Wednesday, March 15, 2017

A Cole Lemon -- Wild Dreamer, Think of Me

Character: Cole

Fandom: Dragon Age Inquisition

OC: Rhynis Lavellan

Inspiration: So this isn’t my usual lemon, but Cole isn’t your usual character either so I thought it worked.  I am still planning a Dragon Age request session for the spring sometime.  It’s still up in the air cause I’m waiting to see what my spring schedule will be like but I’ll keep you all updated!

The night seems especially dark and contemplative, even more so when Rhynis grudgingly sits up in bed and scrubs at her face with both hands.  Her nightmares come and go, these days.  Most of them she can brush aside and ignore, but some are more potent than that, and linger far into the recesses of her mind even after waking.
She shuffles one hand over to the other side of the bed.  She doesn’t expect to find a body there and is therefore unsurprised when her hand meets colds sheets instead of warm skin.  Cole has become her companion in many ways, but nighttime is his domain.  He might be more human now than ever before, but he still uses the darker, moonlit hours to help as many people as he can.  It’s an endearing trait, as well as a frustrating one, though she can’t find it in her to complain.  She knows it makes him happy, helping other people, and Maker knows how much help he’s already given her.
She cannot always count on him to smooth away her nightmares.  She has to be strong by herself sometimes.
But still, she selfishly longs for him.
With a ragged sigh, Rhynis tips her head forward into her hands and bends over her knees, breathing deeply as she attempts to wash away the vivid images of her most recent nightmare.  It’s not a new one – she’s had it before, several times.  But the images of death and decay always haunt her more than she expects them to, and she struggles to remind herself that they are only images, not realities, and that she and everyone she loves is safe.
It’s harder than it should be, convincing herself of these truths, because she knows that the war could turn at any moment.  Corypheus is still at large.  His Red Templars still roam the wilds.  Safety is a relative term better used in the moment.
“But you are safe now, in this moment,” a voice suddenly murmurs from behind, and Rhynis tenses with surprise.  The sudden presence in her room should not shock her anymore, but Cole’s penchant for appearing when she most needs him is always baffling.
The mattress dips, and a pair of hands reach out to caress her shoulders.  She inhales deeply as the touch massages away her stiffness, as the soft endearing presence gently soothes her troubled soul.
“I know that,” she whispers into her hands.  His fingers trail down her bent spine, catching every knob of it over her chemise nightshirt.  Muscled thighs edge forward to surround her hips, and his arms curl around her waist as he folds his body against hers.  She can feel the hard press of his cheekbone against her shoulder, the subtle shift of his chest as he breathes, and comfort rattles through her.
“How did you know?” Rhynis wonders quietly, voice muffled against her palms.
She’s obviously referring to his otherworldly knowledge of her distress.  Perhaps he is just more tuned into her than anyone else, because he is always at her side when she needs him most.  It’s baffling and beautiful.
Cole chuckles throatily and murmurs, “So many voices, but yours is the loudest.  Your hurts need more healing than the rest.”  He kisses the back of her neck, as if to show her that he is ready for said healing to commence.  This time, she chuckles and feels her cheeks grow warm. 
His usual brand of healing is innocent and na├»ve, almost.  But lately it has grown bolder, and his touches have turned wilder than before.  She is not sure why, or what drives him, but she cannot deny that she enjoys the subtle kisses he trails over her neck and shoulder. 
She does not know when it happened, but her heart has begun to beat for him.  It has happened somewhere in the in-between of their lives, the peaceful moments spent at home -
(When she had come to think of this fortress as her home she does not know either.  The stones are not trees, the nature is not as wild as she is used to, but the claustrophobia that she thinks she should feel as an elf living in these pillared walls is not there.  There is only the gentle lull of comfort and the subtle shift of peace.)
But it has happened not at home too.  During the blistering squalor of battle when Cole appears out of the shadows to watch her back, the bright clang of metal as he parries a blow meant for her neck.  And around the campfire later on when he threads his fingers through her hair and soothes away her hurts, the soft lilt of his voice burning like the embers of their fireside moment.  Is it those in-between seconds that blur her into this stupor?  Has she somehow fallen for him in this haze of memory she cannot grasp?
“Your thoughts are loud,” Cole suddenly murmurs against the skin of her shoulder, and she blushes brightly as she tries to tamper down on her wayward mind.  He is still coiled around her, his arms tight at her abdomen, his thighs still a cage around her hips.  He rests his body against her back as she leans forward, and her heart thumps loudly between her ribs.
She thinks of daffodils and rain and the twisting limbs of the trees she had climbed as a child.  She tries not to think of him.
(But it is hard, so hard, when she can feel his hot breath sending shivers through her body, his taut muscles pressing fully against her.)
“Don’t stop,” he whispers, nuzzling at her neck with a soft sigh.  “I like it when you think of me.  It makes me feel warm.  Sometimes I feel so warm I think I am melting – it’s strange.  Do you feel that way?”
Rhynis pauses, her body tensing for a short moment.  Cole feels the stiff clench of her form and draws back to continue his gentle massage on her shoulders.  His fingers are works of art, she thinks as she closes her eyes and relaxes beneath his touch.  Never mind that she knows she shouldn’t – it’s dangerous, wanting him the way she does.  He does not understand the heat he claims to feel.  Not in the same way she understands it.  Perhaps not even in the same way she feels it.
Dangerous, and yet so beautiful.  Like black diamonds glittering from a starlit sky, forever out of reach.  She is lost to them.
“I – “ she halts, swallows, and tries again.  “Yes.  I feel that way.” 
She has long since realized that honesty is the better path when dealing with him.  He is like a bloodhound sniffing out secrets.  He knows the moment she verges from truth.  And she cannot lie about this.  She cannot.
Cole smiles.  “I’m glad.  Sometimes my heart hurts when I think of you – but it is a good hurt, I think.  Does that make sense?  Solas told me that sometimes pain is good, but I don’t always understand.”
Rhynis opens her eyes to stare at her fingers and bites her lip.  “…He’s right.  It’s…human, to feel that way sometimes.”  She wants to go on, to ask him why exactly his heart hurts.  To see if it matches the way hers does, when he is near her and her soul clenches with happiness.  Or – if it is a darker hurt, one that is only disguised as joy.  She has felt both.
Cole hums thoughtfully and sighs, a puff of hot breath against her neck.  Shivers roil through her without permission.  She feels completely warm in his arms, and completely safe.  There is something odd about it, she thinks.  He is danger wrapped up in the strangest, purest light.  And yet he holds her as if he is only delicate glass and she is his match in all ways.
It is also heated, verging with fire, blistering through her in ways she cannot, will not, mention.  She feels guilty for enjoying the way his body clings to hers – the intimacy of his hold feels like a lover’s, not a friend’s – and yet she cannot unravel herself from him.  As always, her selfishness denies her.
A beat of silence threads over them, and then his voice is at her ear and he’s suddenly murmuring, “Would you let me try something?”
Curious, Rhynis turns her head to look at him.  She doesn’t expect him to be centimeters away – or perhaps she does, and her body betrays her yet again, as it always does whenever he is concerned.  Whichever, her heart thuds at his proximity and her cheeks color faintly.  She is at once relieved that her room is darkened, and that the dull light of the embers in the hearth only reaches so far.
“Try what?” she asks.  Her voice is a shard.  It shakes.
Cole stares at her.  His eyes look huge in the barely-there light.  Shadows pull at them and make the rest of him into a shadow too.  When his eyes lower to her mouth, her throat runs dry.
Surely not.  She is imagining it – the flicker of interest that tears through his gaze is fabricated from her own desire.  It is the shadows making her see things that aren’t there.  Surely.
And yet…
“I would like to…see what it feels to…to…” he trails off as if he is embarrassed and ducks his head to the side.  His profile is as beautiful as the rest of him.
Rhynis is almost ashamed of her own intricacies.  Cole is new at this.  Humanity is different from spirituality.  He grapples with the complications of his new role.  She sees it every moment.  She must tread carefully with him these days, to make sure he is comfortable of his newfound relationship with himself.
With a soft smile she hopes is convincingly therapeutic, Rhynis turns her body to his.  His arms are still clenched around her form, and when she moves, she finds that she is far closer to him than she’s ever been before.  It makes her feel like the wind – the rattling blustering wind that shakes leaves from their branches and disturbs the forests with its touch.  An outburst of insistence.
Her body insists she moves closer.
Reaching up to cup his cheek, she wonders quietly, “You can tell me, Cole.  Don’t be embarrassed.  What would you like to try?”
His sharp cheekbones cut against her fingertips fiercely.  She would like to kiss them, to trace the jutting edges with her lips, to press her mouth against the hollows of them.  He turns to catch her eye and her breath catches at the dark lowlight of his gaze.  There is something strange about it – something hungry, almost.  Possessive.
“You’re thinking about kisses,” he murmurs, eyes fluttering over her features.  His eyes turn blank for a flickering moment and he whispers, “Windswept kisses – what would it be like to kiss him?  Joy pressed to the corners of his mouth – I would like to try that.  A kiss.”
As always when he verges off into one of his thought compressed tangents, Rhynis stares in confusion at his meaning.  Surely he is not asking what she thinks he is.  This is a dream – one of those dreams that seem terrible merely because it is so good, too good to be true, and when you wake you do so in tears, for the desire you feel is so strong that it sends you to grief.
“…What?” she asks, a bare whisper of sound that pushes passed her lips like falling water.  She feels at once weighted down.
Cole blinks at her, then lowers his eyes as if he is nervous, and hesitantly explains, “Solas told me that it is something you do with someone very close to you.  I – I have never wanted to try before.  But since I’ve become human, I feel strange when I’m around you and my heart is like a bird – that sounds silly, doesn’t it?  I’m not sure how I should explain – “
“You don’t need to say anything more,” Rhynis cuts in, eyes sinking shut as she unravels the meaning of his words.  No, he needn’t go on.  She understands him perfectly.  She knows precisely what he’s feeling.
With only a slight pause, Rhynis shifts her fingers over his face so that they tangle into his hair.  She turns her chin towards him and feels him shudder. 
“…Cole,” she begins slowly, catching his gaze with her own.  It would be a blatant lie to say she does not want to kiss him, but she will not do so wantonly.  So she battles down her desire and takes a soft breath.  “Solas was right.  Kissing is…it’s an intimate gesture.  It’s not something you do for no reason.”
She’s not sure how to explain the emotion behind it.  Her mind flashes with half-thought words, phrases she might use to tell him what a kiss really is and what is means.  As she struggles, Cole watches her face closely, and she doesn’t realize till moments later that he’s drinking in her thoughts and every wayward image.
“…I would like to try,” he repeats, tilting his head.  Rhynis closes her eyes in exasperation and drops her hand, which he catches and draws into his lap, curving his fingers around hers like entwined branches.
Before she can attempt to dissuade him (for she means to, despite the insistence of her own heart which bolts forward and tries to push the rest of her there, too), Cole says, “I have thought about it.  And…I have heard the way you think of me sometimes, when you think I can’t hear.  I like it.  It makes me warm.  I’ve never felt so warm…it’s like my body is overheating…”
He trails off because he can see the bright red blush that is scattering over her cheeks.  Rhynis swallows tightly and rubs her forehead.
Of course he’s heard her.  This shouldn’t come as a surprise to her.  Cole doesn’t always hear things as brightly anymore.  Since becoming more human than spirit, he has lost much of his ability to see into the mind’s eye and unravel things beneath the surface.  But clearly he still has some of that power left.  She has grown careless with her desires.
She thinks of him all the time.  She cannot help it – the images come unbidden; little sparks of daydreams that linger on the fringes of her mind.  The tendrils of them curve through her in slashes of want and it is difficult to turn her thoughts elsewhere.  She thinks of him more than she should.
When they are on the road and the rays of the dawning sun hit him just right, his white-blond hair bursts into efflorescent gold too breathless to look upon.  In the evenings, the way he tends to her wounds and all her hurts with tender fingers and eyes that seem to know her inside and out, makes her long for him in ways she should not.  And at home, in this fortress, on nights such as these, when he comes to her rooms and holds her like this, whispers to her like this, seems more a dream than any brush of reality.
She is so lost to her nervous desire that she doesn’t notice the way Cole softly smiles and turns her chin to face his.  The world seems numb and blurred, until his face comes into view.  There is something reverential in his eyes as he looks upon her that makes her breath catch.
“Solas says I have a crush,” he whispers to her, and she belatedly realizes that his lips are mere centimeters apart, and she can feel the puff of his breath against her mouth.  Then the rest of his words follow.
“…Spirits can’t have crushes,” she mumbles.  She does not know how many times she has repeated those very same words, tried to pound them into her brain every time her heart would stir at the sight of him.  That he could never feel the same should have halted her growing affection.  It hadn’t.  Her foolish heart had only kept falling.
Cole’s mouth twitches into a wider smile.  The fingers he keeps at her chin wander up her cheek, tracing the edge of her cheekbone and up her temple.  Her eyelids flutter in contentment.
“Humans can,” he breathes.  He watches her expression lose the sleepy peace that his touch brings, and morph into surprise.
“But you…you are not yet – not fully – “
“It’s been three months,” he tells her.  His thumb wavers over her lips for a moment before he drags it against her lightly, touching her bottom lip and looking at her with those dark eyes.  Then he says again (how many times is it now?), “I would like to try.”
He edges forward, eyes locked on hers, and waits to see if she will draw away from him.  She thinks that she should, but…
She doesn’t.
His lips converge on hers so swiftly that she almost cannot keep up with him.  A small gasping sound leaves her throat as his mouth covers hers with a force that sends her rocking backwards.  His hand clasps around the back of her head at the last moment and drags her forward again just as he tilts his head and slides his mouth more deeply against her own.
Rhynis’s first reaction is to become a statue.  Her second is to melt.
With a sigh that is full of relief and Mythal knows what else, Rhynis sinks into him.  Her arms fly forward, looping around his neck and kissing him back with exuberance.  Even as she moves though, her mind is at war.
She shouldn’t allow this.  He does not know what he is doing.  He is still too new to this world of human emotions, of primal desire, of (dare she think it) love.
But she should allow it.  She has waited for this, yearned for it.  And he is not kissing her in the shy way she expects.  His lips move with stark want, as if he has waited too.
She shouldn’t though – Solas would berate her for allowing it.  He would remind her that Cole is still very much a spirit in thought and action.  He doesn’t understand.
But – he does – and that is why she should allow it, because he is holding her like she is all he’s ever wanted, and kissing her with more passion than any man she’s ever been with.
With a sudden chuckle, Cole whispers against her lips, “You’re thinking too much.”
Rhynis laughs a little and agrees, “Yes, I am.  Is it distracting you?”
Cole sighs out, mouth brushing hers, and breathes, “No.  I like listening to you.  You’re thoughts are so warm…they make me happy…”
He leans into her with a smile and this time, Rhynis leads the kiss.  She presses her mouth to his with a slower reverence, shifting gentle desire through him as her hands reach up for his face.  She cups his jaw lightly, tilts his head to the side, and shuffles forward to be closer to him.  His hands linger at her waist; he pulls her into him with a strength that leaves her fairly breathless.
She is beginning to want more, and that is a dangerous thought indeed.
“I want more too,” Cole gasps, moaning a little when he feels her lips trail from his and dart down his neck.  The nips she leaves on his skin send fire bolting through him – so much fire that he is left to burn in the wake of it.  But, unknown to Rhynis, he has felt this fire before.
Since becoming human, he has felt a great many things that he has never experienced as a spirit.  Emotions are the strongest – they melt him, break him, bolster him – but there is one other that he has become familiar with over the last few months.
Sometimes when he thinks of her, his body reacts in strange ways.  He has seen such things before as a spirit, but never understood them.  In some ways he still doesn’t.  Solas had explained briefly, awkwardly, when he had gone to him for an explanation.  His wise friend had told him that it’s normal, not something to be afraid of.  He told him how the fire brings physical changes to the body, and how to get rid of it. 
He has done so several times.  It brought pleasure that he has never known before, but for some reason the fire feels hotter now.  It licks at his skin like a burning inferno – wild and raw.  He feels his body reacting to it already, feels his blood rushing through him, his heart beating like a hummingbird.  He has never felt it so strongly.
Rhynis is not aware that he has ever felt it, and when she hears his words, she pulls back with a quiet force that uses up more of her willpower than she cares to admit.
“We should stop.  I don’t think you’re ready for – “ she’s in the middle of shuffling herself back when her hip brushes against something hard, and her words halt in her throat, her thoughts fluttering away like ashes in a windstorm.
She might have thought she felt something else (a hard edge of his armor, perhaps), had Cole’s expression not melted the way it does.  He lets out a small hissing sound that fluctuates between a sigh and a moan, and his face falters into an expression of aroused desire.  She stares in shock, feeling a burst of telltale arousal take hold of her the moment she sees traces of his.
“Cole – you – are you…?” she doesn’t know what she wants to say, how she wants to say it.  She is so unprepared for this night that she’s starting to wonder if she’s about to wake up from a dream, only to discover that none of this is real.
Cole’s cheeks burn red.  She can barely see the blush amidst the darkness of the room, but she does see the nervous way his eyes crinkle at the corners.  He swallows and looks away.
“I’m sorry,” he haltingly says, edging back.  “I…Solas told me it was normal.  Is it not?  I’m sorry – “
Rhynis darts forward with wild eyes.  She clamps her hands down on his shoulders and says in a serious voice, “Its normal, Cole.  You’re normal.  Stop worrying so much.  It was just unexpected, that’s all.  I hadn’t thought that you’d…well, that you’d feel arousal.”
Or that she would, in such a short amount of time.  She releases a breath.
Cole goes silent for a moment before quietly saying, “I feel it sometimes.  When I think of you.  Solas told me how to deal with it.”
Once again, his brutal sincerity makes Rhynis’s throat run dry.  She blinks at him with surprised eyes.  His words catapult into her like weights – the best kind.
“…You do?  When you think of me?” she repeats in a daze.  Cole nods and she feels her heart burn, as though fire is spreading through her veins. 
At once, the image of him enters her mind.  He is lying on his bed.  His room is neat as always, scarcely furnished, with the curtain of his one window drawn and the door firmly shut.  His trousers halfway down his thighs, pushed there haphazardly in a haze a lust.  His tunic nudged up, showing off the coiled muscles of his abdomen and sharp jutting hipbones.  And – her mouth runs dry at the thought – his cock in hand, stiff and hot, leaking precum from the tip as he fists his fingers around it and pumps.  His face would flutter with crazed want, anxiously pushing himself toward his end.  And, perhaps, her name would be a whisper on his tongue as he found it.
She shudders. 
Cole swallows tightly again and murmurs, “…Yes, like that.  Sometimes,” he adds as an afterthought.  He ducks his head and mumbles into his collar, “Sometimes when we’re traveling and we stop at a stream for baths.  And sometimes it happens when I don’t expect it to, and I have to find somewhere quiet.”
She stares at him in shock.  And lust.  So much lust.  His words draw upon her imagination, and immediately she is picturing him naked in a stream, leaning against a rock, his arm moving furiously as he grips himself beneath the water.  And again, in a darkened corner of the fortress, a panicked look on his face as he peers around the hallway and hurries to untie his trousers, his hand rubbing at the stiffness beneath the fabric as he does.
She shudders again.
“…You seem to have…to have done this quite often,” she haltingly murmurs, looking over at him.  Cole shrinks a little and nods, appearing almost as a chagrined child who thinks he has done wrong.
It is exactly that which makes Rhynis frown.  There is nothing wrong with seeking pleasure, especially when it comes unbidden.  She does not like to see him looking as if he thinks he is at fault.
And besides…she cannot claim to be innocent of such actions either.
She shuffles forward, so that their knees are touching, and admits, “I have done the same.  Thinking of you.  It is not wrong, Cole.”  She is going to say more, to attempt to make him understand, but he halts her.
His eyes come crashing up into hers, wide and darkened with something she now identifies as lust.  In a strained voice, he asks, “You feel the fire too?  And you…you deal with it, while you think of me?”
Rhynis blushes, but nods.  At his awed expression, she laughs.
“It is different for women, but the feeling is the same,” she tells him, touching his knee so as to comfort him.  Instead of comfort though, it causes a shiver to roil through him, and she realizes belatedly that her touch is slightly higher than his knee.  Nowhere near the apex of his thighs, but still close enough to garner such a reaction.
She should draw away.  She really should.  But…she does not want to.  Especially when she can see the outline of the bulge in his trousers and can imagine touching him so clearly. 
Cole moans suddenly and murmurs, “Touch me?  Would you?”  His blinks down at her with fierce eyes filled with passion and nearly begs, “I…would also like to touch you.”
Arousal thuds through her more potently.  She swallows.
How had it gotten to this point?  First a few kisses, and suddenly this?  She doesn’t know if she is lucky or not.  She has certainly never moved so quickly before, but for some reason it feels completely natural to do so now.  It is as easy as breathing to slide her hand up his leg and watch the fluttering way his face crumbles with need.
She has seen many expressions on that face, but never one like this.  Crazed desire.  Raw, unfettered.  Wild.
She hesitates right before she reaches the top of his thigh.
“Are you certain?” she asks.  There is no going back from this.  She wonders if they have already reached a point of no return and passed it by without realizing.
Cole is watching her like a hawk when he quietly whispers, “Please.”
Her resolve utterly shatters at that one little word, uttered so softly and with such need.  She cannot leave him now, not when he has admitted so many beautiful truths to her.  Not when her body longs to feel and see more of his.  Her moral compass has broken the moment he’d kissed her, and she no longer cares if this is right or wrong, or somewhere between the two, in the gray area of their affection.
It no longer matters.
“Alright,” she responds as calmly as she can, but even then her voice is shaky.  With excitement or fear?  She knows not.  Perhaps a mix of both.  Fear often accompanies new experiences, after all.
She wants to touch him here and now, but reminds herself that for him, this is even newer than it is for her.  The feeling of arousal is an entirely different world for him, one that he has not yet ventured into with such potency.  Though the fact that he has ventured into it, at least a little, sets her at ease, she still wants him to feel comfortable.
“Perhaps you could…lie down?” she haltingly suggests, not very familiar with taking the lead.  Her race is not as prudish as humans when it comes to primal urges, but most of her previous lovers had been more than happy to assume the dominant role.
Cole nods at once and slips forward, edging around her form to reach the pillows at the top of the bed.  He slowly lowers himself onto them, propped up in a half-sitting position.  When he blinks over at her, Rhynis smiles at the sight of him and leans in to grab another pillow.  She hovers above him as she places it behind his head, fingers lingering briefly in his hair.  He smiles back and leans against it in an effort to get comfortable.
“You’ll tell me if you want to stop?” she asks, looping a leg up and over his hips.  She settles above him, not quite in his lap but close enough, and reaches forward to fiddle with his hair again.  She has often touched him similarly in the past, and he leans into her hands with a happy expression lighting his eyes.
“Mmhmm,” he sighs, hands urging her closer.  She lets him pull her into his chest.  A fierce spark of pleasure rolls through her when she presses down against his erection.  His eyelids flutter and she knows he must feel it too.
But – gently, she tells herself when she leans in to kiss him.  Slowly.  She moves her mouth over his and darts her tongue out to trace his bottom lip.  He returns the kiss with more passion than she expects – though at this point, she’s not sure she should expect anything from him.  He has thus far taken all her suppositions and tossed them to the wind.
“Please,” he whispers against her mouth again, and Rhynis moans lightly at the plea.
She cannot deny him when he asks her like that.  She doesn’t want to.
So she drags her hands down his chest, unties the leather cord that holds together his tunic, lifts the fabric up his body.  He rushes forward to tug it all the way off before assuming his place once again, leaning back into the pillows with a soft sigh as he watched her splay her hand over his heart.
She’s seen him shirtless countless times, but somehow it feels different now.  The dim light of the dying embers provides just enough light to view him, as if he is part shadow, part reality.  It is an almost comforting thing, really.  She is used to seeing him in such a way.
She ducks her lips to kiss his collarbone and he swallows.  Her hands drift over his skin, enjoying the way his muscles flex at the foreign touch.  It in only when she nears his lower abdomen that Cole’s reactions become downright addictive to watch.
He makes a whimpering sound that tears into existence in a way that makes it obvious he’s trying to remain silent.  His eyes are honed in on her fingers, which have drifted to the cords of his trousers and are fiddling with them.  Her fingertips slowly pull on one of the ties and the knot comes undone, but she doesn’t try to pull the fabric away.  Instead, she gently lowers her hand to the bulge of his trousers and cups him through it, applying the slightest force.
Arousal splits through her as she feels his erection beneath her fingers, but it is nothing in comparison to the reaction he gives her.
His hips roll up to press against her hand more firmly, head pushing into the pillows, body roiling, shivering.  A gasp leaves his lips, which part as he stares at her, eyes wide with frantic desire.  But – it is the dark undertones of his gaze that have the strongest effect on her willpower, and before she even knows what she’s doing, Rhynis is rubbing him through his trousers and cupping him harder, pressing down against him without hesitation.
He is a spectacular sight.  She hardly even thinks twice about loosening the cords of his trousers to feel him properly.
She is surprised, then, when his hand shoots down to capture her wrist before she can.
Her eyes dart up to his.  “Cole?” she asks, immediately stopping all movements.
He looks pained, almost.  His expression is strained, and when he speaks, he sounds as if he’s holding back the world.
“I’m not sure…I mean I want to – but I’m not – “
Rhynis smiles at him and leans in to kiss him softly, a quick peck of her lips against his.  It seems to calm him. 
“It’s alright,” she whispers, twisting her hand in his and entwining their fingers together.  She rests their hands on his abdomen and says, “We’re going very fast.  Do you want to stop?”
Surprise once again cuts through her when Cole jumps up with a staunch, “No!”
She stares at him in shock for a moment before laughter catches her off guard yet again, and she asks, “No?”
Cole’s mouth twitches into a smile and he repeats, “No.”
She nods.  “Okay.  Maybe we should – oh!”
This time it is Cole who cuts her off, interrupts her when he grabs her hips and drags her core against his.  The friction is acute – she is only wears her nightshirt and a pair of soft sleeping pants to keep away the chill.  The fabric is thin though.  Thin enough to feel his erection quite solidly between her thighs.
Cole twists himself into a sitting position.  Suddenly his face is mere inches from hers – less than that – and his fingers tangle into the back of her nightshirt as he holds her in place above him.  He darts his eyes to her lips and then back up, down again to where their hips meet. 
He doesn’t seem to know where he wants to look, but it doesn’t stop him from whispering throatily, “Like this.”
Her throat runs dry.  She lets out a shaky breath and nods.  She can do this.  The feeling of his hardened length pressing against her is already making her mad with want, and when she –
“Ah,” she moans lightly, a keen of sound as she shifts her hips over his.  Yes, when she moves, it is more than satisfying despite not being able to truly see him.  But that, she’s sure, will come later. 
Cole buries his face into her neck and breathes out, grasping her tightly.  Her nightshirt becomes a tangle in his hands.  He grips it hard.  Harder still when she shifts again.
Fire bolts through her body like lightening.  She gasps into his hair and clutches him.  The third time she moves, Cole eases one hand down to her hips and pulls her even more solidly against his erection, roiling his own hips just so to meet hers.  It’s a little shaky, this position, but it doesn’t lessen the full brunt of the pleasure that cascades through them so completely.
She’s not sure if she’s ever felt so aroused.  This is so different from any other experience she’s ever had, and yet it is that difference that makes it so addictive.  Before long, Rhynis is near to rutting against him, clutching at his head and neck and shoulders, moaning and whispering his name, feeling the wetness grow between her legs.  She cannot stop herself and Cole doesn’t seem to want her to, for he has surrendered just as absolutely.
She has never heard him say her name in such a beautiful way.  His voice is like shards of erotic desire that cascade over them.  When he moans into her ear, Rhynis’s entire body tingles, swept away by little shivers.
When she grinds down particularly hard and circles her hips firmly over his, Cole lets out a strangled sort of gasp and shudders into her.  He clutches at her like his life depends upon it, and in a move that she is not planning, Rhynis grabs his hand and lifts it to her clothed breast.
His eyes widen but he does not pull away – merely accepts her silent direction as he squeezes over her breast, fingers grasping with just enough firmness, thumb pulling over her taut nipple with a gasp.
“Cole,” she moans, shuddering against him.  She buries her face into his hair and quickens her thrusts, nearly falling over at the force of her movements.  She would most assuredly do so, if his grip is not so tight around her waist and his body not the immovable fortress in which she leans against.
She is a little shocked when she comes.  Her orgasm rips through her so quickly and so unexpectedly that Rhynis is left in almost a state of confusion.  She thinks it must be because she has never come like this before – or perhaps it’s because of Cole, because she’s wanted him for so long that it feels almost enchanting to finally have him.
In any case, she falls hard and fast, gasping into him and rocking her hips over the bulge she feels brimming up against her.  And it’s enough, she decides, as her orgasm clouds her sight and leaves her reeling in his lap.  Even though they are not bare – even though this experience is not as raw and unfettered as she might usually feel – it is more than enough.  It is raw in a different way, as wild as the way her heart lurches from her chest in strong beats. 
Cole is not far behind her.  He takes one look at her desperate expression and groans, hips flying up as he grinds against her clothed heat.  He has touched himself several times since becoming more human, but it has never felt like this.  He curls his body around hers and shudders violently as his orgasm captures him.  He is left utterly breathless in the wake of it.
They remain clutching each other for several long minutes afterwards, as their hips slowly still and their breaths lengthen.  And then Rhynis sighs and starts chuckling, drawing away from him to thread her fingers through his hair.  She pushes it back into its normal position and smiles down at him.  Cole blinks back.
“…Do people usually laugh after…?” he wonders musingly, tilting his head at her.
Rhynis hums.  “Only when they are very comfortable with each other.”
Her words make him beam.  He slowly lowers his hands from her body and allows her to push him down onto the bed.  She’s quick to follow, laying herself down beside him and turning her body towards his own with a dreamy, peaceful smile lingering at the corners of her mouth.
“You are feeling better,” Cole murmurs as he stares at her.  She nods, though she doesn’t need to.  He hadn’t asked a question.
“…And you?  How are you feeling?” she asks, slightly hesitant as if she is not entirely sure she wants to know the answer. 
But Cole merely smiles and says contentedly, “I feel…human.  Does that make sense?”
She chuckles.  “Yes.”
“…I also think I’d like a change of clothes,” he adds after a beat of silence, and Rhynis feels herself blush a bit at the implications.  She thinks she’s being silly, really, blushing at that after what they’ve just done, but she can’t help it.  Cole’s body shakes, and it takes her a moment to realize that he’s trying not to laugh.  She bites her lip and chuckles again, mostly at herself, partly at the fact that he’s comfortable enough to laugh around her, too.
“Go get a change of clothes.  I’ll be right here,” Rhynis tells him.  He sits up and she marvels at his lean form, even though it is half hidden by his remaining clothes.
He turns to her with serious, wide eyes and murmurs, “I’ll be right back.”
She smiles.
When he disappears back into the shadows, Rhynis turns her face into her pillow and grins against the fabric, feeling happier than she’s felt in what feels like forever.  And unbeknownst to her, Cole pauses on the balcony and glances back, feeling himself grin at the sight of her and at the buoyant way her mind unravels for his perusal.
Becoming human seems to have been the best choice of his life. 


Friday, March 3, 2017

A Legolas Lemon -- Love, One Thousand

Character: Legolas Thranduilion

Fandom: The Lord of the Rings

OC: Istuihel, Silvan elf, is a part of the guard

Inspiration: This takes place sometime around The Hobbit.  Legolas is still living in the forest.  But anyway guys.  I'm so excited to post this.  I've only wanted to write something for Legolas since I was a preteen!  Yes I was one of THOSE thirteen year old girls.  ;3  Anyway I've been writing up a storm lately, so check back up soon for another post.  I'm in the process of writing a Cole lemon for Dragon Age ;D

Darkness had long settled upon the forest.  The night patrols had since switched with the afternoon guard, and Istuihel was on her way to her chambers for a bath and long awaited dinner.  She was starving and more than a little dirty.
The spiders were getting bolder, encroaching further into the kingdom.  Their webs closed in every hour.  It was a fight just to keep the filth at bay, and no small feat in any sense of the word.  Istuihel knew this firsthand, for she bore the traces of the contemptible battle she and the other rangers had experienced just hours previous.  Grime and blood had seeped into her leggings and tunic, crusted over her blade and made itself apparent in the creases of her skin.  It was not her own blood but the blackish gore of her enemies that smeared her person – but it still gave the Prince something to gawk at when he came to inquire after her.
“You look terrible,” he said with two perfectly poised brows.  Compared to her, he looked always and infinitely better, though he was often in the patrols just as she was.  Somehow, he always found a way to come out of any battle unscathed and looking as perfect as he did before entering it.  But today, Legolas had not been on duty, at least not outside the palace walls.  He had been stuck inside tending to his other duties, and had not seen Istuihel all day. 
Probably for the best, she thought with a grimace, considering just how much his father disliked their friendship.  In truth, friendship was the simplest term for what they had, but Thranduil needn’t know just how deep their affections for each other ran.  He’d probably have a conniption knowing that his son was in love with a mere woodland ranger such as herself.  Something about tainting the royal Sindar line perhaps?
“So kind,” she said with a drawl of sarcasm, and opened the door wide in silent invitation.  He took it, of course, giving the hallway just one impertinent glance before ducking inside with a humorous smile.
“I meant no offense.  You are lovely in any form…even when you are covered in dirt,” he murmured softly to her with an amused lilting voice, taking her into his arms filth and all and holding her to his chest.  She squirmed only a little, enjoying his touch but not wanting to dirty his pristine clothes.  When he didn’t show signs of releasing his hold, Istuihel laughed and whispered loudly, “That is putting it lightly and you know it.”  The puttering smile that secured his lips was proof enough of that.
“Now,” Istuihel said when she finally managed to wiggle out of his arms, “I am taking a bath, and you are to stay right here and wait for me to finish.”  Despite her own desire to invite him to join her, she really was very dirty and doubted it would be all that interesting because of it.  Better for him to wait outside while she washed away all that muck, lest he dirty his royal body as well.  She smirked to herself at the thought.
His lips tightened together as he tried and failed to tuck away his smile.  It didn’t work of course – Legolas was terrible at hiding his amusement, at least when it came to her.  His poker face was indeed admirable (as was most of Elvish kind), but it was his eyes that gave him away time and time again.  And right now, they were downright sparkling.
“You seem to forget that I have had my share of messy battles, meleth nin.  But if that is what you desire, I shall wait for you to attend to yourself.”  [1]  The amusement in his voice could not be misplaced.  She bit back a chuckle and rolled her eyes playfully.
In a reckless display of affection that felt as fresh as their first kiss decades before, Istuihel leaned in and gently pecked the corner of his mouth.  The tension of it loosened with the contact, and before she could pull away, Legolas was drawing her back in and placing another lingering kiss to her lips.  She all but sunk into him with a sigh.
Seconds passed and, as she slowly drew back, she murmured a pleased, “If you bring me supper then I shall welcome you to attend to me personally.”  The suggestion was more of a purr than anything else, and Legolas immediately conceded with a laughing smile.
“Ordering your prince to bring you dinner?” he whispered, playfully nipping at her bottom lip.  “Alas, denying such a command would wound me beyond repair.  Very well, I shall return shortly, and you will pay the price of commanding the Prince of Mirkwood to do such an ordinary task.”  He squeezed at her rear humorously and laughed when she jumped at the contact.
“One day, your jesting will bring your downfall, my Prince,” she told him with a quirked smile.  “I will pay whatever price you require, with pleasure.”  A wink and a gentle nudging toward the hallway, and she was well on her way to getting dinner delivered right to her door – and in the best way possible. 
Legolas merely scoffed and gave her a slanted over-the-shoulder look.  As he opened the door and stepped into the hall, he called back to her, “Pleasure is exactly what I had in mind, meleth nin.”  She had no doubt it was, and her only response was a giddy laugh that had Legolas grinning as he made his way quickly down the hall towards the kitchens.
It was quiet in the halls.  Legolas avoided the noisy paths as best as he could, ducking into passageways that only few people ventured down, for they were narrow and tight.  They suited his purpose however, and made it easy to navigate the palace without detection or delay.  Such things would be horrendous really, especially considering how desperately he wanted to return to his love’s room.  If his father knew what he was doing now, he would be sorely unhappy.  Well, furious might better describe the king’s temper. 
But no matter – Legolas hardly had any run ins with other elves, and the few he did have were all with those of lesser station.  He was therefore able to excuse himself quickly, and walk away before anyone could even think to inquire into the strange platter resting atop his forearms.  Oh yes, he would make Istuihel pay for ordering this of him.  Princes didn’t just waltz down to the kitchens and casually load themselves up with food.  But the prize would most certainly make up for the punishment.  He would make sure of it.
Fifteen minutes later and Legolas was returning to Istuihel’s chambers, carefully opening the door and slipping inside with the loaded platter in his arms.  He shut the door with his foot, locked it, and glanced around the room.  Subtle sounds of water splashing against porcelain told him that she was already in the bath.  Only the sight of a delicate silk robe showed him any signs that she’d been in this room at all – that, and the pile of dirtied gear tossed rather ungracefully over the back of the fireside chair.
She was indeed waiting for him in the bath, which was where he found her upon opening the door.  She turned to him with a tranquil smile that he easily returned as he made his way to the side of the tub.  Already, she had scrubbed herself clean, and the water had taken the brunt of the abuse.  It was not so clear as it had been before she’d entered it, but such was the life of a Woodland ranger.  He hardly batted an eye at it and merely sat down on the slim edge of the tub, near to her head.
“Dinner is waiting, princess,” he told her, fondly carding his fingers through her damp hair, freshly washed.  He sent a gentle smile to her and she stretched out, grasping one of his long hands with the both of hers and playing with his fingers.  His smile grew.
“I am no princess,” she told him, as she often did whenever he used the pet name.  If he had his way (one day he would, he told himself), then she would be just that, his equal in all things.  In his eyes, she was already his and would forever remain, regardless of what his father had to say on the matter.
He did not argue with her this time.  Instead he merely twisted her hands into his and lifted them to his lips, pressing ardent affection to each fingertip.  She sighed and her eyes fluttered closed, clearly enjoying his kisses.  But more – she needed more from him tonight.  After the stressful day she’d had, she needed as much as he was willing to give.  Which, of course, was practically anything she asked for.  He rather spoiled her, to be honest.
“I would ask if you wanted to join me, but I fear the water is too dirty for a prince – and the tub too small,” she chuckled, thinking momentarily about the bathtub in his chambers, and how it could probably fit several squadrons comfortably.  He quirked an amused grin and chuckled too.
He thoughtfully ran a hand over her cheek and down her neck, dipping into the water to trace the top of one slender shoulder.  “Well…perhaps we should move this into another room then?  Do you know how much trouble I went through to get your dinner?”  A twinkle in his eye told her just what she was in for.  Istuihel laughed.
His suggestion, and the hint of earned punishment in his tone had her gracefully standing, equally eager to receive him.  Legolas sprang up as she did, quickly moving to help her onto the slippery polished floor.  In the process, she fell slightly into his chest, and her bare form sent a delicious wave of heat through him.
“Dinner first,” she murmured at him, feeling the very same electricity shudder through her.  “I haven’t eaten since noon.”  She was starving and it was no exaggeration.  Legolas chuckled and nodded, watching with dark eyes as she toweled herself dry and reached for a robe.  He helped adjust it over her body, following the trail of satin with gentle fingers and tying it loose around her hips.  A little too loose, but Istuihel didn’t fix it.  She only sent him an amused smile and allowed him to lead her into the sitting room of her small apartment.
The dinner he had retrieved for her was waiting idly by the fire, covered by a silver dome.  Beneath it, several steamed vegetables and a decadent bowl of salad was waiting, tossed with corn and other things.  There were even a few sleeves of lembas sitting casually beside it, though Istuihel had to admit that it didn’t look entirely appetizing tonight.  She’d spent quite a few days out in the woods with only lembas and dried stores of food to satiate her.  When she sat down, she went right for the heartier foods.
“You are wonderful, you know,” she told Legolas after a moment of chewing, and he gave her a bashful sort of grin that made his eyes glow.  He folded himself down onto the floor beside her chair – not really a princely seat, but Legolas was not a prince tonight.  He was only her lover, the man who had been awaiting her return for several sleepless nights that seemed to rage on into eternity.  Silly, really, but true.
He hummed quietly, ghosting his hand over her knee and sliding the fabric away from her skin.  He placed a kiss over it, a kiss that lingered into a similar eternity and perhaps skidded into even more, because it was full of promises she could not ignore. 
“Am I?” he whispered, another kiss deposited beside the other.  Her skin tingled with the feel of them, and Istuihel’s breathing slowed.  He wasn’t being entirely fair, to be honest.  And, she knew, for him to not be fair, he must be feeling extremely impatient.  Only such dire emotions would bring forth this part of him.
She stopped chewing and only swallowed, watching with baited anticipation as Legolas caught her eye with mischievous intent and slowly pushed her legs open.  The robe could only do so much, and it splayed open at the movement to reveal her glistening core.  The bowl of salad was quickly shoved back onto the table, and finally, all of Istuihel’s attention was placed on her wayward lover.
“Impatient too,” she tsked at him, but couldn’t stop the amusement from leaking into her expression.  He only chuckled a low, quiet laugh and slowly rose up onto his knees before her.  The fire crackled over his features and burned them into bright, heady declarations.
He folded himself over her thighs, gently tugging her hips down the armchair until she was slumped there, with her knees caged around him.  In a tone that made her shiver, Legolas told her, “I am impatient.  Four nights away from you, and I find I cannot think of anything else.  Goheno nin, meleth nin, I will make it up to you.” 
How could she say no to him when his fingers were already tumbling forward, sinking against her wet flesh and stroking fire into her?  How could she, when she had thought of little else as she’d spent the nights high in the tree tops, looking up to the starry sky and imagining his eyes blinking back?  Impossible.  She would sooner let herself go hungry than stop him now.
“Mmm…” she breathed, a small whimper in her throat.  She shuffled further down, as if her hips were trying to follow the path of his fingers.  Her eyes caught his, and in a moment of excited passion, Istuihel shifted her robe, until it did little more than fall off of her figure as she sat in that great armchair with a prince between her legs.
That prince swallowed tightly at the revelation of her body.  Her breasts were already taut, the nipples hard from the chilled air and from what he was making her feel.  Glorious, he thought, and in a fit of desire, he pulled her even further to the edge of the chair – and ducked his head to taste her himself.
The moan that shifted from her then was a piece of his dreams.  He splayed his tongue against her and dragged it up to twirl around the top of her clit.  Then, several teasing licks later, and Legolas took her into his mouth and sucked.  Her reaction to this transcended even those dreams which had kept him from recklessly searching the wood thrice over for her during her absence.
“Ah!” she cried, “Legolas – “ 
Her fingers grappled into his hair, twisting it between her grasp and tossing her head back.  There was nothing quite like this – having him do such an intimate thing, watching his head move and his hair shift over her thighs, and every second of the delicious torture meant a second closer to bliss. 
One hand shot out to the arm of the chair, digging her nails into the cushion and trying to maintain some recognition of the world around her.  But she was close to falling away from all that – from these rooms and the life she lived – and in desperate need to just fall into him, instead.
Her legs flexed around his head.  It was hard to keep her muscles relaxed.  Harder to keep herself from her end too.  She didn’t want to come yet.  They hardly even started and she wanted to enjoy the beautiful desperation of this poignant union. 
And so after only a few minutes, Istuihel was threading her fingers into Legolas’s fine hair and murmuring, “Daro, meleth nin – you will make me – “ [3] she cuts herself off with a gasp as Legolas chuckles against her. 
The vibrations made her toes curl, and every shrouded glimpse of pleasure was within her grasp when he said against her core, “I want to pleasure you a thousand times over this night, Istuihel.  Allow me to do this for you.” 
She laughed breathlessly, eyes closed as that tongue quickened its pace, skimming over her aching flesh.  “A thousand times?  You have high expectations, I see,” she murmured, a gasp really, that heaved through her even as stars began to shroud her vision. 
“Oh…!”  Her back arched, breasts jerking into the air as a fire like no other shot through her.  And she drowned there, for a long minute, as the heat spread over her skin.  And then Legolas slowly lifted his head, placed a kiss to her trembling thigh, and watched her eyes fade back into the present.
She turned to him, looking at his swollen mouth, the way his tongue ran over his bottom lip to lick at the wetness left behind.  Then Istuihel pushed herself forward, tipped his head back, and lowered her mouth to his.  He kissed her, kneeling before her as she gave freely her love.  He didn’t stop her as she reached for his tunic.  Didn’t stop her when she cast the fabric to the floor and stood up.  He only watched as she walked, gloriously bare, across the room to where her bed awaited.  And as she slid down onto it, Legolas followed too, shirtless but still wearing his olive green leggings…which didn’t exactly hide much.
He was already hot and hard for her.  His erection jutted against the thin fabric and made her mouth water.  The moment he was close enough, Istuihel reached for him, fingers skimming against the skin of his abdomen.  His muscles flexed from the gentle touch.  But as she curled her fingers against the bulge of his leggings, Legolas snatched from her hands away from him with an upward tilt of his mouth.
“Patience, meleth nin,” he murmured, giving her an appraising look.  Istuihel just frowned back at him. 
Patience?  The meaning of the word escaped her in that moment.  She had yearned for him, dreamt of him, needed him – no, patience was not something she wanted to cultivate that night.
“I truly admire your fortitude, Legolas, but I fear I cannot be patient tonight,” she told him, sweeping her body back onto the bed.  The soft candlelight succored over her skin in just the right ways, and his eyes drifted from her legs up to the rest of her.  When she allowed her thighs to hang open, his fingers twitched.  As well as other extremities that had Legolas very nearly groaning.
Only his impressive resilience stopped him from jumping onto that bed and laying his body over hers.  Needless to say, he barely managed to remain calm, especially at the sight of her glistening womanhood, already pleasured yet begging for more.
Istuihel smiled innocently up at him and decided that a little push was all he needed – all she needed, perhaps.  She didn’t think twice about dragging her fingers down to her core.  The results were certainly rewarding.
Legolas’s throat convulsed as he watched her circle her fingers around herself.  They too, glistened with her juices, and he suddenly felt the very strong urge to lean down and lick every one of her digits.  The taste of her was already on his tongue, but he yearned for more.  There was nothing better than spending his time between those thighs.
This time, he made hasty work of his leggings, dragging them away and revealing himself fully to her hungry eyes.  It was that hunger that truly set him off – far more than he would have ever been had it not torn her gaze into a burning inferno.  She was hungry for him, hungry for the things that he offered her.
“You will be the death of me,” he muttered as he knelt upon the bed between her legs.  Istuihel chuckled and raised both arms above her head, looking downright wicked as she blinked up at him.  Her breasts pillowed out into perfect softened globes, and Legolas ducked down to kiss one pert nipple.  He placed several teasing kisses over her skin in the same manner before giving her more adequate attention.
Tilting his head to press his mouth to hers once more, his hand drifted down her body, lingering at her hair before slowly sliding over her collar and breast.  He paused there and gripped her gently, breathing a smile into the kiss when Istuihel hooked her leg around his and sighed happily against him.
Her hands did not stay still for long either, and soon they were drifting down his back, tracing the ridges of his spine – and lower, over the taut skin of his buttocks.  She fisted her hand against him and dragged his lower body closer to hers, lips working at a more furious pace.  She appeared to be taking her previous words to heart: she would not be patient tonight.
Legolas breathed out when she pulled him in.  The tip of his cock brushed against her thigh and he longed to press himself further against her.  He always marveled at the way Istuihel could take his usual brand of serene tolerance and make him lust after her so willfully.  It was not in his nature to be like this, but somehow he found himself unsurprised that she could spark this ardency within him.  He did not merely lust over her, after all.
He devoured her mouth with a deepened hunger that had Istuihel moaning lightly.  Reaching up, her hand drifted into his tumbling hair and she wove her fingers through the silken locks, palming over his cheekbone as she did.  Her other hand, mischievous as it was, had entirely other plans.
The moment he felt her fingers around his length, Legolas turned almost boneless for a brief moment.  He sunk into her with an incoherent sigh, lips molding to hers with little effort.  When she dragged her touch over him with one long pump, he let out the most divine sound she’d ever heard and shivered against her like a leaf in a hurricane.
“One thousand seems too great a number, don’t you think my prince?” Istuihel couldn’t help but tease.  Her mouth tilted up and Legolas chuckled, propping himself onto his elbow to peer down at her through hazy blue eyes.  They appeared gray in the dim light, but no less amorous.  Amusement flickered through his eyes at her words, but there was something else there too – something that seemed to burst over his expression; lowlights of darker passion.
“The night is still young,” he swiftly responded, halflidded and beautiful as he hovered above her.  She thumbed over his tip, dragging pleasure through him like the rainfall.  It came as a torrid and did not end until his entire body felt the effects.
Istuihel laughed at his words, a low hum of mirth that puttered out when he leaned down to kiss her again.  With a sighing moan, she whispered against his lips, “We are far older.”
Her teasing did not end there.  To say that she tormented him with that hand would be a fallacy, for Legolas yearned for her touch more than he could put into words.  Nor, he thought, would he ever need to.  She seemed to know exactly her effects on him in their entirety.  But he also knew that he could very easily torment her as well.
His hand crept down her body once more, but this time it did not linger at her breast or her stomach.  Instead he slid his fingers further down, past her hip and to her thigh.  He rubbed her inner thigh for a brief moment before drifting further and skimming his fingertips over her core.  When he sunk between her folds, she seemed wetter than even before and her reaction was immediate and gratifying.
The light moan she gave him was sweeter than anything he could have thought up himself, and he kissed her ardently as he continued to flick his fingers over her cunt.  But it was only when he slid one finger inside her without warning that Istuihel near to arched up from the mattress with a moan that made his insides melt.
“Legolas,” she breathed, her voice a whimpered, shivering mess.  He groaned too at the mere sound of it, and the sight she made as she clung to him.  Her fingers twitched against his length and he sighed again, then chuckled suddenly.
Istuihel blinked up at him questionably and he gave her an amused smile.  It was a touch strained, no doubt from holding back the undulating waves of pleasure currently sweeping through his body. 
“Perhaps you are right,” he murmured to her, his mouth catching into a boyish smile that made his entire face glow.  “One thousand does seem a lot.”
Istuihel laughed and released his length, instead drawing her hands to his face and tilting it to face hers.  Their eyes caught, at the smiles they gave each other appeared almost sheepish, as if they were merely young lovers with little experience in one another.
She thumbed over his cheekbone and whispered, “Shall we take it one step at a time, and work our way up?”  The mirth that danced behind her gaze was infectious.
He hummed and leaned in to kiss her once more.  “You are wise beyond your years, meleth nin,” he teased, and they both shared another chuckle that seemed altogether surreal in the present moment.  Who else but Legolas would she ever feel so comfortable around?  She doubted there was another in existence.
With a sigh, Istuihel reached for him once more and guided him to her entrance.  He had been right, after all – the night was still young, and they had hours of it before the dawn separated them. 
He entered her slowly, with a careful reverence.  As he did, he watched her face, finding that he could not look away.  Her expression melted as he hilted himself within her, her eyes a glittering sheen of banked desire.  She truly did look like a princess – no, a queen perhaps – regal and ethereal as she lay beneath him, with the subtly of her light radiating forth.
She reached for him and he went, finding more than solace in her embrace.  He rested his forehead against hers for a moment and merely remained still, basking in their connection.  And then at her urging look, he rocked forward, eyelids fluttering as fierce bolts of pleasure licked at his skin.
“Mmm…” Istuihel murmured, a grainy sigh in his ear.  Her body was at once on fire, set alight to a burning inferno of dazzling heat that increased with the tempo of his thrusts.  Every rocking movement sundered her in ways she could not easily explain – only surrender to as completely as she dared.
“Faster, Legolas,” she moaned, locking her ankles around his waist and digging her heels into the flesh of his rear.  She pulled him forward with urgency, needing to feel him fill her as deeply as she could.  He obeyed without question, rushing into her with wild abandon, giving her pleasure as equally as he took his own.
Patience had truly deserted them, and they raced forward with lustful murmurs as their pleasure rose.  Each thrust left them shaking into one another, sighing out breathy moans and low whispers of affection.  Legolas propped himself up on his elbows and the momentum of his position allowed him more speed.  He thrust into her heat with firm shifts of his lower body, pinning her own to the mattress even as she rose to meet him. 
Their end tumbled into them without warning.  Istuihel cried out, shuddering against him as her orgasm tore through her.  She found she had no time to warn him before she fell, hips bucking up into his without permission, body turning to a boneless mess.  Her inner muscles clenched around his length as if to keep him within her, and the spasms of her end had Legolas moaning as he hovered above her, the once even pace of his hips torn asunder and utterly directionless.
He spilled himself within her with a low cry, face buried against the silken coils of her hair and the soft plane of her cheek.  Her fingers kept his head there, clenched down into his hair.  Her other hand grasped at his shoulder, digging into the firm muscles beneath his skin.  He continued to move, dragging out their pleasure until the passion had dulled and turned instead to gentle comfort.  Then Legolas sighed and curled against her, shifting his weight to the mattress and resting his head against her breasts.
He did not move from within her but Istuihel did not complain.  She merely slung her leg over his waist and nestled further against him, fingers playing with his braids.  She pressed a kiss to his forehead and smiled.
And then her stomach made a noise.
Legolas started to laugh, shaking against her as a grin spread over his face.  He lifted his head and chuckled at the slight blush that had spread over her cheeks.  It was slightly amusing to him that she had not blushed once during any point of their lovemaking, but was embarrassed about this.
“I suppose I should let you finish your dinner,” he solemnly tells her, but the mirth dancing in his eyes tells her that his laughter has not yet vanished.  Istuihel fights away a chuckle of her own and playfully swats at his hand as he skims it over her stomach.
“I told you I haven’t eaten since noon,” she reminded him, allowing him to help her up.  They walked to the fireside together, completely bare and uninterested in changing that any time soon.
As Istuihel reclaimed her seat by the hearth, Legolas went to throw another log on the fire. 
“I suggest you eat all of your meal,” he told her as he returned to her side.  The smirk he had tried to battle down before came back at full force and turned his eyes to mischievous.  She raised an eyebrow at him and he sat on the edge of her armchair, breaking off a piece of lembas bread and lifting it to her lips.  Then he murmured, “I may not be able to take you a thousand times tonight, but I intend to take you at least several more.”
Istuihel burst into laughter and Legolas chuckled.
“Then I suppose I should hurry,” she replied with a mischievous smirk of her own.  “I shan’t keep my prince waiting for me.”
He gave her a soft smile and leaned forward to kiss her forehead.  They did not have the opportunity to make love one thousand times over that night, but they certainly made an impressive effort all the same.

[1] Meleth nin … my love
[2] Goheno nin … I am sorry
[3] Daro, meleth nin … Stop, my love