A silver moon glowed, a slender sickle of cool radiance, a bright window spilling the lustre of some hidden realm beyond the Void into the night, and the stars winked and sparkled with fitting fire and brilliance against the sable sky. Between the earth and the heavens all was calm and quiet, for Tilion and the multitude of Varda's gifts sang with voices that were not heard by the ear but rather with the heart. The Song of the firmament was joyful and winsome for it was midnight of the Summer Solstice, the first hour of Midsummer's Eve.

The wind did not blow, thus the leaves could not speak, and the birds were silent, all at roost, sleeping in the fair trees of Lothlorien. Under the eaves, where the Moon could but peek and the stars only glimpse, the limbs and branches of the mighty Mellyrn were all aglitter from the twinkling light emitted by a multitude of tiny lanterns hanging there, mimicking the majestic display so far beyond sight. Each lamp was cloaked in a jewel-papered square shade upon which was painted one symbol of the tengwar so that these showed dark and stark against the softly coloured lights. It was a Midsummer's Eve tradition among the elves to collect the letters needed to spell out the name of one's secret love and hang them in the branches above one's talan. If the flames were extinguished the suite was denied, but if the candles burned till dawn then the match was fated to be.

An elfling's game, perhaps, but on such a night all the First-born were willing to play.

In the heart of the fabled elven home, every detail had been attended and everyone was anxious to begin the festivities anew, having rested from the exhausting events that marked the daylight hours and the initiation of the Mordor Gras celebration. Tall, elegant gilded candelabra stood ringing the central glade, gleaming with soft golden light like saplings of Laurelin. The place was wreathed in a nimbus of saffron resplendence such that the halls of the Valar in Aman could not compare in the richness of its simple grace. Caras Galadon awaited the arrival of the Lord and Lady upon the dais prepared for them, there to be seated in honour and glory to greet the revellers as they entered the enchanted circle, presenting themselves and their escorts in costume for the Grand Masque. In the shadows betwixt the wide, stalwart boles figures could be discerned, shady silhouettes shifting into position, each pair of ghostly couples hoping to make the most dazzling entrance.

A hush of breathless awe stole over the clearing and all eyes lifted to the abode of the Lord and Lady.

In silence the fair rulers of the Galadhrim descended, flowing down the twisting stairway in measured decorum, and as they passed little lights ignited along the railing so that a wondrous tail of luminance trailed behind them. Galadriel was dressed in golden gauzy silk, clothed in the very effulgence of the Sun, an incarnation of Arien, fiery, bold, untouchable in the heat of her radiant soul. The fabric draped her form yet seemed to flicker and dance as would flames upon the coals. She wore a mask that covered her from nose to hairline, its shape the countenance of Anor with rays out-stretched to the heavens, shining with its own light, and from behind it her sapphire eyes shone like gems.

Beside her, Celeborn walked in cool opposition, garbed in the pale, icy splendour of Ithil, his garments constructed of silver satin embroidered with threads of mithril that dripped down the fabric like dew drops shed by Telperion in days of old. His outer robe was heavy, its wide sleeves trimmed in snowy velvet, and a sumptuous train pooled behind him as he moved. It was open in the front and beneath he wore white satin breeches and silver hose, a silver waistcoat and a simple white under shirt. He wore no mask, but his face was painted to match the phase of Ithil that night: a bright argent crescent against a black background, so that half his features were obscured and the rest starkly revealed; the effect was both eery and intriguing.

Together they descended, the Maiden Crowned in Gold beside the Silver Tree, and took possession of the night. Her blazing brilliance was balanced by his quiescent sheen and the force of their regal presence was a palpable thing that brought everyone to respectful attention. The Lord seated his Lady and stepped forward to address the hidden crowd.

"It is Aurand Heriol, the beginning of the Long Day!" he called out to the unseen revellers, his arms held forth in open welcome before him. "Now comes Laer and the ripening of the fields, the maturing of fruits, and the fulfilment of our heart's desires. Now is the season of love and laughter, joy and passion, and each shall seek the comfort of a soul-mate for eternal union. Enter, my friends and kinsmen, honoured guests, and acquaintances old and new! Enter the Circle of Enchantment and Dance!" As this invitation concluded a bright, sparkling cheer arose and Lord Ithil took his seat beside Lady Anor while the sprightly music of pipes and lyres filled the glade with the irresistible strains of a silvan reel.

Yet no one came forth for a moment or two.

Everyone waited, anticipating the first couple's advance, and at last a pair emerged from the twilit shadows amid a burst of praises and applause. It was Arwen and her King, portraying Melian and her beloved Thingol. They were stunning in the simple costumes of those early days when Elw‘ was a love-struck ellon and Melian a Maia so enthralled by his beauty that she forgot her purpose on Arda and adopted his. The Evenstar was dressed in a tiered skirt of forest green tulle, flounced and full with petticoats underneath so that it swayed like a bell about her knees, and a blouse of orchid with a gathered neck and puffed sleeves, each embroidered in bold colours at the binding with flowers and little birds. Aragorn wore the durable garments of a hunter: sueded leather leggings, undyed, tall, sturdy boots made for long journeying afoot, and a fine woollen tunic the hue of smashed blackberries. They stood before the dais and bowed but did not begin the dance, for there were others of high rank to greet. The King and Queen of Gondor took a place upon Galadriel's right and turned to watch the next pair's entrance.

Elladan and Elrohir, the Lords of Imladris, strode forth from the trees amid wild applause. They portrayed their father and uncle, Elrond and Elros, with Elladan as the first King of the Numenorians, bedecked in velvet robes and adorned in precious jewels, crowned with majesty and a coronet of mithril and diamonds. Elrohir wore the bright armour of the High King's Herald, Aeglos in his left hand and a band of woven silver across his brow to hold back his flowing ebony hair. Fair they were to behold and many an elleth and ellon sighed in disappointment to see they were firmly committed to one another, attested by their tightly clasped hands upon which shone the glint of matching mithril bands. They advanced and bowed low before their grandparents and took their places alongside Arwen and Aragorn.

Next to appear were Eomer and Lothiriel, for though mortal they were held in high esteem due to the horse lord's valiant role in the Ring War and Rohan's unfailing loyalty to Gondor. The couple were bold in their costumes, appearing as Tom Bombadil, the eldest elder, and his Lady Goldberry the River-daughter. Eomer had died his hair and beard dark and traded his kingly garb for the rugged attire of the indefatigable ancient, while Lothiriel had no need to bleach her naturally golden locks. She sported a gown of pale blue silk that clung to every curve as though she had just emerged from the river and wore a crown water lilies woven through her tresses. They acknowledged the admiration of the onlookers and then bowed with formal grace to their host and hostess. The King and Queen of Rohan likewise took a place aside, this time on the left of the dais, as eager as children to behold the next partygoers.

A brief minute or two passed before anyone else came forward, for there seemed to be some altercation occurring between the would-be entrants. A whispered but strident argument ensued, for the most part unintelligible but for several interjections of the words 'Last of the Elven Kings', and finally the issue was resolved. From out of the shadows stepped Thranduil, King of the Wood Elves, accompanied by his daughter, Princess Selldhuin. They were also meant to be dressed as Thingol and Melian, but seeing that their idea had been copied, Thranduil insisted they were portraying his parents, Oropher and Ninui of Neldoreth. Thranduil's long grey cape rather gave him away, however.

His daughter's appearance was utterly incomprehensible. It was remarked by many that Sellduin's costume did not look anything like the styles worn in the Elder Days and certainly was not something a Lady of any elven realm would wear, much less one of the Istari. Her clothes were very snug and revealing, comprised of slick black stretchy pants and a matching top in a bicolored black and maroon design. Upon the left breast of this tunic was a golden medallion shaped like an inverted 'V' over an oval, like this:
She had her hair pulled back and twisted into a tightly controlled knot at the nape of her neck. Selldhuin did not bow; instead, she raised her right hand palm out-facing and parted her fingers between the second and the third, creating a 'V' shaped gap. "Live long and prosper," she said solemnly and then stepped quietly aside to stand beside Iarwain and Goldberry.

Well, no one knew what to think so they just pretended everything was fine while wondering if Selldhuin would have to make her entrance again with her husband and what she would pretend to be then. Really, everyone knew Thranduil had a Royal Consort and that Selldhuin absolutely loathed her, refusing to visit home on holidays and such on account of her being in Eryn Lasgalen. Apparently, the fact that she was also Selldhuin's aunt, sister to her deceased naneth, might have had something to do with the friction between them.

After this, everyone was ready for a lighter mood and burst into laughter as the next pair came out. They were dressed as Echthelion of the Fountain, Lord of Gondolin, and Gothmog, the Lord of the Balrogs, both killed in mortal combat against each other at the sack of Gondolin. While this was not an amusing topic by any means, the fact that Erestor was playing The Lord of the Fountain and Glorfindel was dressed as the Balrog made the situation darkly humorous in an ironic sort of way. They hammed it up terribly, enacting the death scene briefly to much applause, and hastened aside. That they came to the ball together was not unexpected, for news had gotten around that the two had made their affair more permanent since Glorfindel had concluded his forced detention in Valinor.

Subdued exclamations of amazed delight accompanied the next entrants: Lord Elrond of Imladris with none other than the lovely Cher upon his arm. They represented his esteemed grandparents: Tuor and Idril. Elrond was decked out in the actual armour of his forebear, a family heirloom protected and maintained through the Ages. The shining mithril metal gleamed as if new and Dramborleg, the hero's deadly axe, was clutched in his right fist. With the winged helmet's visor drawn down it seemed as though the mighty mortal, first Man to wed a fair maid of Elfinesse, drew breath again.

Beside him, Cher played the part of Idril Silver Foot and walked unshod into the glade. Her raiment was of pale, translucent celandine cut in a simple style with a hem that trailed to mid-calf from a fitted bodice laced at the waist with golden cord. The gown had no sleeves but her arms with decorated in gold leaf painted upon her skin in a fair pattern of swirling vines and flowers. The neck of the creation formed a deep vee and about its edge were stitched tiny seeds of pearl. Her long black hair swung loose about her, held back upon her white brow with a simple circlet of twisted gold.

There was no doubt that these two were the favourites thus far, for they were stunning to behold. Indeed, the Lord and Lady rose to greet them and bowed in turn to their guests.

Following such an inspiring example would make even the finest costume seem plain in comparison, and none were willing to stand forth at first. Then a smattering of laughter heralded the brave revellers bold enough to challenge so regal a couple. Into the circle trotted all four of the halflings and their wives, save for Frodo who was yet unmarried and had brought one of his cousins to the party. The dear Hobbits were dressed as themselves, but each played the role of one of the others, save Pippin. Thus Frodo wore Merry's Gondorian uniform; Sam was dressed as a Rohirric night in Pippin's old battle gear; Merry was laden down with three packs, a coil of hithlain, and a set of cookery while clasping a trowel (being Sam, you see) and dear Pippin was scampering about in a loin cloth and nothing else, murmuring "Where isssss it, my Preccccccciousss? They has it, they doesss!", for he was of course playing Gollum (though with much more hair).

The Hobbit ladies were bedecked as mischievous Brownies in adorable little short, tooth-edged skirts and fitted tops of chocolate-coloured wool, dark brown hose and cute little black felt slippers that curved up into elaborate points at the ends. From the toe of each shoe came the jingling of little silver bells and the Brownies had more bells about their ankles. They each carried a big canvas sack and went racing around the perimeter of the clearing, tossing out handfuls of 'Fairy Dust' upon the obscured onlookers, making them sneeze and laugh all at the same time.

After this, no one was too shy to come forward. In no time Vizier Haldir made his appearance portraying Beleg Strong Bow, elven friend of Turin Turambar, who had met a tragic end at the point of the dread blade Mormegil. Orophin was his 'escort' dressed as the terrible dragon Glorund. His entire body was painted in fiery red and over it he had a lace of shimmering silver and blue scales that billowed behind him as he moved. Upon his head a fierce mask with gaping jaws had smoke trailing from its nostrils. They acted a battle scene in which Beleg slew the Foaloke with his hunting knife, and while this was a pure fiction no one seemed to mind and they were highly lauded for their originality. Maedhred, Thurintu, Dagrohir, and Darwinor came as corsairs; Mithrandir came in his alternate physical manifestation of Olorin and brought Sonny dressed as Bilbo Baggins. Gimli was of course Durin the First and had hoped to coax Legolas into playing Durin's Bain so they could have a rousing fight scene together, but the Wood Elf was not at the ball.

In no time the glen was filled with happy couples and singles dancing to the music and enjoying themselves, whirling around and round as the minstrels played. Many folks had been lucky enough, or so they thought, to catch a pair of the exquisite dancing slippers crafted by the spider-bunnies, who were now all either dead or detained in cages back in Rabbit Lea where they could not get at the revellers again. However, as the night wore on it became apparent that something was amiss. No one took a rest. No one sauntered over to the refreshment table for drinks and nibbles. No one sneaked out together for snogs and shags. Everyone kept dancing and dancing and dancing, frantic and frightened and exhausted though they were.

The shoes had been enchanted, of course, for Sharp Tooth had intended to spare the Galadhrim from his wrath in the Harey Way take-over by preventing them from being able to retaliate. The fact that he staged his coup BEFORE the ball speaks to his lack of foresight, and after all he is only a rabbit.

The mortals started passing out first, of course, but no one really thought anything was wrong when the Hobbits succumbed for they were so much smaller and could not be expected to keep up with elves. As a few humans began to feel faint, worry began to accumulate and when even dwarves, hardiest of all the mortal people, began to weep in despair, Galadriel and Celeborn realised there was a problem. In vain she attempted one counter spell after another but still the revellers danced on. She got Celeborn to dance her over to Mithrandir to see if he could help and…

['Pssssssst! Narrator!'] disembodied voice interrupts rudely.

[What? Who is that? I am rather in the middle of something here.] Yours truly is not amused.

['It's important.']

[Well who are you? And where are you? Show yourself!] A bizarre cricket wearing a top hat and a fancy vest appears, tips his hat and bows. [Jimminy Cricket? What the Hell are you doing in my fairy tale story? This is about elves, not wooden boys.] (oooh. That sounds a bit risqué.)

['I'm the little voice inside your head that tells you when something's wrong.']

[Great, my conscience. All right, what is so important that you would break my creative flow? I am on a tight schedule here, this story was due two days ago.]

['Well, you seem to have forgotten something.']

[And that would be?]

[Mithrandir destroyed Saruman's Spell Book in the last chapter, thus breaking the rabbits' source of power. All the spells were lifted instantly.']

[oh. right. heh heh] Yours truly is rather red-faced. Jimminy, his mission successfully completed, disappears in a puff of white smoke. Narrator tries to think of a logical way out of this. I have already written the whole ballroom masque intro, with the shining moon and the gleaming stars, the twinkling lights and the pretty outfits. Oh, sod it! Root and Root it all! (That's Oz for the F word.) ((Oh yeah, Oz means Australian.)) Sigh. We'll just skip to what everyone really wants anyway: the smut.

Legolas sat beside Rumil's bed in the Galadhrim's lofty talan, patiently waiting for the brave ellon to awaken. The Lord of Ithilien had insisted that Elrond himself tend to the warrior's many bites and scratches, none of which were serious but they were numerous. Poor Rumil was miserable, for every way he turned there was a bruise or a cut and he could not get comfortable. At last he had permitted the famed elven healer to give him a sleeping draught, for he did not want to miss the ball and without rest he would never heal in time. Of course, he slept on past the start of the masque and Legolas did not want to go without him, thus he dressed in his party clothes, ran out to run a couple of errands and order some take-out, and sat down to wait.

As he waited, Legolas thought about all that had happened and considered what Rumil had done. He wasn't sure how he felt about things, really. On the one hand, getting a hand job and a hickey in front of half the residents of the Golden Wood and various visiting mortals was humiliating, even if it had felt incredibly good, too. Yet, Rumil had hastened to his side and placed himself between Legolas and the attacking rabbits, at grave consequences to his own health. Legolas wanted to trust the Lorien archer; he hadn't ever had a real boyfriend who wanted more than a night with the famous Fellowship member but the incident at the parade made it seem Rumil only wanted a trophy to show off. Then there were the lanterns hanging from the balcony of Rumil's talan where everyone could see. They spelled out Legolas' name in pale blue and pink and green and yellow. That had made him blush for Elrond saw them, too, and gave him a nudge and a wink.

Legolas sighed and got up. He walked to the bathing flet and examined his appearance in the full-length mirror there, wondering if the costume was too revealing. His body was completely covered, but the silk tunic was of such filmy stuff that one could see right through it. His nipples stood out faintly, too, calling even more attention to themselves but he could do nothing about that; the sensation of the slippery material sliding over them was rather thrilling. Legolas ran his fingers lightly over the hard pink points and shuddered deeply, wishing Rumil would do it instead. A strong throbbing against his thigh made his gaze travel down and he was both dismayed and pleased to find his thickening shaft made a very noticeable bulge. Legolas sighed anew, confused and worried, for he wanted Rumil to notice and yet feared for him to notice, all at the same time.

He went out on the balcony, for the twentieth time, to see if everything was ready, checked the little lanterns to make sure none had blown out, and readjusted the placement of the wine glasses on the white-linen covered table for two. It was the lanterns that had swayed him; that and Elrond's encouragement not to give up so soon, that there might be another explanation for Rumil's behaviour. Now if the Galadhrim warden would just wake up so he could ask him, Legolas would be happy. Or at least no longer torn between dread and desire. He set the glasses back as they had been originally. Everything was perfect. He had a fine bottle of his father's best vintage chilling, a platter of delectable goodies, and a little fondue pot with melted chocolate. It was just warm enough to be a thick, gooey, luscious liquid and he dipped his finger in, swirling it to coat it well, then pulled it out and sucked the chocolate off slowing, eyes closed in ecstasy.

"Mmmmm, so good," he whispered.

"You can say that again. Am I dreaming or is the Prince of Mirkwood standing on my balcony, partaking of sensuous delights that make him moan in decadent tones?" murmured Rumil from the bed, just waking at that moment. Truly thinking it was a dream, his hand burrowed under the covers and found a nice firm elven rod to grasp. He wondered briefly why he was naked and his side was a little sore, but didn't care overly much because Legolas was now striding quickly to his bedside.

"I am here. How do you feel?" asked the Lord of Ithilien.

"I feel glorious, my golden prince, and am about to feel truly wonderful," purred Rumil. His eyes travelled from the skin tight soft velvet leggings where his dream-lover's obvious interest made his cock twitch in his hand up to the see-through top and the dark little spots where two erect nipples stared back at him. Somehow his vision never made it past that point.

Legolas laughed lightly and shook his head. "I am not a prince, you know. My Nana wasn't married to Ada. She abandoned me for her life on the road as an entertainer. Selldhuin is the only legitimate heir." His eyes left Rumil's face to travel lower and he smirked a bit at the unmistakable motion going on underneath the quilt.

"Ah, interesting. So does Thranduil have any other little bastards running around besides you?" Rumil still thought he was asleep and didn't think it would be wrong to say such a thing. It was his dream, after all.

Except it wasn't a dream and Legolas got offended. "That is really rude!. I cannot help it if they never married. You do not have to call me that!" He got up and returned to the balcony, back to the Lorien archer. "I do not understand why you are kind and playful one minute and then cruel the next! I thought we had this chemistry going between us."

Realisation dawned and Rumil stopped stroking himself. "Oh! I am sorry! Did I really say that? I thought I was dreaming, Legolas, truly."

"You are sorry, you are sorry! I suppose you regret giving me this too?" Legolas wheeled about and ripped open his expensive, designer-made high-collared, sheer ice blue silk shirt to expose the dark red oval on his neck. Elven strength being what it is and Legolas being upset and all, the lovely tunic tore open all the way to his midriff, exposing his shoulder and a dusky nipple atop a firm, sculpted pectoral.

Rumil swallowed, sight frozen to the rise and fall of the small red peak, Legolas' clutching the ripped fabric as he panted with…indigantion?…excitement?…both?, wishing he could resume masturbating while he had such an erotic site before him. Then decided he would prefer a thorough exploration of Legolas' fine body instead. He needed the woodland archer to come back over to the bed. "I do not regret doing it, but I do wish I hadn't done it in a way that upset you. I did not know you would be so sensitive about it."

"Oh, I just seem the type who likes to be pawed and petted in public, my most vulnerable, primal responses put on display for all to gawk over and get off to? What, have you seen pictures of me in some skin rag like Hustler or Hard Core?"

"Uh, no, are there any?"

"NO! Valar! What sort of person do you think I am?"

"Well you were not shy about walking around naked and aroused in front of the Geeks. I was doing a lot more to you when they finally left the talan than when…"

"Do NOT call them that! They are like family to me; Thurintu is my uncle. I trust them absolutely and there was no question in my mind they would give me my privacy."

"I suppose it is a cultural difference, then, for I would not be caught with a lover in front of my uncle and his friends." Rumil propped himself up on one elbow to glare back at the angry ellon. Legolas was not some untried innocent, from what he had heard, and this was just a bit much. "Of course, I would never be party-bait either."

"Are you implying my people have loose morals? Are you saying I am in the habit of putting on a show for any and all comers?" Legolas was livid, his face darkly flushed, his voice a low, gut-freezing rumble, his eyes cold in the intensity of his wrath.

There was nothing at all affected by this display and Rumil realised he had just taken the conversation in the wrong direction. He felt sweat collect on the nape of his neck. "I never said, I mean people say stuff, no, um, I…"

"What? What do people say? Tell me, I would love to know!" Legolas was fuming, pacing back and forth in front of the bed.

Rumil did not dare get up and go to him, being naked and fully aroused, though he did want to comfort and calm his guest and, hopefully, lover. He was desperate to turn the situation around and have back the lovely, dreamy, sexy elf he had awakened to find in his rooms. "I did not mean to say that either; it does not matter what ignorant fools say, Legolas. You are beautiful and people get jealous, that is the source of such idle gossip."

Legolas turned and stalked to the bed, loomed over the prone warrior and planted his hands on either side of Rumil's head. "Tell. Me. What. They. Say." He ground out in absolute fury, noticing in spite of his rage how very blue Rumil's eyes were when seen this close. Blue with tiny motes of green and gold scattered here and there.

"I do not want to upset you any further. I want to make things right, Legolas." Rumil stalled, though he was fairly certain Legolas already knew what he had heard. How could he not? The topic came up whenever the Lord of Ithilien made a public appearance that was captured for broadcast, which was quite frequent. Of course, nothing was ever mentioned in the legitimate press or on LBC, but word got around.

"Tell me." Legolas insisted; his breath wafted across Rumil's face and sent a little strand of hair fluttering across his forehead.

"They say that you let Glorfindel's friends take turns, um, having you at his Re-Begetting Day Party in Lindon six years ago." Rumil said quickly, dreading the outcome and hoping he survived it. He wondered if there was anyone around to hear him if he had to scream for help and doubted it, remembering that everyone had gone to the ball. As he watched, however, his fears turned to sorrow, for Legolas' face crumpled, followed by his arms and then his whole body, as the Wood Elf collapsed atop Rumil in tears.

He was quiet about it, and that worried Rumil more, for the pain seemed to be something very deep and the shame was almost a scent in the air the emotion clung so thickly to the silvan archer. Legolas wasn't making any noisy sobbing sounds, no wailing or gnashing of teeth, no garbled syllables that were words of explanation trying to get through the tears. He was just quietly falling apart. Not knowing what else to do, Rumil let instinct take control and sat up, gathering Legolas close and drawing his lanky form fully onto the bed. He just held the elf tight and let him cry, stroking his hair gently and rubbing his back a little now and again.

"I am sorry," he whispered. "I suppose I did allow such talk to influence me. I will never do anything like that again if you would give me another chance. I will treat you like a prince indeed."

"It's true."

"What?" so soft he almost didn't hear them, Legolas' words shocked the Lorien elf into rigid stillness. He was certain he must have heard wrong.

"I did not 'let them', however. Glorfindel and I, well I thought he was really interested, and maybe if this had not happened we might still be together. We had been seeing each other for about a month. Oh anyway, I was infatuated with him and I went to the party. We both had too much to drink and I agreed to play a game. You know the kind I mean? Role playing. With sex." Legolas lifted his tear streaked face to check Rumil's eyes.

With a shaky smile Rumil nodded, wiping away some of the wetness with his fingers. "Yes, I know about that; lots of folks play those games, Legolas. That is nothing to be ashamed of. What, um, exactly were you two playing?"

"Master and Slave. I agreed to be tied up and punished and then ravaged for being a disobedient Slave. It was fun at first. Glorfindel stripped me and laid me down on a sofa table in a sitting room. Nobody was there; we had slipped off and left all the other guests in the main hall, dancing and drinking.

"Anyway, he pulled my hands above my head and then tied them to the table leg. That was awkward and hurt my back so he put a cushion under me. Then he made me position my legs up on the edge of the table and he tied them that way, a rope bound to each knee and then to one of the table legs. He pulled my legs wide apart so that I was completely exposed; I was trussed up and totally at his mercy then.

"He played with me and made me hard, which didn't take much effort at that point, I admit. But then he unfastened my braids and used one of the leather ties to bind up my cock so I wouldn't come until he said so, since I was a disobedient slave and deserved punishment. He teased and tormented me! He sucked and licked and squeezed me until I was begging him for release. He wanted me to talk dirty; I had to beg for him to punish me by flogging my nipples with his belt. I had to plead for him to ram the neck of a wine bottle up my arse and fuck me with it, which he did. In between these activities I would worship his cock and he thrust it down my throat till I gagged. All the time I had to keep begging for him to fuck me because I needed his huge hard rod to ride me. I did need it, too, by then. When he finally decided to enter me, he took me dry and thankfully it did not take long for him to reach his peak. He came, pulled out, then pulled up his pants and left me there."

"What?" Rumil was finding it difficult to concentrate on anything besides his throbbing erection with such vivid images assailing his brain, but that statement brought him back to reality. "Glorfindel just walked out and left you like that?"

"He said he was going to get us some wine and that he would be right back, but he never returned. I waited for what seemed hours. My shoulders were hurting and my arms were turning numb. My cock was burning and I could do nothing about it. At last the door opened and I looked up, expecting to see Glorfindel and already starting to tell him off. Except it wasn't him. It was two other elves I had never met before that night, friends of his who lived in Lindon. I think one of them was the host for the party. The looks on their faces as their eyes tracked over me was so mortifying! But in a way I was relieved it was over and asked them to untie me. They didn't. Neither did any of the others who came in after them. There were five total; they all handled me, they all used me, mostly while the rest watched.

"I don't know how long it really took before I finally passed out but it seemed like an Age or more. When I came to, Glorfindel was there and so was C’rdan, and that was humiliating, to have such a distinguished elder see me like that. Glorfindel was apologising as C’rdan cut through the bonds and covered me, trying to work the circulation back through my limbs. Glorfindel kept saying he did go to get wine, but was so drunk he had to vomit and must have passed out in the privy, because he was lying there when he finally awoke. He claims he did not know about any of the things the others did. I did not really care by then. I was not thinking very clearly.

"I was so traumatised Ada had to come and get me. On the way home, well, Ada says I tried to kill myself but I don't remember that. He took me to Imladris and Elrond had to keep me sedated and in therapy for two years. I haven't been able to be with anyone, intimately, since then. Until you. I told Elrond about my attraction to you. That started when we met again at the Conference on Appropriate Remediation for Sufferers of Orc Attacks in Gondor last year. You were so adorably bored and later I saw you sunning by the pool in Arwen's garden. You weren't wearing anything. Elrond advised me to trust my feelings and allow myself to explore the possibility of being with you, that not all situations would be like that other one. So I did."

"Oh," was all Rumil could say. He felt horrible, recalling what he had done that morning in the crowds as the parade passed by. Of course, he knew nothing about this horrific tragedy then, yet he had not stopped when Legolas had insisted for him to cease. For that he was ashamed of himself. "What happened to those elves?" he couldn't help asking, for drunk or not it was an unconscionable thing to do to someone.

"I don't know; Ada took care of it all while I was in Imladris. They are just gone," Legolas shrugged listlessly and kept his eyes averted. "I suppose you are sorry you made love to me now," he whispered dejectedly and moved to get up.

"No! I don't feel that way at all, Legolas," Rumil tightened his arms around the distraught elf and held him tight. "What happened wasn't your fault. You are the one who should regret our coupling, for I took liberties I should not have once I thought you were mine. I treated you like a thing instead of a person, and that is terribly wrong. I don't truly feel that way about you and can't say why I did that. I just didn't like those strangers touching you and feeling you and I wanted everyone to know you were mine so they would leave you alone."

"You wanted to show everyone I belonged to you? That is why you did it?" Legolas looked at him with something close to hope lighting his watery eyes.

"Aye. Can you forgive me? I will do better; just give me another chance to prove it to you," he pleaded, placing a little kiss on the tip of Legolas' nose.

Legolas answered him with a kiss on the lips, soft and gentle at first but then he let Rumil taste him fully. A long and lingering tongue tangle had them both breathless and aroused and when they broke for air Rumil cautiously parted the torn shirt and ran his fingers lightly over Legolas' warm smooth skin. He heard the silvan's breath hitch as his touch alighted on the hot, tight peak of the exposed nipple. Legolas sat up and pulled the shirt all the way off and Rumil pounced on him, bearing Legolas down upon the mattress, planting sticky kisses everywhere and sucking the hard little buds until he had the Wood Elf moaning in wanton desire.

Rumil gazed down at him, grinning, and slowly rubbed his solid shaft over Legolas' velvet covered penis. The sensation was equally electrifying to him. "Take these off," he commanded, sitting back to untie the fancy leggings and whisk them away. He licked his lips in anticipation as his eyes beheld the tall red column or rigid flesh between the lean limbs. Eagerly Rumil bent low to lick and lap at it.

Legolas responded with appreciation and spread his thighs wide, bracing up on his elbows so he could watch. Rumil was swirling his tongue all around the head and squeezing and pumping with his fingers and the sensation was driving him quickly to the edge. "Rumil!" he gasped out. "Slow down, I want this to last."

Reluctantly the Galadhrim warrior stopped and sat up, admiring his lover in all his sex-flushed glory. He inhaled, for the musky scent of the Wood Elf's arousal was heady and made him grow harder. He crawled back up and kissed the silvan and as his tongue delved every corner of Legolas' mouth he began thrusting against him again. He had to breathe otherwise he probably wouldn't have stopped and when he looked down he found Legolas' fingers wrapped tightly around his shaft, working him in a lazy tempo that would finish him in no time. How he would ever be able to resist the urge to take Legolas hard and fast was unimaginable, until he remembered the sight that had greeted his eyes when he awoke.

"Ah, just the thing," he giggled and got up from the bed, hurrying over to the table where Legolas had set everything out for a romantic little dinner for two. The image almost made him cry, for obviously Legolas had wanted to give him another chance and went to a lot of trouble to make things special for them. This was absolutely the best make-up sex he had ever experienced, and the idea was not far from his thoughts that Legolas might be willing to try role-play again. He had a horny silvan waiting impatiently on the bed, however, so he decided to save the introspection for afterward. Rumil grabbed up the silver pot of chocolate and returned to his lover. "Have you ever tried this delicacy?" he asked mischievously.

"Chocolate? Of course, everyone has had chocolate," smiled Legolas, guessing where this was going and liking it.

"No, chocolate covered cock," said Rumil wickedly as he planted himself in front of Legolas, parted his legs, and poured an ample portion over his long, stiff shaft. The warmth of the sticky brown sweet flowing over his sensitive glans made him groan and his hips bucked convulsively. He just managed to put the pot down before Legolas devoured him. Watching the blonde elf working between his legs, sucking every speck of chocolate off his penis, almost made him come. When Legolas lapped at his balls and carefully took one in his mouth Rumil fell back, helpless and growling in need. "Nay, stop," he whispered in husky, breathless tones, struggling to get up as Legolas obeyed. "My turn."

He reached for the chocolate and Legolas leaned back on the pillows, jerking a little in surprise as the first drops of the confection dropped right on his nipples. Rumil covered them both completely. Then he poured out a thin stream across Legolas' chest to link them up, kept dripping until he had spelled out 'Rumil loves Legolas' on the silvan's stomach, and finally completely coated the erect penis with the sweet liquid. Legolas was sighing and writhing on the sheets before Rumil even started to eat.

"Ai! That is unbelievable!" Legolas rasped out, burying his fingers in Rumil's sweaty locks as the Lorien warrior's teeth just nipped his delicate flesh.

Rumil took his time and enjoyed his feast fully, lingering over the delectable points adorning the archer's heaving chest, relishing the sound of Legolas' wails of delight as much as the sensation of tasting the unique combination of the elf's skin and the rich confection. He didn't want his lover to know anything but pleasure when they were together. Slowly, deliberately he worked his way down, nibbling and slurping up the words, pausing as he completely erased each one to speak them aloud. When he looked into Legolas' eyes, he could see those same sentiments of devotion written in those shining depths. Rumil smiled, surveying the naked elf awaiting his next move; he could tell that once he started again on Legolas' cock, the woodland warrior would not last long. The elegant erection was already leaking and the slick secretion was mingling with the chocolate, the erotic mixture dripping in languorous laziness down the rigid shaft to collect in the damp, blonde curls.

Rumil eased his lover's legs further apart and dipped his fingers in the melted fondue. Keeping his eyes on Legolas' to make sure everything was all right, he took the cock in his mouth, grabbing the swollen shaft in one hand and carefully inserted the fingers of the other, one at a time, into the tight channel. As he sucked the coating off, Rumil worked his fingers in and out and spread them wide, stretching Legolas for penetration. Finally he found the archer's sweet spot and beamed proudly over the howl of delirious pleasure Legolas made. A few more tickles on that sensitive core and Legolas came, spurting into Rumil's mouth as he called out his lover's name.

"A rare delicacy indeed," said Rumil, licking his lips as he crawled over Legolas and kissed him deeply, giving back a taste of the combined essence of semen and chocolate. "Yet I would have more if you would give it," he said as their lips parted, gazing upon Legolas' dreamy, sated expression.

"I would give whatever would please you, for it would please me as well," whispered Legolas. He watched through half-lidded eyes as Rumil used the remaining chocolate to lubricate his cock. Their vision locked again as the Lorien warrior carefully raised Legolas' legs to his shoulders and moved forward, sighing as the tip of his shaft pressed against the stretched opening. He shoved hard and breached the resistant ring of muscle, sliding in all the way until their bodies were joined. The satisfying smack of skin on skin thrilled him and he turned his head to kiss and nip the tender skin on Legolas' inner thigh.

"Won't you tell me?" pleaded Rumil. "Say it; say that you are mine. Say you will wear a ring to show it."

"I am yours, Rumil. I will wear your ring."

Slowly Rumil started to rock his hips, just sending gentle waves of pleasure through his aching penis as he watched to see how Legolas reacted. He could not have been more gratified, for at once Legolas began to push back, working to bring the rhythm of their coupling in synchrony with his pounding pulse. Before either knew it they were lost in the passionate, intimate dance, racing to reach their peak together, and Rumil took Legolas' thickening erection in hand, working the warm, solid flesh in time with his steady thrusts.

Legolas came first, head tossed aside and back arching off the bed, a quick sticky burst of creamy fluid pouring over Rumil's fist; his muscles contracting around the hard intrusion rubbing him in just the right place with every move Rumil made.

That was more than Rumil could withstand and he gave a hoarse shout of pleasure as he filled Legolas with his seed, enjoying the last few pushes as the fluid flowed free and his entire body hummed with ecstasy.

Both satisfied, Rumil pulled out and retuned to Legolas side, gathering him into his arms again. They both had big silly grins and shining eyes and they kissed softly.

"Tell me again," whispered Legolas, "what you said before."

"Rumil loves Legolas forever."

When they finally came out to the balcony for breakfast at dawn, the lanterns were still burning, steady and true.

And they lived Happily Ever-after, to the end of time.
Methed



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