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It's just a phase we're going through...
Be warned: Many of these are slash, some of them are .... descriptive. I'd rate this page about an R in places.
Hair, under his fingers.
Legolas sighs, unaware of the sound, and knits his fingers deeper into the mass of hair and beard that caresses his face. Warm, soft, pliant. Most unlike its owner, he thinks mazedly.
Its owner ... its owner is researching his mouth with Dwarven thoroughness, and with considerable flair for one so new to love. They are on the ground, that neither have to stoop, and he has one hand supporting Legolas's head, the other arm about his waist - and slipping lower.
"...Legolas..." A brief moment's respite. A pause that encompasses the joy and strangeness of all love.
A flimsy silk robe slides down pale shoulders to reveal the flawless skin of a back. Prefect and milky, like the finest porcelain goblet or an alabaster statue of expert craft. Even the little shrug it took to free the garment and send it falling was graceful beyond description.
He loosens the single braid I plaited for him the night before. Then with a flick of his hands, hair of spun gold cascades like water over his shoulders to replace the richly made mantle. It makes a fairer covering by far. Dressed in a mane of sunlight he stands, waiting.
I can feel his eyes. They brush over me, as I want his hands to. It is hard to hold this position. To stand still and let those dark eyes appraise me like an object. I know he sometimes thinks of me in that way. Often am I called ‘my treasure’ ‘my work of art’.
But when his hands are on me, its not cold marble that he caresses, not finely honed dwarven steel that his callused hands work to bring to a state of brilliance.
Oh no. It’s the skin, flesh, blood and bone of an elf.
My throat catches, forcing me to clear it. His head turns and one delicately curved eyebrow rises. That bow shaped mouth curls into a little smile as his hand deftly tucks loose hair behind an elegantly pointed ear. Such a subtle invitation, another would miss it. But not I.
I know that smile, wily but modest, a secret look meant only for me. Then eyes akin to faultless sapphires move up and down, raking over my body. They fix on the towel I’ve got wrapped tight round my waist, then flit back up to catch my eyes, asking a question.
He hesitates. Why, when we’ve been lovers long enough to have moved past modesty? It does, however, give me a chance to study his loveliness. Strong legs, thick as tree limbs, the calves adorned with a coat of russet that thins slightly as it moves up his thighs.
An accursed towel blocks my view of the wild nest of curls that frames his penis. It proudly tents the coarse material, begging to be freed. At least I imagine it begging. I want this last bit of cloth off him and my eyes dart back to his with the silent request.
"The dwarf," said Haldir, "is hot-blooded, is he not?"
"He has a quick tongue," said Legolas, sipping his wine.
"I am glad to hear it. His fortitude?"
"He does not easily tire."
"You know him well?"
"He has long been my companion."
"I am disappointed, but will not seek to displace you."
"Seek to..." Legolas stared. "I am not...do you mean..."
Haldir smiled. "I will go to him."
"Do not come near the dwarf," Legolas said, flushing. "And give me that wineskin." He crossed the clearing, bending down to speak to Gimli. They passed into the wood together.
Haldir sighed. Perhaps tomorrow.
Men, over-tall and boyish-thin, were still reasonably porportioned, Gimli thought as they trudged through snow. But these elves are like steel overstretched and oddly long; bending, with no foundation.
Elven beauty is praised in word and song and he tries to reconcile his imaginings to this reedy Companion, who tosses his notes yet again to the wind. He studies the architecture of the elven face.
It is not a hardship.
Because even as the elf appears brittle and awkward, he moves like the smooth swings of a hammer in the hands of a Master.
But Gimli carefully doesn't think this.
He marveled at the warm, quiet beauty of him sleeping in his arms. Once he foolishly deemed his heart profound, but this love filled it utterly and shamed him with its open strength. It was pain and joy. It was the heat of desire worth death. It was the chill of separation, even so slight as their lips parting from a kiss. It was all to him, and unbearable.
“Legolas?” Gimli stirred, opening heavy eyes. “Oh... love, I did not mean to fall asleep. You have not yet…. I would not leave you in need….”
Legolas held him and wept.
A thump against his brow roused Gimli. Another thump, his anger. Above him sat the elf, mirth painting his fair features. "Your watch." A handful of acorns rained down on the dwarf's head.
"Gimli." An insistent hand shook him from his rest.
"Let me sleep, you mothering elf."
"A headache only."
The hand shifted, curling in his beard.
"Stay awake, just a little longer."
Water woke him, lapping at his feet. He studied the quiet form of his companion. "Legolas?" The dwarf's hand traveled to the still chest, the slender throat, the pale brow. "You must wake up."
Legolas entered the room on quiet feet, watching his lover. Gimli reminded him of a leaf. Fallen in from the open window to land on their bed. It must have been the bronzed skin, the flaming hair, or the gold rings that made Legolas think of autumn forests. For in build and will he was like the hewn stone. Strong and unmovable. But not immortal. The dwarf was old, fragile if he would admit it. Even young, he had too few years in Middle Earth. Legolas sighed and wrapped his arms around his lover. The Gold Leaf, and the Green.
Author: Titta Estel
A sea of hair flows over my face,
Covering my eyes, in my mouth and tangles in my fingers.
It smells like earth, raw and musty.
It tastes like straw, thick and course.
It feels like raw silk, caressing my skin.
It's wild, wavy and untamed, screaming for my attention,
"touch me," it says, "feel me, cares me, stroke me."
Hair flows from his head, to his face, to his chest, to his groin.
It whispers "come, my Elf, come to me."
How can I resist.
With one hand swimming in his beard, the other trickles slowly down.
Dark and light.
Earth and sky.
The rock keeps the tree.
And the tree grows on the rock.
Nothing is as simple as the love of that which is different. And nothing is more complicated. Ages past have widened a chasm that should not be bridgeable -- races torn apart by what they no longer remember -- alliances are unlikely, friendships impossible.
They stood together in battle, the rock and the tree. They braced the storm with their bodies -- solid and bendable.
Night and day mingling in the twilight.
Dark and light.
Earth and sky.
Autumn and spring in love.
The dancers whirled about the fire: tall, impossibly graceful figures. One of them separated from the rest and came to kneel in front of Gimli.
"You cannot just sit there." Sweat gilded Legolas's skin. "All must dance this night." He stood, holding out a hand to Gimli. "Will you dance for the life of the forest?"
Gimli let Legolas pull him to his feet. "I cannot dance," he confessed.
Legolas drew him out of the circle into the darkness beyond the fire's light. "Trust me," he said, pulling him down onto a soft pallet. "You know this dance."
Author: Titta Estel
Braids hundreds and hundreds of tiny perfect braids, small and neat, each exactly the same shape and size.
Short round fingers working with ease and care. It's hard to believe they belong to my sturdy dwarf.
Each braid comes with a promise, a wish and a dream, locked in the
A promise to stay together.
A wish to come out alive.
A dream for our future together.
Next it's my turn to make the promise, the wish and dream, and
it into each braid on his head and beard.
Maybe his chest too, if he lets me.
The Wedding Planner
Aragorn groaned as the servant approached. What now? he wondered. Do the napkins not match the tablecloth? Are the bridesmaids complaining of their dresses? Has someone lost the ring?
"My lord, I have been reviewing the seating charts for the reception. Someone has placed Legolas and Gimli side by side! An elf and a dwarf! Surely there will be trouble."
Aragorn smiled, relieved. "Be at ease, good steward. I have already spoken to the parties in question, and they have promised to behave in a seemly fashion."
Indeed, they had promised dutifully, if reluctantly: no hand-holding, no footsie, no snogging.
(Sequel to Amedia's The Wedding Planner)
Aragorn sighed. They were married.
Frodo had to be sedated after he refused to give up Arwen's ring during the ceremony. Fortunately Samwise kept him from throwing it into Mount Doom--also known as the punch bowl.
Despite his friends' promise to behave, six servants fainted after seeing what Legolas and Gimli were doing under the table. Arwen was watching them with a gleam in her eyes.
Merry and Pippin were doing what they *swore* was a traditional Shire wedding dance, though Strider had his doubts. The ladies of his court were eying them speculatively.
Aragorn sighed. They were married.
Legolas walked among his people but found no comfort.He thought of what the Lady had shown him.She couldn't be right.Could she? No matter.The ring knew nothing of friendship and love.Not that he wanted any of this from Gimli.And yet..
Legolas paused.How had he ended up in front of Gimli? He extended his hand,"Would you like to see more of Lothlorien with me?" As Gimli's fingers curled around his,Legolas knew.The Lady was right.
Legolas was staring at him.
Although Gimli was facing away from the elf, he could still feel his gaze. It had been going on all night and it was becoming annoying. He rolled over and glared at the elf.
Legolas cocked his head and continued to stare.
Gimli closed his eyes, trying once again to find sleep. And failing. He reluctantly opened his eyes.
Legolas was still staring.
Gimli sighed, smiling, and lifted his blanket. “Come here.”
Legolas smiled and crawled over to the dwarf, slipping beneath the blanket and snuggling against him.
He closed his eyes, and stopped staring.
Aragorn stared at the scene in front of him.
He was obviously hallucinating, how else could he explain it? It wasn’t real.
Nope. Still there.
He closed his eyes and turned away, leaning against a tree. He was exhausted, that was it. He was going mad from the lack of rest. Or maybe he was dehydrated. He was feeling a bit thirsty.
He banged his head against the tree, trying to knock some sense back into him, before turning around to face the hallucination.
Laying there, sound asleep, was a dwarf and an elf.
And they were cuddling.
It niggled him, after the quest was over.
At first he had things to do, gates to build, and was content, but more and more the thing irked him. So he returned to Moria.
There were orcs at the Great Gate, and these he fought, glad of the exercise, for life as a Dwarf-Lord was distastefully sedentary. 42 he had once killed in battle; here he slew 120, with a short break for lunch, and then moved onward, unstoppable, destroying each orc that crossed his path.
He found it in the Chamber of Mazarbul and was glad: his pipe was exactly where he'd left it.
Petting My Peeves
Gimli looked up from doodling. "You're always hungry. Since we left Minas Tirith you've been eating more than the hobbits!"
"I have a secret," Legolas said. "I'm pregnant. I was raped by orcs, rescued and...comforted...by Aragorn, tortured by Madomir, third brother of Faramir and Boromir, and comforted again by Beregond and--er--others. It was enough to trigger the incredibly rare male pregnancy of the elves."
Gimli blinked. "Why are you telling me this?"
Legolas shrugged. "I don't know, plot exposition, I guess." He paused. "I'm still hungry. Does Middle-Earth have pickles and ice cream?"
Author: Titta Estel
The sea breeze wraps around me like fingers through my hair.
I close my eyes, and imagine it's you, your fingers in my hair, your breath on my check, your voice in my ears, and your body against mine.
All I feel is you.
You are alive, Gimli. Alive in me, and I am coming to you, my love.
The salty sea water swallows me whole.
I am wrapped in your strong arms.
I feel your lips on my face, my throat, my chest, and my whole body.
I am coming, my love.
Soon we will be together again, forever.
Author: Heather Cook
~ Sweet ~
It has been many years since I first had the pleasure of watching Legolas in this manner, but I have yet to tire of it. The long lines of his body are pleasing to the eye, pale and deceptively soft under the cascade of water that spills from his hair. He is beautiful as the Lady, and he is mine.
Legolas laughs when he catches me watching, and calls to me. "Come, Gimli, the water is cool and sweet."
I cannot resist, and so I join him in the lake, where the water isn't the only thing that is sweet.
Author: Lor Tycho
Legolas looked panicked, surrounded by six dwarf maidens braiding his hair into a painfully tight design. Blinking to clear his watering eyes, he realized Gimli had disappeared.
Gloin spoke in Khuzdul. “An elf! And son of that- that tyrant!”
“Yes...” Gimli growled- this would be difficult. “But not just any elf! A warrior of unsurpassed skill, with sapphire eyes and golden hair, copper when wet!” Gloin was silent. Gimli continued. “And flesh like... the palest veined marble, pliant and yielding but stronger than stone. Very flexible.” Gloin nodded appreciatively. “Aye. Just like his father, then.”
Gimli choked into his ale.
Author: Lor Tycho
Redeeming Qualities, Part Two.
Under suspicious watch, Gimli, frowning, appraised ancient tree-carven pillars, feeling the worn surfaces. They hadn’t been cared for properly. Trust an elf...
Thranduil was enraged. “Legolas, how can you! A dwarf! Son of those- thieving beasts!” "Sire, Gimli is a stalwart warrior and my dearest companion.” “Oh?” Thranduil’s eyebrow raised, threateningly. “Tell, then! What is so... ‘dear’ about dwarves?” “They are true to their word; their eyes burn as forge-fire; they are solid as stone!” “And?” Legolas frowned. Spotting Gimli, examining the pillars by touch, he swallowed. “They have... very, very strong fingers.” Thranduil laughed. “Yes, I am aware.”
~ I Pledge Thee My Troth ~
The sweeter pleasures of your love have made me touch the stars. The moon no longer holds the menace that it did before I saw it shine within your eyes. Your supple body turns against my palm in smooth, effortless grace, and when I breathe I drown in scented leaves. Gold flows throw my hands and, with its shimmering cloak, drowns out the world each time we kiss. Under moonlit heavens will we wonder, one soul, one wish, one love. My rocks and stones, your trees and stars. Binding us. My laughter and your song.
~ The Passionate Elf to his Dwarf ~
We did not seek each other out in Estel's hall; and I am sure, otorno*, we did not choose to fall. And yet, each whispered reference to us spoke of our closeness, of our love. Among the things most cherished, you are one; your eyes tell truth once your friendship has been won. And ever honest have you laughed at me, while I sung songs with brook and tree. For every office that I did you gave me hearty thanks; and sat by me along the river banks, the shores of wide and untamed sea; bearably through your company. (too long: 105 words including title) Play on: "The Passionate Shepherd to his Love" *Quenya: sworn brother
~ Sonnet ~
Dance, Legolas, dance under glitterin' stars
The golden glow of moonlight's silver orb
Plays on your skin as shadows of the wars
You fought; the pain absorbed.
Though not untainted you are pure,
And wisdom shines within in your eyes.
Your hands are slow and sure,
Steady and loving in the face of lies.
For I must lie to keep you in my arms
And hold you closer in the night
Your leaving me would do me harm
So great I tremble, full of fright.
I wish you knew my love will keep you safe,
My heart is yours, forever, to my grave.
(too long: 104 including title)
Through shirt, mail and travel worn cloak, the gift weighed heavily on Gimli's breast. He could imagine it there, shining like purest gold. No, not gold, for the Lady had no use for it. Like the sun then. They represented all the beauty and wisdom in Middle Earth, forfeit if the Fellowship failed, and the enduring hope that it would not. Gimli, stumbled , and felt hands righting him, pulling him back, for the briefest moment into strong elven arms. Three dark hair were caught, twining through dwarven made rings , and three golden strands fell unnoticed to the floor. ---
"Truly, Gimli, what did you think of me when first you saw me?"
Too beautiful to be real, you moved as gracefully a willow dancing in the wind; your changeable eyes sweet with homecoming and radiant with wonder. You spoke, Elvish words that my addled brain did not translate as it listened to a voice as pleasurable as the rippling of gold in stone. A fire hotter than any forge lit within me; I had found you. Legolas. Him for whom I was meant. If there were others about you, I did not see them.
"You were too tall."
"Legolas, I have told you a hundred times, and now I'll tell you again. Dwarves hold certain bodily emissions in high regard, and seed is held in the highest of regard."
Gimli held up his hand. "No buts. I am not a fanatic as some are. A little here and there doesn't bother me. But when there is a certain amount it requires respectful treatment."
"How do you know when enough is, er, enough?"
"I just do." Gimli bristled.
Legolas signed and nodded. He would help Gimli give yet another set of sheets a proper burial in the backyard.
Was it something I said 1
Gimli stared at his father. "You are not upset?"
Gloin laughed. "Upset? Why would I be upset?"
Gimli stared. "I just told you I love an elf," he said, confused. "You've always had a negative opinion of elves."
Gloin grunted. "What gave you that idea?" Seeing Gimli's disbelieving stare, he sighed. "You didn't take those stories seriously did you?" He laughed. "I have no problem with elves. However, I do have a small warning for you."
Gimli frowned, "Oh?"
"They can get somewhat. vocal during lovemaking."
Gimli gaped at his father before fainting. Gloin frowned, "Was it something I said?"
Was it something I said 2
Legolas frowned at his father. "You're taking this calmly."
"And why shouldn't I?" Thranduil grinned. "My son has just informed me that he is in love. How could that possibly make me upset?"
Legolas gaped at him. "I love a dwarf."
Thranduil shrugged. "Love is love, Legolas. You know that."
Legolas nodded. "You're. all right with this?"
Thranduil laughed. "Legolas, I am more than all right. I am envious." v Legolas squeaked, surprised. "Envious?! Why?"
Thranduil smiled distantly. "Dwarves do this marvelous thing with their tongues."
Legolas squeaked, then ran quickly from the room.
Thranduil frowned. "Was it something I said?"
Author: Titta Estel
"Your beard, tastes like candy floss," said Legolas, munching on Gimli's beard.
"Your hair smells like peaches," mumbled Legolas from somewhere inside Gimli's hair.
"Your mouth tastes like sweet strawberries." He said pulling away from a kiss.
"Your eyes are like deep pools of chocolate fudge." Legolas said looking hungrily into Gimli's eyes.
"Your buttock feels like ripe oranges." He whispered as he kneaded Gimli's buttock.
"Your cock looks like a huge polish sausage," Legolas said leaning down and reaching out.
"Enough! Legolas," roared Gimli, sitting up abruptly, "no more diet, get into the kitchen and have something to eat."
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Issue No.: 2.6
Site Last Updated: 11 May 2003