This was originally written for the Imladris Slash 'Different Places' challenge, and featured Elladan and Elrohir.  I've since rewritten it to fit in with my Elrohir/Legolas series - please let me know if I've made a mistake on the editing!

Set in Minas Tirith, a year or two after the War of the Ring.



Heights of Passion

As Elrohir made his way out of the Hall of the Kings, he stretched wearily.  The day had been long, filled with ceremonies and formalities, conferences and discussions, and long representations by leaders of the Haradrim.  He and Elladan as ambassadors of Imladris; and Legolas representing both the Greenwood and Ithilien had heard the Haradrim swear oaths of allegiance to the throne of Gondor and offer pledges of goodwill to the Elven realms.

Finally, the long day of meetings and debate was over, and he stepped out into the fresh air,  crossing the Court of the Fountain to a low wall overlooking the city of Minas Tirith.  He was high above the city, looking eastward towards Osgiliath and the Mountains of Shadow shining whitely in the sun.  Legolas already stood there, having escaped a few minutes earlier, and he turned with a smile as Elrohir approached.  “Elrohir, there you are! Come here, there is something I want to show you.”  Legolas led the way back across the courtyard to a narrow, arched doorway set back in a corner of the citadel, overshadowed by the Hall of the Kings and the White Tower.  Once through the doorway, he pushed Elrohir back against the wall and kissed him deeply, hands twisted in his hair.

Finally he broke away, breathing deeply. “I have been wanting to do that all day,” he murmured.  “No, not all day – all week,” he amended.   Elrohir gazed at him, fighting down the longing that surged through him. 

“I want to as well, you know that,” he began. “But we cannot – someone may see us.  Legolas, we have to be careful!” he reminded his lover.  Here in Minas Tirith they had to be so careful not to betray their true commitment; not to show the depth of their love.  While Aragorn and Arwen knew full well their love for one another, the people were a different matter.  The laws of Gondor were strict – and while Elrohir did not care for himself, he would do nothing that could reflect badly on Aragorn and Arwen or cause them harm.  Aragorn was gradually repealing some of the older, harsher laws – but it was a slow business.

Legolas nodded.  “I know.  That is not what I wanted to show you, anyway.  It was merely a … promise,” he added with a slow, seductive smile. “Come this way!”  He turned, and began to climb a narrow, twisting flight of stairs that led up from the doorway.  “No one will see us where I have in mind,” he explained, his voice growing fainter as he was hidden from view by the twists and turns of the stair.  “Not even the Eagles.  Come on, Elrohir!”

Intrigued and aroused, Elrohir followed Legolas up the steps.  Up and up they climbed, ever higher.  He noticed that the wall was no longer of dressed stone but rough rock, glistening with dampness in the dim light.  Still they climbed, their breath harsh in the silence.  “Where are we going?”  he asked breathlessly.

“Wait and see!” was Legolas’s only reply, from somewhere ahead.  Slower now, Elrohir continued upwards, his legs aching.  He began to fear he would not be fit for whatever Legolas had in mind when they reached their destination.  Gradually the light began to grow again, until at last he passed out of another archway into a bright, dazzling light. 

Legolas turned to him with a grin.  “Is this remote enough for you?” he asked, spreading his arms wide and turning in a circle.

They stood on a flat tongue of rock, high above the city, on the flanks of Mindolluin at the eastern edge of the Ered Nimrais.  Wind buffeted at them, whipping their hair into tangled knots.  They faced north, and far away, dim in the distance, Elrohir could see the first of the Beacon Hills, Amon Dîn.  A rough shelter was built into the shadow of the cliff wall behind them, and in front was the covered beacon lit in times of war to summon aid from Gondor’s allies.  The shelter was deserted now, the roof falling in, but still the wood and kindling for the beacon were dry and fresh, should they ever be needed again.

“I found this stairway a few days ago,”  Legolas explained.  “I checked – Aragorn no longer keeps guards posted here,  he thinks it inhumane – but I thought of another use.  We are high above the city, and cannot possibly be overlooked; and no-one else will venture up here!”  He pulled Elrohir against him.  “Besides,”  he murmured, pulling a heavy iron key out of his pocket, “I locked the door at the bottom.”  He kissed Elrohir again, lingeringly and thoroughly.

They were both breathless when they broke apart.  Elrohir gazed at his lover, feeling the familiar deep burn of desire and longing.  This was a side of Legolas he rarely saw.  They were equals in their love-making, as in all else; sharing pleasures together, neither of them submissive or dominating. Just once in a while, though, Legolas would be forceful and demanding, and Elrohir yielded to him gladly.  He felt a thrill of anticipation at the thought now.

Legolas raised one hand, gently brushing a strand of wind-blown hair from Elrohir’s face.  “I want you, Elrohir,” he whispered huskily.  “I want you so much.”

“Then have me,” Elrohir replied simply.  “Now.”

To his surprise and dismay, Legolas shook his head.  “Not yet.  I do not want to take you on the bare rock like this – I want to do this properly.  Wait there!”

Elrohir did not care about the chill of the bare rock, the loose stones that littered the surface, or the dirt and grit that would ruin their formal robes.  It would take far too long for Legolas to go back to the citadel and collect whatever he needed, and Elrohir could simply not wait that long.  He put his hand on Legolas’s arm to stop him.  “It does not matter.  Stay here.”

Legolas laughed merrily.  “Do you think me so ill-prepared?  I planned this days ago!”  He turned to the ramshackle hut, returning with a bundle of warm furs and a worn saddlebag.  He spread one of the furs on the ground, then opened the bag.  “In here,” he announced triumphantly, “we have wine, bread, cheese and dried meat; and a change of clothes for us both.  We are going to spend the night here.”

“How can we?”  Elrohir objected reluctantly.  “The feast later on – we should be there.”  Given the choice between an evening of feasting and merriment, lavish food and wine, the company of Elladan, Arwen and Aragorn, and other dear friends – and a night with Legolas on a cold, bare spur of rock, dining on slightly dry bread and cheese – he would take Legolas every time.  And, he added to himself, he intended to.

“You are smirking,” Legolas told him.  “What are you thinking?  Do not worry about the feast.  I have already made our apologies to your brothers and sister, and we are not expected.  We will not be missed tonight – they know where we are.  Now, do you have any further objections?”

“None,”  Elrohir said hoarsely.  “What was that about a promise?”  he managed to add.

In reply, Legolas dropped down onto the fur blanket, pulling Elrohir with him.  “This,” he growled in response.  He loosened the belt that held Elrohir’s robe closed, and slid his hand inside the folds.  He brushed it gently across his chest, circling the nipples, then pulled the robe fully open.  His mouth closed on Elrohir’s nipples, biting and sucking at them as Elrohir moaned beneath him.  His hand drifted lower, over the flat stomach, then lower still. He stifled Elrohir’s cry as he squeezed softly, his fingers cupping and caressing, then his hand delved even lower, probing gently.  Legolas stopped then, breaking off their kiss reluctantly, his breath hitching slightly.  “Now?”  he asked breathlessly.

Elrohir simply nodded in response, shrugging out of his clothing so that it lay pooled beneath him.  At the same time Legolas stripped off his own robes, kneeling on the furs, his body gilded bronze in the setting sun.  Elrohir caught his breath at the beauty before him, and stretched out one hand blindly to the abandoned bag, groping for the flask of oil he knew Legolas would have brought.

Legolas’s hand shook slightly as he poured a little of the oil into the palm of his hand, stroking it over himself and onto Elrohir as well.  Then, with exquisite slowness, he pushed inside, placing a fierce kiss on Elrohir’s shoulder, intimately marking him, then moving to rain more kisses on Elrohir’s face and neck, his chest and shoulders.  He stopped almost immediately, poised just inside, deliberately teasing.  Then he withdrew completely, and pushed into Elrohir again.  Elrohir moaned at the delicious torment, but this time Legolas did not stop, but slowly thrust deep inside him, bracing himself by placing his hands on Elrohir’s shoulders.  They both cried out as Legolas sheathed himself fully, then stopped.  Green eyes locked onto grey, then Legolas withdrew and thrust back in again.  Elrohir gripped Legolas’s forearms tightly as he gave himself up to the hard, deep thrusts.  He knew he could not hold out for long, and opened his mind to Legolas, feeling in this moment his thoughts and his exultation.

The combined sensation overwhelmed him, as he experienced both his own pleasure as Legolas thrust into him, penetrating ever deeper with each movement, driving him nearer and nearer to ecstasy.  At the same time he felt Legolas revelling in the tightness and heat, his blind desire to spend himself deep inside Elrohir’s willing, eager body.

Climax rushed towards him, and he opened his mouth in a silent scream, arching his body towards Legolas as release flooded him.  Legolas’s mouth came down on his, his tongue probing deeply, and he felt Legolas’s entire body tense and shudder, and a sudden slickness deep inside.  With a harsh moan,  Legolas thrust again, hard, and the slickness increased.  Then his lover, his soulmate, fell against him; panting from their exertions, Elrohir still pinned beneath him.  He could feel Legolas’s racing heartbeat against his chest, and the shudders that still racked both of them.  At last Legolas rolled off him, drawing back to gaze down again.  He lowered his head, and began to lick Elrohir clean, until all traces of his release were gone.  There was no eroticism in the act this time; it was simply a gentle, deeply loving gesture.  When he finished, Legolas lay next to him again, and turned to him for a long, gentle kiss.  “I love you so much,” he whispered.  “So much that it hurts.  Never leave me, Elrohir.”

Elrohir could still taste himself on Legolas’s mouth and tongue.  Licking his lips, he savoured the taste, and kissed Legolas again.  “Never,” he promised.  “I could not live without you.  You know that.”   Propping himself up on an elbow, he stared down at Legolas, reaching out to brush one hand against his hair, twirling the strands between his fingers.  He smiled.  “You were right, this is a wonderful place.  It is perfect.  No one can see us – no one can hear us.  I never thought we could have this sort of privacy here in Minas Tirith; without fear of someone hearing or seeing or guessing something.  And we have all night.”  He noticed Legolas shiver slightly as the chill breeze cooled his sweat-damp skin.  Elrohir wrapped his arms around him, holding him close, then reached out to pull one of the fur rugs over them, but Legolas stirred with a sigh and pulled away.

“If we stay here we will go to sleep,” he pointed out.  “And I do not want to sleep – I have plans for this night other than sleeping!”  He reached for the bag, dragging it closer, and groped inside, pulling out several items – a flask of wine, two cups, and a loaf of bread.  He tossed one of the cups to Elrohir, then tore two chunks from the bread and threw one over as well. 

Clad in nothing but a fur rug draped around the two of them, perched on the highest pinnacle of the city and dining on bread and wine, cheese and apples, it was perhaps the oddest picnic they had ever had.  It was certainly the most pleasurable and memorable.  Elrohir’s body still throbbed with the rapture of Legolas’s lovemaking, and he felt the familiar languid lassitude of the aftermath.

It was dark now, and far below them the lights of Minas Tirith shone out from lamps, lanterns and candles; from windows and doorways; from humble cottages built into the walls of the first level to the grand halls of the king and his courtiers on the seventh level.  Down there in the Hall of the Kings, there was talk and laughter, song, music and dancing.  Elrohir looked around at the bleak, barren rock, and the bare peaks of Mindolluin towering above them.  The bitter wind blew chill about them.  He looked at Legolas, watching him silently over the rim of his cup, and knew there was nowhere in all of Middle Earth he would rather be.

~The End~