The moon was full and blue, and Aragorn thought it as restless as he was. It had been a week since Legolas had left for Mirkwood, and two days since a messenger had arrived, carrying news of Legolas’ return. He was to arrive on the noon of the next day, and though Aragorn knew there was no reason to wander away the night, still he could not sleep.

The three days they had together before Legolas’ departure were extraordinary, in the new ways they discovered each other, in their many forms of lovemaking, in the sweetness of waking up to the sound of his lover’s calm breathing in his elvish reverie. It was all fascinating and magical, always tinted by the possibility that it was but a dream, too good to be true, from which they would wake up separately.

Then Legolas’ day for departure came, and it was as though it had come upon him without any warning, that unprepared for it Aragorn felt. Despite dwelling on the kingdom’s matters since then, starting to examine the possibility of the kingdoms’ union, of how it should be done, despite staying long hours near Alegorn’s crib, playing with the child, Aragorn had felt Legolas’ absence in every minute, waking or otherwise.

Before his departure, Aragorn insisted that Legolas move to the royal bedchamber, insisted the Elf would have to part with the child in any case, but they had agreed that it would be best if the infant’s bedroom was to be moved to a room in the upstairs floor, not far from their bedroom.

A doubt woke in Aragorn’s heart. What if he were not to return? If his brothers decided not to help him, but also to hinder his return to Gondor? It was a foolish thought, but Aragorn could not help it. Legolas was more than capable of standing his own ground, and he knew that his lover would not remain far from him of his own accord. Still...

A blaze, a white blaze appeared far in the distance of the darkened land, but Aragorn recognized it to be Legolas’ horse, and without even thinking, ran from his castle roof down to the stables. In a couple of minutes, Legolas was already there, descending from the horse’s back right into the eager arms of his lover. Not a word, as hungry mouths met in great passion, hands roamed with frenzy, recalling the exact curves of bodies recently discovered, but already embedded into their memories.

Aragorn soon ripped Legolas’ silver jacket off, and the Elf shoved the man back against a stable door as he felt their shared urgency, diving into his neckline. The moans from Aragorn’s mouth intoxicated Legolas, but he soon found rivalry in his lover’s ministrations. The man wrapped his hands around the Elf’s exposed upper body, teased his nipples into erection, and turned them around, so Legolas’ back was leaning against that same stable door, and without removing his lips from Legolas, without stopping his relentless exploration of his lover’s mouth, he reached down and undid the pants. Once they were off, he trailed his way down, over the neck, over the nipples and the muscular chest and abdomen, all over the hips and – while spreading the Elf’s legs a bit – on the inner side of his thighs.

“Aragorn, for the Valar’s sake…” Legolas panted, a week long’s need weakening his stamina, and Aragorn responded with delight, taking his lover in his mouth, swallowing him whole, caressing him inside out, while his hands wrapped around Legolas’ hips, holding onto him, his irrational fear and extreme desire expressing themselves in the passion to draw all strength out of his love, to bring him to a new peak of pleasure.

With a gush and a deep breath, Legolas came deep in his lover’s throat, half tumbling over the man, who accepted all of his fluids lovingly and supported his weight. “Aragorn...” he whispered, once he was able to catch his breath, “I missed you so much.”

“No more than I missed you,” Aragorn answered kissing his way back up from just above the rich bush of pubic hair to the enthusiastic, moist mouth that accepted him back in. As they renewed their kiss with force, Legolas removed Aragorn’s thick velvet robe. He pushed down, and as he revealed the man’s dark skin in the pale moonlight, coming through the open gates of the stables and through the high windows, he raised his hips as he entwined himself around Aragorn, who mumbled his objection. “I did not think I’d see you so soon, I have no oil with me.” Legolas answered, “I could not stand another day away from you, and I was sure that you couldn’t either. I came prepared.”

Aragorn drew himself from Legolas and looked at him with wonder and delight. He still had much to learn about his lover, and he would. Every day would be another step in a long journey of mutual discovery, and the thought made him tremble with happiness and disbelief. He laid a soft kiss on the tip of Legolas’ nose, another one, then a string of kisses that ran from the tip to the side of the nose, underneath a half-closed eye, and all the while he was grinding into Legolas, raising his hips a little further, finding his place between the milky-white thighs, feeling the heat that radiated out of his lover’s body. Legolas helped him with the first thrust, causing him to go in deeper than he ever did before on a first stroke, and that sweet spot was soon found like it was made for him to find it, again and again, as he felt his entire being reduced to the silent moans of pleasure that were coming from his lover’s mouth.

Aragorn felt like he was mad, as though driving through Legolas would be his only key to sanity and peace of mind, and soon his pace grew quicker and quicker. The Elf was matching it, meeting him on every stroke, his organ grinding thoroughly between their bodies. Legolas’ hands clenched around Aragorn, and the man’s around the Elf, and when Aragorn fell into an abyss of release and satisfaction, so did Legolas, and both, still as one flesh, dropped onto the floor, onto the robe that remained beneath them. They lay there, locked in their embrace still, aware only of each other’s warmth, of the slow calming of their blood in their veins.

After what seemed like hours, and perhaps was, Aragorn asked, “It all went well, then?” and Legolas hummed a confirmation. “One kingdom?” The man’s eyes were fixed on a small, bright hair on the nape of Legolas’ neck, “Then we are back to choosing a name?” Legolas distanced his head from Aragorn’s shoulder and looked at him in amusement. “Don’t worry, my love, practice makes perfect.” The man just growled in discontent.

“Legolas?” he asked then. The Elf muttered a hushed “yes?” when Aragorn’s question made his eyes dart wide open. “Will you make a decent man out of me?”

To be continued...