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by Little My
Category:
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Slash.
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JRR Tolkien. No money is being made and no copyright infringement is intended.
Feedback: Yes
Summary: a vignette inspired by Ro's cousin's sketch of the same name.
Ummm...OK! Here's my attempt:
It was past midnight. Aragorn walked the halls of the White City, feeling rather forlorn. The hour was late, but sleep would not come to him.
The waiting was making him restless and anxious. It seemed he had been waiting for one thing or another all of his life, and now he waited for Arwen to come for their wedding. He had loved her for so long, it seemed impossible that the day would ever come.
But right now, he would be happy with the sight of a friendly face and the sound of welcoming words--some pleasant company to ease his loneliness. But the halls were silent, the city's occupants deep in slumber of the early hours of the morning.
But here was a light on under a door, and sounds coming from within. Aragorn realized that his wanderings had taken him to the place that housed the members of the Fellowship, and he stood outside the door of the room shared by Legolas and Gimli. He smiled--here were two companions that would help him to wile away the hours `til morning. He raised his hand to knock, then hesitated.
He could hear the dwarf's gruff baritone answered by Legolas's clear tenor, and there was something in the elf's voice that gave him pause. He leaned closer to the door, listening intently.
"…I refuse to stoop any longer, my dear dwarf. I am sure I will develop a permanent hunch in my back at this rate." The elf's tone was light, teasing and …seductive? His brow wrinkling with confusion, Aragorn strained his ears to hear more.
"There is nothing to be done about that, unless you wish to refrain from engaging in these activities," came Gimli's abrupt response.
"There is no need for such drastic measures. I believe the answer to our problems is right here!" There was triumph in Legolas's voice, and this declaration was followed by the scraping sound of something being dragged across the floor.
There was a moment of silence. "What is *that* in aid of?" said Gimli, sounding rather stern.
"*This* is to help level out the playing field. Now, if you would, master dwarf…"
There was some muffled grumbling and the sound of bodies moving. Another moment of silence.
"There now, this is an improvement, in my opinion. What say you, my friend?" There was laughter in the elf's voice, and Aragorn struggled to imagine what was going on behind the closed door.
"Indeed," came Gimli's gruff reply. "Although this is a bit lofty for my personal preference. Mayhap we could… Ai, Legolas, have a care!"
This last exclamation was followed by the sound of scrabbling, a loud thump and a peal of silvery elven laughter. A pained groan came from the dwarf that was abruptly muffled into silence again. Then came some soft sounds--soft and wet, like someone biting into an overripe peach.
Aragorn couldn't stand it any longer. With as much stealth as he could muster, he eased open the door and peeked in through the crack. His jaw dropped open in astonishment.
The dwarf was flat on his back, sprawled partly over an overturned box. The elf lay on top of him, over the box and in between the dwarf's spread legs. Aragorn could not see their faces, but the small sounds, accompanied now by some soft sighs and moans, gave no doubt as to what they were doing.
His face flaming, Aragorn carefully pulled the door shut again. He crept down the hall a little way, then hurried out of sight around the nearest corner. Then, groaning in frustration, he sank down against the wall. Was *everyone* in Minas Tirith getting some, except him?
-End-
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