Title: Written In Blood
Author: IgnobleBard
Pairing: Glorfindel/Legolas
Plot Request: bdsm, knifeplay, set in mirkwood, some kind of gift to
Glorfindel
Rating: NC-17
WARNINGS: bondage, non-con, knife play
Disclaimer: The characters are from JRR Tolkien, the rest is mine.
A/N: Thanks as always to my betas Getty and Vesta, and thanks to Getty
for the title. These two encourage me, bolster me, spoil me, and do
it all with complete selflessness. You guys are my muses.
A/N 2: This was written for a Secret Santa fic exchange.
***********************

Glorfindel's eyes lit with awe when he saw the gift King Thranduil
presented to him. The knives were long and thin, fashioned of a
mithril alloy, with Glorfindel's name engraved upon the blades and a
detailed scrimshaw image of the Last Homely House on the
mûmak-ivory handles.

Legolas, standing next to his father's throne, looked upon the gift
with jealousy and wrath. He had asked many times for just such a set
of fighting knives but Thranduil had scoffed at him, saying he needed
no finery to kill Orcs and spiders. And now, to give them to this
Glorfindel, an emissary from Imladris, just to ingratiate himself to
Lord Elrond and the Noldor? It was more than he could stomach!

"A fine gift indeed," he said scornfully, "especially to one who has
never rendered aid to the Greenwood in times of peril."

Glorfindel's looked at him in surprise, a blush of red staining his
cheeks. "We seek to mend that fault, Prince Thranduilion. It is why I
have come."

Thranduil turned a scowl to Legolas, though his words were addressed
to Glorfindel. "Please forgive my son who, despite his princely rank,
has the manners of a common warrior. I see now that more of his
education should have been devoted to diplomacy and less to knife
work."

Legolas returned his father's scowl with one of his own. "You call me
common, yet the Noldor laugh at us over their wine for our woodland
ways. You who hide your people within the Greenwood and lust after
riches like a Dwarf, you who have not the courage and vision to
expand your influence in Middle Earth as Lord Elrond has done, dare
speak to me as if I was no more than one of your foot soldiers?" He
turned to Glorfindel and made a mocking formal bow. "And now, Elf
Lord, you may carry back to Rivendell both keen blades and keen humor
for your lord's amusement."

Both Thranduil and Glorfindel looked at him for a moment in stunned
silence. Not only were the prince's words inflammatory, but to call
Imladris "Rivendell" in the common tongue was a breach of protocol
unheard of among Elves. When King Thranduil found his voice at last,
his words were clipped with restrained rage.

"Since you insist upon behaving as basely as a novice warrior, rather
than a prince of the realm, you will be treated as such. Two days
hence you will undergo the Gauntlet of Knives. Until then, you will
be confined to the stockade for your insolence." Thranduil raised his
hand and two guards stepped forward and escorted the pale, and now
wisely silent, prince from the hall.

Thranduil gave Glorfindel a strained little smile. "I hope this
unfortunate incident does not sully the relationship we seek to build
with Lord Elrond."

Glorfindel's eyes glittered wickedly but he returned Thranduil's
smile and made a formal bow, his hand over his heart. "Not at all, my
dear King Thranduil, but tell me, what is this 'Gauntlet of Knives'?"

Legolas leaned against the stone wall of the large cell that served
as the stronghold's stockade. It was made to house many prisoners and
was part of the dungeons, now no longer used as such, that had been
built with the fortress. His father kept the dungeons maintained
against the days when they might again be needed, but in this time of
Watchful Peace the only prisoners to see them were warriors of the
Greenwood who were being punished for one infraction or another.
Legolas was the only one locked up at the moment and the only one to
have been sent to the stockade in more than forty years.

Now, having had time to reflect and cool his temper, Legolas feared
he may have at last pushed his father too far. Theirs had always been
an uneasy relationship at best, which after his mother sailed to
Valinor had only grown more strained with the passage of the years.
When Thranduil had told him an ambassador from Imladris was coming he
had raised his voice at the banquet table, causing Thranduil to
assign him to three weeks kitchen duty. That was a small thing
compared to the impudence of letting his words run freely in front of
the self-same honored guest. Legolas shuddered at the thought of the
fate awaiting him.

The Gauntlet of Knives, a warrior initiation ceremony learned from
their more primitive Silvan kin and no longer practiced, was a blood
ritual meant to bond the new warrior with his more experienced
fellows, testing his trained reflexes and demonstrating to all how
well he could take the pain of battle. The initiate was required to
run naked between two columns of trees where his comrades waited in
the branches above. As he ran, the warrior Elves would swing down
from the trees on hithlain and slice at the initiate. If the Elf was
quick, he could avoid some of the blows, but no one could avoid them
all and the warriors did not hold back.

In the days when the ceremony was part of the warrior's training,
some of the initiates were lost from the severity and depth of the
wounds they received. It was considered common wisdom that a warrior
who could not make it through the gauntlet was unworthy to protect
the Greenwood and was denied even a funeral with a warrior's honors.
Now Legolas found himself facing the very real possibility he might
be sent unceremoniously and without glory to the Halls of Mandos. For
though he was much more experienced than a novice, he knew his father
would choose only the best to test him, and with the preparations for
Glorfindel's visit he had not had a proper workout in many weeks.

The next two days passed so slowly for the prince he was certain his
father must have extended his dungeon time before the ceremony. He
had been given a skin of water but no food, which was no more
hardship than he sometimes encountered while on patrol, but he found
the endless minutes with no company save the gruesome imaginings of
his thoughts to be very trying indeed. And yet when the guards
appeared at last to collect him and escort him to the ritual
purification bath, it seemed then his time had come too soon.

Legolas entered the empty bathing chamber that had been prepared for
him and stripped off his clothes, glad for the chance to wash away
the stale smell of the dungeon. He took in the items laid out for
him, oils, strips of leather for his braids, and a silver dagger.

Following the ancient purification ritual, he immersed himself in a
pool of steaming hot water and followed it by a plunge into a cold
pool. He said a chant over the oil and worked it into his skin, then
braided his hair in the style of a novice, two braids on either side
of his head, plaited halfway then pulled back into a longer braid
that ran the length of his hair behind, leaving the rest loose and
flowing. He took up the silver dagger and cut a few hairs from the
end of his braid; tossing them into a brazier and watching them hiss
and burn. Then he nicked the middle finger of his left hand and drew
the first letter of his name in blood on the center of his chest
while chanting the ancient words of protection.

He stumbled a bit over the unfamiliar Silvan words and when he
finished, he sucked briefly at his finger, grimacing slightly at the
sour tang of his blood. Then he sat cross-legged on a bench, clearing
his mind and meditating, preparing himself mentally for the challenge
to come.

Finally, all ritual and preparation complete, he exited the bathing
chamber to face the waiting guards. Head held high and proud, he
walked with them through the stronghold, out past the practice
grounds, and into the woods. There they were met by King Thranduil,
who looked upon his son with a jaded eye.

"Have you used your time wisely, my son?" he asked.

Legolas bit back the retort that rose to his lips and inclined his
head respectfully. "I have father." he answered with unaccustomed
humility.

Thranduil's demeanor softened slightly at Legolas' words and he
graced him with a rare smile.

"I am glad to hear it," he said, placing a hand on Legolas'
shoulder. "Since your manners appear to have improved since your time
in the stockade, I am prepared to offer you a choice."

Legolas felt a flush of anger color his face and he glared at
Thranduil, his show of amity dissolving like a grain of sugar in
bitter tea, leaving no trace of its sweetness behind.

"What new trickery is this?" he demanded furiously. "What choice?"

Thranduil had reached the limit of his own fragile patience and his
eyes flashed as he shot back, "I have discussed your situation with
Glorfindel and we had decided to make you a proposal..."

At the mention of Glorfindel, a firestorm of rage ignited in Legolas'
heart. He lunged at his father but was seized and held by the guards
as he shouted, "You and the Noldo have decided together to offer me a
choice?! What right has he to propose anything for me, to interfere
with the business of the Greenwood? If you wish to become Lord
Elrond's lapdog by way of his arrogant emissary, so be it. But I will
not bow to Imladris, nor will I be pawn to your twisted whims!"

By the time Legolas finished his speech, he was shouting so loudly
that the singing trees surrounding them stilled to vigilant silence.
The outburst sparked Thranduil's own considerable temper and he
shouted to his guards. "Bring him!"

He stalked off and the guards wrestled the struggling prince after
him into the trees. They came to a place where two sturdy young trees
grew like twins, side by side, and Thranduil turned to his guards.

"Bind him between the trees."

The guards proceeded to obey their king while the furious prince
cursed and fought them. He nearly succeeded in breaking free but it
was Thranduil himself who struck a blow to the side of his head,
stunning him long enough for the guards to stretch and secure him to
the strong, slender young trunks. Once bound, Legolas fell silent at
last, fuming but helpless.

"And so you have made your choice," Thranduil said angrily, "You lack
both discipline and respect and since I have been remiss in teaching
you these standards of a true prince of the realm, Glorfindel has
kindly consented to educate you."

"I would rather run the gauntlet a thousand times than submit to that
duplicitous Noldo." Legolas snapped.

"My intention was to offer you a choice between running the gauntlet
or submitting to Glorfindel, but I see there is no other option than
to allow Glorfindel the chance to tame your fiery spirit. This lesson
has been too long in coming and I pray that you learn from him what
you could not from being born a prince and having every advantage
possible."

He turned and marched away, taking the guards with him, and Legolas
stared after him in shocked silence. Submit to Glorfindel? Never! Let
the Noldo and his father do their worst. He would never surrender. If
Glorfindel thought he could break him, let him try, Legolas thought
as he struggled unsuccessfully in his bonds, it would be the golden
emissary, not he who would be the one to yield.

He called out softly to the trees to bend a little so that he might
have the slack he needed to free himself, but the young trees ignored
him and instead whispered to each other that it felt like there would
soon be snow.

Before Legolas had time to make any further plea or protest,
Glorfindel appeared from the surrounding forest. He was dressed only
in a pair of worn leggings and had his knife scabbards strapped to
his back, the strap running diagonally across his smooth, powerfully
muscled chest. His feet were bare and his long golden locks were done
up in the braids of a Noldo warrior. Surrounding him was an aura of
silver-blue light that shone in the dark forest like a star come to
earth, and Legolas' eyes nearly leapt from his head to see him emerge
from the woods like an ancient Elven fighter from before the dawn of
the First Age - primitive, feral, and devastatingly lethal.

Glorfindel strode up to Legolas and looked him up and down, his
expression amused and hungry. Legolas lowered his eyes, unable to
meet those of the beautiful warrior, his body red from top to toe
with humiliation, anger, and a deepening heat in his loins at the
sight of the bulge in Glorfindel's leggings.

"You are incredibly beautiful," Glorfindel said at last. "What a pity
your beauty hides such a spiteful heart."

Legolas lifted his head and forced himself to look into Glorfindel's
heart-stoppingly brilliant blue eyes. "If you touch me, I will kill
you." he said with smoldering slowness.

Glorfindel looked at him seriously. "I believe you would try, young
prince," he said coolly, "but trying is not the same as succeeding,
as you well know."

"Cut me loose and we shall see," Legolas said challengingly.

Glorfindel only smiled at him and shook his head. "It is you who
chose to submit to me rather than run the gauntlet. It is too late to
change your mind now."

"I did not choose this!" Legolas cried angrily. "My father, as is his
wont, made the decision for me. I would run the gauntlet many times
rather than submit to your touch."

Glorfindel frowned. "You did not choose this? I was told..."

"My father says many things," Legolas shot back, "most of which are
lies. You seek to negotiate with him, know this if nothing else."

Glorfindel hesitated a moment but then reached out to run his fingers
lightly over Legolas' chest, feeling the pounding of his heart
through his taut skin. "Well, if you wish to try and kill me, I might
as well give you cause," he sighed in a faraway voice. His gaze slid
down Legolas' torso, admiring the oil-defined muscles of the prince's
toned body, then Glorfindel looked up into his eyes with a shrewd
smile, "It seems your father is not the only one who is less than
truthful. You say you do not want my touch, yet your body tells me
otherwise."

Legolas' nostrils flared when Glorfindel's fingers brushed his skin
and his body pulsed with desire he could not hide. His facade of
anger was in danger of melting away and he bolstered his resolve by
suddenly spitting in Glorfindel's face.

"Untie me, you coward!" he ordered. "Let me show you how loathsome I
find your touch."

Glorfindel stepped back and calmly wiped the spittle from his cheek
with the back of his hand. He drew one of the knives from his
scabbard and held it before Legolas' eyes. The prince swallowed hard,
feeling his vulnerability most keenly at the look on Glorfindel's
face.

"You have fire, prince Legolas, but you have not control." Glorfindel
said reprovingly. "Fire controlled provides light, warmth, forges
metal into objects of beauty..." he held up the knife and ran a
finger over the scrimshaw image, "death..." he ran a finger over the
sharp edge, drawing blood, "or both." he finished, reaching to stroke
Legolas' cheek with his thumb. Legolas jerked his head to one side
defiantly. "But fire uncontrolled," Glorfindel continued, lowering
his hand, "wounds and kills indiscriminately and destroys all it
touches." He paused until Legolas turned his face forward then
continued, "I will release you, but now you must earn it my pompous
prince."

"Earn it?" Legolas said shakily, "How?"

"By asking me to do so with respect," Glorfindel answered, looking at
Legolas pointedly.

"Never!" Legolas persisted. "I have no respect for you and will not
pretend I do. Just know that when you do free me, as you eventually
must, you will pay for everything you do to me tenfold."

Glorfindel's eyes shone with fiendish intent. "I would expect no
less." he said with an enigmatic smile.

Legolas did not understand the comment but he had no time to ponder
it as Glorfindel stepped behind him. He tried to stay his trembling
when the Noldo warrior began to run a hand firmly over his back and
buttocks as if he were a prize horse. And like a horse, Legolas'
muscles twitched and quivered beneath the hand, as though trying to
dislodge a pesky fly.

"Take your hands off me!" Legolas hissed.

In response, Glorfindel reached around and grasped Legolas' slowly
burgeoning arousal, stroking up... down...up again. He leaned forward
and teased the rim of the captive prince's ear with the very tip of
his tongue. Legolas involuntarily closed his eyes and gasped at the
firm gentleness of the twin actions, the calloused hand of the
warrior upon his sex and the soft wetness of the tongue playing upon
his ear.

Then a new sensation was added, a sharp sting upon his shoulder, and
Legolas hissed at the slight, strangely seductive, pain. Glorfindel's
tongue laved the sting, caressing and soothing it away as Legolas
squirmed uneasily in his bonds.

"What was that?" he asked nervously, "What are you doing?"

Glorfindel chuckled but did not reply. Again his hand moved low upon
the prince's body, and again Legolas felt the sting at his shoulder,
followed by the soothing touch of the warrior's tongue. Legolas tried
to shrug him off, his muscles roiling with the effort as Glorfindel
took in the appealing view of the Sinda's rippling flesh and the
pulse-quickening sight of the blood welling up in the shallow cuts he
had made. He leaned in to lap warmly at the thin red line, savoring
the taste of fear.

Legolas tried to fight the desire that Glorfindel coaxed from him
with such astonishing skill, but every touch, every sting, only
intensified his traitorous body's reaction and he shuddered, dread
and excitement twining within his stomach, as another
stroke/sting/lick enticed a small moan from his slightly parted lips.

"No," he whispered, "please."

Glorfindel put his mouth fully over the last wound he had inflicted
and sucked ever-so-lightly while simultaneously snaking his sex-slick
fingers upward from Legolas' seeping hardness to his nipples, tugging
and twisting the tight little points he encountered there.

"Is this better then?" Glorfindel breathed into Legolas' ear. He
followed the question with a small nip of his teeth upon the pointed
tip and Legolas' rocked his hips forward into empty air as the primal
instinct to thrust instantly overcame him.

The golden Noldo took advantage of the compensating backward push to
wedge his leather-clad bulge between naked buttocks. He pressed
against Legolas and sheathed the knife he held, wrapping his arms
around the prince's waist and holding him tightly to prevent the
displacement of his thrumming arousal.

"Release me." Legolas moaned quietly.

"Say it with respect, prince." Glorfindel rasped, nuzzling his
captive's neck through the silken curtain of his hair.

There was a moment of silence before Legolas finally spoke, his voice
strained with need. "That is not what I meant." he muttered irritably.

Glorfindel's soft laughter against his neck sent a shiver down
Legolas' spine.

"Have you no control even in this?" he chided gently.

Legolas' face burned, Glorfindel's words fueling his humiliation and
also his desire. "I can take whatever you can give," he said boldly.

"I sincerely hope that is true," Glorfindel replied, freeing himself
from his leggings and kicking them roughly away, pressing himself to
Legolas again.

Legolas felt the rigid length at his back and his eyes widened in
fear. It was impossible, he thought, panicked, as Glorfindel unfurled
nearly halfway up his bare back. How did the Noldo even fit in his
leggings?

Glorfindel smiled to feel Legolas tense against him and he pursued
his advantage, rubbing slowly and provocatively against his back,
letting him feel the throbbing heat permeate his lower body as he
again reached around the prince to tend his neglected erection. For a
time the only sound in the silent forest was the tandem panting of
the two Elves as they writhed together. Then, as a downy snow began
to fall, Glorfindel again unsheathed one of his knives and moved
around to stand before Legolas.

The prince's eyes were clouded with lust as Glorfindel brought the
knife to his skin, marking a razor-fine slice horizontally along the
curve of one rib, licking his lips to see the bright red blood
surface from the creamy flesh. Legolas held his breath and winced at
the cut, but sighed with pleasure as Glorfindel's hot breath and warm
tongue laved away the sharpness of the sting.

Legolas turned his face to the sky as snowflakes swirled and danced
before his fevered gaze. The velvet crystals tickled pleasantly over
his naked flesh and his heavy breath steamed around him as Glorfindel
continued his sensual knife work. Each cut, each lick, each swipe of
golden hair upon his body, each exhilarating touch upon his arousal
took him higher, until the swirling of the snow and the swirling of
his passion merged, enveloping him in a blinding cloud of timeless,
endless, heedless rapture.

Then Glorfindel went down on his knees and made three of the
horizontal shallow cuts on each of Legolas' quivering inner thighs,
elevating each cut closer to his pulsing groin. The prince moaned in
pain to be cut in so sensitive an area and whimpered in fear as
Glorfindel cut higher.

"Easy, young prince," he murmured, licking a rivulet of blood from
the shallow wound, "The taste of your fear is most certainly sweet,
but you need not worry, no harm will befall your beautiful jewels."

The Noldo warrior tightly grasped Legolas' outer thighs and held him
steady as he laved his way along each cut - back, then forwards, then
up to the next slice, his nose nuzzling Legolas' taut sac with each
hungered lick. The prince's moan of distress became a whimper of
approval as Glorfindel ascended and then, with a last lick at highest
cut on the right side, Glorfindel caught and cradled Legolas' tender
orbs upon his tongue, balancing them for a moment before taking them
in to suckle.

Legolas cried out, and for the first time since his ordeal began he
thrashed mindlessly in his bonds, alarming the young trees to which
he was bound. They whispered to each other and their branches shook,
sending a skiff of snow onto Legolas' head, down his body and
onto his steaming arousal. The cascade of snow hissed and melted upon
his arcing heat, precipitously cooling the fire within his loins.

The timing of the incident could not have more fortuitous, for
Legolas had been on the very edge of coming undone. Again the prince
gave a small, breathless cry, this time of surprise, and Glorfindel
released his shrunken orbs and took the fullness of him into his
mouth. The heat, following the shocking cold, sent Legolas' brain
into overload and he tried to rock hips still held firmly in
Glorfindel's grasp. The golden warrior reveled in the taste, the
aroma, of the blood and arousal that filled his senses as he rode the
prince's restrained thrusts, his fingers firmly controlling each move
as he kneaded the muscular, rhythmically clenching buttocks.

Glorfindel expertly took Legolas to the edge of ecstasy - then
beyond, and the Sinda came with a Wood Elf war cry, his head thrown
back, his chest bared to the snowy trees above, the muscles of his
limbs and torso etched into sharp relief by his pulsating aura and
the traces of oil that streaked down his body, his ecstatic scream
muffled by the snow-silenced forest.

Even after Legolas released into his waiting mouth, Glorfindel did
not stop until the prince went limp and began to make small mewling
sounds in the back of his throat, trying now to pull away rather than
push forward. Glorfindel stood and lifted Legolas' chin, looking into
his dazed, conquered eyes.

"I am sorry, my lord," Legolas murmured with sincerity, and
Glorfindel knew exactly what he meant.

"Humility becomes you, my fair prince." Glorfindel answered with a
praising smile.

He then stood in the falling snow and held out his hand, palm up. The
glow of his aura brightened in the fading light and the falling
flakes began to catch and gather upon his open hand until it formed a
little ball. Legolas watched with open mouthed fascination at the
sight of the golden warrior, standing tall and straight, the silver-
blue of his aura shining strongly, his loose hair beneath his braids
whipping around in the gusty breeze, and his rigid pride a pillar of
virility rising from his body in the dark, snow encrusted forest.
When Glorfindel's hand was filled, he proceeded to rub the snow over
Legolas' wounds, front and back, sealing and cooling away their
throbbing hurt.

Legolas gasped at the cold but soon discovered the power of the Elf
Lord had begun the healing process much faster than if the cuts had
been allowed to mend naturally. He looked up into Glorfindel's
sparkling blue eyes, clear headed and no longer the angry prince
whose temper had caused him to be sacrificed to the Noldo warrior.

"Will you please remove these bonds now, my lord?" Legolas asked
respectfully.

"I could do so," Glorfindel said, "or I could warm you first," he
said, reaching down to stroke his formidable arousal.

Legolas looked down, then back up into Glorfindel's eyes.

"Perhaps you could untie me and we could warm each other." Legolas
suggested with a cunning grin.

Glorfindel beamed at the suggestion and set about releasing Legolas
from his hithlain bonds. The young trees gave a sigh of relief that
the thrashing Elf was gone and began to sing happily, giving their
branches a little shake. When Legolas was free, he rubbed briefly at
his raw wrists and rolled his shoulders and shook out his legs to
restore their heretofore restricted circulation.

The sight of the lean, clean-limbed Wood Elf in his unabashed
nakedness caused Glorfindel's heat to surge. He seized Legolas by the
shoulders and spun him to face one of the trees but Legolas pulled
away and instead lay upon his back in the snow, stretching out and
spreading his legs, looking up into Glorfindel's eyes invitingly.

"It is cold Elf Lord," he said with a bit of his former
arrogance, "come warm me if you can."

Glorfindel flung himself upon the waiting prince, only to find
Legolas not the easy catch he appeared, for he found himself seized,
strong legs wrapping around his and rolling him over so that he lay
beneath. At the same moment, Legolas managed to gain one of the
knives from the scabbard on his back and place it as his throat.
Glorfindel looked up in surprise, seeing the prince's eyes flare with
triumph.

"Did I not say I would repay you tenfold?" Legolas asked, pressing
the knife edge just deep enough to draw blood from Glorfindel's neck.

Glorfindel looked at him calmly. "So you did, prince Thranduilion.
But now that you have me, what do you propose to do with me?"

Legolas moved the knife back and leaned down to take Glorfindel's
lips, forcing his tongue past reluctant teeth and plumbing the depths
of the Noldo's warm throat.

Glorfindel reached up, his hands lightly touching Legolas' upper arms
as he melted submissively into the forceful kiss. He felt Legolas
relax almost imperceptibly and that was all the opening he needed to
knock the knife away and seize Legolas' wrists in his hands, rolling
them so that he was straddling the astonished prince, pinning his
arms to the ground.

"Did you enjoy your momentary victory, young prince?" he asked with a
smile.

Legolas growled and bucked beneath him but Glorfindel was too strong.
Slowly, patiently, using his superior strength and weight, he managed
to pin Legolas wrists in one hand and raise one of his legs with the
other, positioning himself at the struggling prince's opening.

The vanquished Wood Elf, seeing he was not going to win this round
either, gasped out, "Will you not at least prepare me properly first?"

Glorfindel laughed, "And give you the chance to try to best me again?
I think not Legolas."

He entered Legolas with one powerful thrust, the prince's scream
feeding his long delayed passion, but then he immediately paused,
looking into the prince's eyes, tuning into the rhythms of his
breathing and quivering muscles for any sign that his actions were
ill-favored. But every nuance of Legolas' body, and the gaze of
submission that fell upon him, showed the prince to be more than
receptive, despite the tears of pain that sparkled for an instant in
his cobalt eyes.

Glorfindel released the prince's wrists and Legolas reached for him,
lifting his legs to allow the golden Noldo to deepen his thrusts. The
length and breadth of Glorfindel filled Legolas gloriously, tapping
into that place within that sent blistering eruptions of pleasure
racing through his veins. As Glorfindel pounded into him, Legolas let
his hands roam the strapping Noldo's body, exploring the contours of
his back, his ribs, letting his fingers slide down to where their
bodies met, teasing with his fingertips Glorfindel's length on each
out stroke. The golden warrior gasped, his blue eyes going midnight
with lust, and he lowered his head to bite at Legolas' neck, marking
him possessively.

Legolas was beyond caring that his fellows would see, and report to
his father, the evidence of his taming in the communal baths the next
day. All he wanted at this moment was more of Glorfindel, more
pleasure, more pain, more of anything the golden warrior wished to
give him. He placed the flat of one hand against Glorfindel's belly,
and took his own hardness in the other, stroking himself at the same
pace as the Noldo's dancing muscles.

Every thrust, every rotation of his hips within the prince's narrow,
rippling channel, brought Glorfindel closer to the peak of ecstasy he
craved but sought to stay as long as possible. Legolas' touch, his
yielding, nimble body, drove Glorfindel higher than he had been in a
very long time and he would have remained in the snowy forest with
this beautiful, fiery Wood Elf for a hundred years if he could only
slow the escalating need burning at his core.

Legolas, sensing Glorfindel's imminent release, took himself over the
edge with two more frantic strokes, the throes of his ecstasy
triggering the Noldo's orgasm as well. They undulated together,
holding each other tightly, the heat from their steaming, tangled
bodies creating a depression in the snowy grass. For a time they lay
together, nipping and licking each other's necks and chests lightly,
then Glorfindel finally rose and offered Legolas a hand up.

The prince stood, watching as Glorfindel retrieved and donned his
discarded leggings then picked up the unsheathed knife and approached
him. He lowered his eyes as Glorfindel stood before him, feeling
uncharacteristically awkward and reticent.

The Noldo lifted his chin and looked into his eyes with
admiration. "Your spirit is strong, young prince. You have only to
learn to check your temper, learn the ways of diplomacy, and you will
be a fine envoy for your people should you ever have cause to come to
Imladris."

"I have acted abominably to you since you graced our borders, Elf
Lord. I apologize for my behavior and hope your negotiations with my
father go well, for the sake of both our peoples."

Glorfindel smiled and nodded. He reached out casually and wiped the
blood from Legolas' chest, erasing the smeared letter of protection
he had written what now seemed so long ago. The golden warrior took
his knife and cut the middle finger of his left hand, then wrote the
first letter of his name on the prince's chest with his blood. With
one last meaningful look at Legolas, he turned and strode away into
the forest, his back straight, and his golden hair flowing behind him.

Legolas watched him go, his heart racing anew at the sight of the
fluid muscles of the Noldo warrior's back and his buttocks through
his tight leggings. He absently touched the letter written upon his
breast and brought the finger to his mouth, smiling at the sweet tang
of Glorfindel's blood upon his tongue.


end