimli
wrenched the Elf upward by his hair, watching through narrowed eyes
the soft spatter of glistening droplets on Legolas' rapt face. Eyes
still closed, the Elf licked away a bead that had settled on his
lower lip and made a sound of contentment.
He had been right; in the moonlight and against the skin of the Elf,
the droplets were luminescent, sliding down Legolas's cheeks in
delicate threads, and suddenly they seemed far too reminiscent of
tears and Gimli tasted bitter guilt on the back of his tongue at how
he had treated him.
Cupping the Elf's face in his hands, Gimli carefully began licking
away each glistening trail until his own lips met the Elf's and they
both ceased to care, falling back against the soft loam of the
forest floor.
"The taste of pipe weed is much more enjoyable coming from your
lips," Legolas gasped, running his tongue over Gimli's lips and
drawing a chuckle from the Dwarf.
"Yes, I believe some things taste better on your skin as well,"
Gimli murmured, amused at the rush of color to the Elf's cheek as he
lapped away a drying streak of his own seed from it. The feel of the
Elf's lips caressing him in return was another luxury and, unlike
the pipe weed, this held the promise of lasting for some time.
A soft sound carried on the wind towards them, something like a
moan, and Gimli frowned to hear it, both of them pausing to listen.
Another sound, certainly a moan this time and Gimli chuckled softly.
It would seem he wasn't the only one who had gotten an unexpected
gift this evening, and he wondered what the morning would bring. For
the moment, he was going to worry only about the Elf in his lap,
moving against him sinuously.
Let Aragorn fight his own battles this once.
-finis-
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