Connie Bailey's Blog
September 28, 2010
Fic: Forbidden Flower
Forbidden Flower
http://community.livejournal.com/yunjae_yeobo/42459.html#cutid1
Edited to replace wrong link with correct one.
September 20, 2009
Dreamspinnerpress New Store!
Please visit the newly redesigned Dreamspinner Press web site and store! http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com
We are in the process of updating to serve you better and the product you are looking for has been moved. You can use the search box in the upper right or the categories to the left to find your title.
Exciting Features When You Register for a New Account
* Permanent Bookshelf
* Unlimited Downloads
* Links That Never Expire
* Purchase an eBook and download it in any format
If you have any...
Dreamspinnerpress New Store!
Please visit the newly redesigned Dreamspinner Press web site and store! http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com
We are in the process of updating to serve you better and the product you are looking for has been moved. You can use the search box in the upper right or the categories to the left to find your title.
Exciting Features When You Register for a New Account
* Permanent Bookshelf
* Unlimited Downloads
* Links That Never Expire
* Purchase an eBook and download it in any format
If you have any questions, please contact us at contact@dreamspinnerpress.com.
September 9, 2009
Restoration
Restoration
Pairing: Aragorn/Legolas
Rated: NC17
Synopsis: After a hard day of labor during the re-building of Minas Tirith, Legolas and Aragorn refresh themselves in the royal bathhouse.
Written for the 2009 LAS Ficathon
“You look very tired, my lord.” The tall Captain held the King’s horse while Aragorn dismounted. It seemed to him that the entire city was humming like a beehive. Even this inner courtyard of the palace was dense with the shouts of laborers, the clatter of t...
Restoration
Restoration
Pairing: Aragorn/Legolas
Rated: NC17
Synopsis: After a hard day of labor during the re-building of Minas Tirith, Legolas and Aragorn refresh themselves in the royal bathhouse.
Written for the 2009 LAS Ficathon
“You look very tired, my lord.” The tall Captain held the King’s horse while Aragorn dismounted. It seemed to him that the entire city was humming like a beehive. Even this inner courtyard of the palace was dense with the shouts of laborers, the clatter of their tools and their footsteps as they hurried from one task to the next. They toiled without stint to repair the damage to Minas Tirith, but none worked harder than the Man who ruled them.
Typically, the former Ranger brushed aside his Captain’s concern and drew himself up from his weary slump. “Good evening to you, Beregond. Are the teams in from the lower terraces yet?”
Beregond’s full lips curved up in the frame of his black beard. In the aftermath of the Ring War, Elves from Mirkwood had joined the other Races that came to restore the war-torn White City. It was a fine thing to look out over the descending levels and behold Elves, Hobbits and Dwarves laboring together with Men to make new what battle had destroyed. All the Free Peoples of Middle Earth had put down their weapons to pick up shovels, chisels and any other useful implement that might to help re-build Gondor’s crowning glory. Queen Arwen had established new branches of the Houses of Healing in the lower precincts and comforted the ill and injured with her own hands. However, Beregond knew it was not the medical teams that Aragorn had asked about and it brought a grin to his face.
It was no great secret among those who served in the private quarters of the palace that King Elessar’s marriage was one of state. To be sure, there was great affection between the Lord and the Lady, but it was the love of a brother for a sister and lifelong friend. The passion of the Man called hope was bestowed elsewhere and the Captain for one did not begrudge him. Aragorn had never spared himself once in the years of gathering darkness, giving all so that his people might not be enslaved. Beregond did not think that the comfort of a lover was too much to ask in return for the King’s many sacrifices on the altar of duty.
So it was with pleasure that Beregond answered. “Aye, the planters came up just before you, my lord.”
“I am happy to hear it. Their Chief will attend a dinner this evening honoring Gondor’s ambassador to the Lonely Mountain. I must inform him of the time he is expected.”
Beregond did not suggest that this was a task better suited to a page than a King. “Your Majesty will find him in the usual place.”
“My thanks, Beregond.” Aragorn clapped the big man on the shoulder and strode away, all traces of weariness gone from his step.
The captain smiled after him. “Rest you well, my lord,” he murmured.
::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Aragorn moved quickly through his private quarters, out into the walled garden and across the grass to a group of low stone structures. Passing through an archway carved with athelas vine, he entered a long roofless building, his boots disturbing drifts of fallen blossoms from the fruit trees. A shallow marble-faced pool ran the length of the structure, watched over by statues carrying antique water jugs. Aragorn leaned against a monumental shin as he caught sight of the one he sought.
The Elf entered the bathing house in a leap over the west wall. Landing lightly, he immediately began divesting himself of his mud-smirched clothing. The King held his breath, as beauty was bared piecemeal, smooth ivory skin in gleaming glimpses until all garments were shed. When the Elf raised a hand to loosen the strip of leather that bound his hair, Aragorn stopped him.
“May I serve you, your highness?” he called out.
“I was wondering why you stood idle.”
A grin pulled the King’s handsome features up, erasing years of worry lines. “I have become lazy. Perhaps we should have kept a few Orcs around to remind us to value peace.”
“They did make good sport.”
A laugh broke from Aragorn’s throat. Laughter came easily these days despite the long hours of labor. In the days before Sauron’s final defeat, they had striven together against a common enemy. Now, they worked to build a future together. The bond was still as strong, but the need for grim resolution had passed and they could take joy in their efforts. “Then since the Orcs are no more, we must find a new sport,” the King said.
Legolas cast a look over his shoulder as he entered the smaller building and Aragorn hurried after him. The light was softer here and the Elf’s skin glowed like a lamp of pearl in the steam that rose from the heated pool to freight the air with moisture. Aragorn hastily doffed his clothing, leaving the garments in a heap upon the damp floor as he crossed to where Legolas waited. He bade the Elf sit and Legolas sank down beside the pool with his legs in the water. Aragorn knelt behind him and took up a silver basin. Scattering the herbs therein upon the surface, he dipped the bowl and poured the fragrant water over Legolas’s back. The Elf made a small sound of pleasure as the action was repeated and grime sluiced away.
“This is my favorite place in all of Middle Earth,” the Prince said.
“Will you be forsworn?”
The Elf’s eyelids had been drifting downward, but they snapped open at these words.
“Just yesterday evening,” Aragorn continued, “you declared the royal bed to be your favorite place in all of Middle Earth.”
“Because you were in it.”
“Ah. I see. And now that I am here, this is your favorite place?”
“Of course,” Legolas said in the tone one uses with a very small child.
“Then, by this logic, at some point, the very gate of Mordor was your favorite place in Middle Earth.”
“For a very brief time.”
Aragorn’s smile stayed on his face as he lathered a rough cloth and applied it to the Elf’s shoulders, working his way down the lean, hard torso. Legolas sat in docile happiness, making an occasional sound of pleasure, or turning slightly to provide better access. When the washing stopped, he looked up, as Aragorn filled the basin and rinsed the suds away.
“This is my favorite part,” the King said.
A shiver ran the length of Legolas’s lithe frame as Aragorn put a hand on his nape. Nimble fingers made short work of the knot and pulled free the leather lace, releasing the hair bound atop his head. Tresses the color of starlight on snow tumbled down to cover the Elf to the waist. “So beautiful,” Aragorn murmured as he ran his hands through the skeins of pale silk.
“And in need of a wash,” Legolas hinted.
Aragorn lifted a strand to his lips as he replied. “Then it should be wet.” With no more warning, he shoved the Elf into the pool. Legolas surface with a grin on his face and a hand on Aragorn’s ankle. In a twinkling, the Man had joined the Elf in the water. Ducking and diving, they wrestled for the upper hand, fingers finding little purchase on slippery flesh.
“A truce,” Aragorn cried breathlessly. “Or I shall never finish washing that horse’s tail of yours.”
“If you wish to yield…” Legolas let the sentence hang.
“I am asking for quarter,” the King clarified. “The match is only postponed.”
“For how long?”
“So eager, my fierce one!”
“I like wrestling with you when we are unclothed.”
Aragorn’s merry laugh rang out again. “No more than I do, but I also know that you prefer a bath before battle.”
“I see nothing humorous in this.”
“I laugh for sheer joy.”
“I tease you for the same reason.”
Aragorn slipped his arms around the Elf’s slim waist and pulled him close. Legolas rested his forehead against the Man’s and looked into his eyes. For a long moment, the room hummed with the contentment of two souls in perfect harmony. Both knew that they would move on to the pleasures to be found in physical union, but for now, this was enough, and more than enough. It had sustained them many times when all hope seemed lost by giving proof that there was still light in the world. This beacon had never failed: a spark that once struck would burn for all eternity. It mattered not to them that one was immortal and the other had a limited span of years. They would cherish each moment and when the time came that they must part, they would have no regrets. Sorrow there would be in plenty for the one left behind, but also shining memories in which he might walk as in waking dreams.
“Let me finish what I began,” Aragorn said softly.
Legolas leaned his elbows on the side of the pool and closed his eyes as Aragorn lathered his hair. The King took his time, rubbing his fingertips sensuously over the Elf’s scalp. Entranced by the gentle caresses, Legolas was drawn backward to rest against Aragorn’s chest. Carefully, the Man rinsed away the shampoo and the Elf’s eyes opened, melting up into his.
“Your hair needs washing as well,” Legolas said. Pushing away from Aragorn, he rose to sit on the side of the pool. He beckoned to the Man as he filled his palm with the sweet smelling soap. Aragorn came to stand in the chest-deep water between the Elf’s legs. Resting his arms on Legolas’s thighs, the King gave himself up to the sensual pleasure of the Elf’s attentions. The Prince’s idea of washing hair extended much farther than the scalp and Aragorn was happily well outfitted to accommodate this partiality. Letting his head fall back against the Elf’s stomach, Aragorn sighed as slippery fingers moved down his chest. “Rinse,” Legolas whispered in his ear.
Though Aragorn was exceedingly happy where he was, he ducked under and shook out his hair, ridding it of foam. He surfaced directly in front of the Elf and wrapped his arms around Legolas’s waist. Legolas bent his neck to kiss the face turned up to him, his lips moving gently on Aragorn’s as the King’s arms tightened around him. As the kiss grew more heated, Aragorn lifted the Elf into the water and Legolas wrapped his legs around the Man. Joined at the mouth, they let their hands range freely, stroking and squeezing as the heat built steadily between them.
“If only we had time,” Aragorn groaned as their lips parted.
“You would not wish to be late for dinner with your ambassador to the Lonely Mountain.” The Elf’s breath tickled the Man’s ear.
“He would be sure to take it as a slight.”
“Woe, the thin skin of Dwarves.”
Aragorn’s warm chuckle belied his words. “A plague on the inconvenience of Dwarves.”
“Turn so that your back is to the wall.”
Aragorn looked perplexed at this non sequitur, but did as the Elf in his arms asked. Legolas took one arm from around the Man’s neck and stretched it down under the water. Aragorn flinched when the Elf took hold of his arousal. “What are you doing?”
“You are hard, so this will not be.” With a sly smile, Legolas seated the King’s rod at his lower entrance and sank down.
“By the Valar!” Aragorn’s breath hissed out through his teeth as several inches were engulfed.
Legolas put his arms around Aragorn’s neck, bobbing buoyantly, smiling with delight at the expression on his beloved’s face. “Forgive me for the lack of ceremony, but our time, much like Gimli, is short.”
Aragorn’s laugh was cut off as the Prince claimed his mouth again. Supporting the Elf with an arm around his back, Aragorn took hold of Legolas’s arousal with his other hand. Legolas moaned into the Man’s mouth as the stroking hand set off waves of bliss that reached his every shore. Hooking his ankles behind Aragorn’s thighs, he flattened his palms on the broad shoulders and eased up and down. Aragorn’s head dropped back to rest on the marble as he gazed up at the angel who rode him. “You are far too generous,” he murmured.
“Nay, say rather selfish, aye, and greedy, as well.” Legolas paused as a strong pulse of pleasure stole his breath. “Ahhhh, that is good,” he said when he could speak again. “I do this for my benefit as well as yours. Later, when we are alone in your bedchamber, we may take all the time we like, but just now I am on fire for you and I will not be put off.”
“Then take your joy of me.” Aragorn’s smile grew roguish as he released the Elf and stretched his arms out along the side of the pool.
Legolas hesitated not one moment. With an arm around Aragorn’s neck and a hand on his own hard length, the Elf rose and sank, driving them both rapidly to the edge. Finally, the Man could not keep his hands from the Sindar’s sleek form. Clasping Legolas’s supple torso just under the ribcage, Aragorn spread his fingers wide, the tips sinking into firm flesh. The muscles under his hands rippled smoothly as Legolas leaned back, letting the Man support him as he raised his legs to rest on the King’s shoulders. The Elf’s hair drifted in the water as Aragorn flexed his buttocks, thrusting smoothly in the snug sheath. Legolas extended his arms, floating on the surface, as the King rocked into him, his pleasure mounting with each stroke. Aragorn’s ardor burned with flash fire intensity as he gazed upon the riches laid out before him, and he bent from the waist to nuzzle at the Elf’s nipples. As he nipped at a tempting bud, Legolas cried out and released his seed in a milky cloud. Aragorn groaned as the tight channel clamped down on his arousal, hips stuttering as he lost the rhythm, driving into Legolas in a delirious burst of bliss. His hands slid down to clutch at his lover’s hips, holding them in place as joy bloomed outward from his core and fountained forth. Legolas made a small sound as Aragorn’s essence spooled out inside him and he met the Man’s eyes in perfect communion. With the echoes of release still reverberating in every cell, Aragorn pulled out and pulled the Elf up into his embrace.
“Short, but so very sweet, as the Men of Dale say,” the Sindar murmured.
“Do they,” Aragorn panted. “That is a… handy saying… for… such a moment.”
“That is what I told the Man from Dale.”
Aragorn quickly snuffed the flash of jealousy roused by the teasing words. “You are very wicked, and I love it most when we can be together like this.”
“Yes, the lovemaking is very good.”
“I meant… this,” the King said, smiling into the Elf’s eyes. “When we can be easy and jest with each other, giving no thought to the next moment, but enjoying the one in our hands.”
“There is still the dinner with the ambassador.”
“Gimli will understand.”
“Or so he will tell you, but be warned: Dwarves do not forgive slights to their honor and their memories are as long as their beards.”
“As is their friendship, once given.”
Legolas inclined his head to the King of Gondor. “As I have cause to know. Let us not keep our friend waiting any longer.”
“Pretty words.” A deep voice jarred the air in guttural tones. “But I see you are still bathing like a pair of fine ladies when you should be at table.”
“Then we shall come now.” Legolas rose from the pool as Aragorn mumbled an apology to the Dwarf.
“Nay!” Gimli stumbled backward out the door. “Wait until I have gone, Sindar strumpet!”
“Ah, the delicate sensibilities of the Dwarves,” Legolas sighed as he wrung out his hair.
“There is no decency in Elves,” Gimli replied. “I am going back to the banquet hall.”
“We will soon join you, old friend,” Aragorn called out. “Do not wait for us to begin eating.”
“I haven’t.” Gimli’s voice grew fainter as he walked away. “You’d better hurry if you want any of the apple honey cakes.”
Legolas’s head came up like a hound that hears a whistle on the wind. “Apple honey cakes,” he repeated.
“I heard.” Aragorn’s voice was muffled as he struggled to pull his tunic down over his wet skin while stomping his feet into his boots.
In moments, the bathhouse was quiet again, the stillness broken only by the subtle sounds of water against stone, the fingers of the wind combing the leaves, flowers falling to the ground. Elf and Man were gone to feed another appetite and enjoy the fellowship of good friends and good food. Through peril, torment and despair they had stood by one another until they had come to this place, out of the night into a dawn that stretched into eternity. Never again would they fear the darkness for they knew that they were part of the light, and even when they were separated by death, a part of each would shine on in that same light.
August 25, 2009
Random Sketch
Random Sketch
[image error]
[image error]
[image error]
[image error]
July 2, 2009
Ewan hotness
If you click it twice, it gets very big.
Connie Bailey's Blog
- Connie Bailey's profile
- 38 followers
