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The sex is relentless and doesn’t stop at his finish; Aragorn fucks him right through his release and latches tighter to him afterwards, clawing angry red marks into his hips and biting into his shoulder. Legolas moans and tries to shrug Aragorn off, only to wind up sinking into it—Aragorn is skilled with every bit of his perfect body. By the time he finally pulls himself out of Legolas’ abused channel, Legolas isn’t sure he’ll be able to walk straight. On any other visit, he’d be quite content to occupy his lover’s bed for as long as it took to satiate their need, but there’s a council tomorrow they’ll both be required to attend, and Legolas pulls himself away with considerable effort.
He sits up in bed, clutching a silken sheet around his naked body and gasping at the sting of putting weight on his raw rear. Aragorn’s behind him in a second, wrapping around him all the tighter. Aragorn’s muscular thighs bracket his lithe waist, Aragorn’s strong arms twist tightly around his middle, and Aragorn’s mouth spreads over the side of Legolas’ neck, forcing Legolas to tilt aside. Aragorn grabs a chunk of Legolas’ platinum blond hair and tugs it forcefully away, revealing more pale skin for Aragorn to mar. His teeth sink into Legolas’ flesh, and Legolas arches out, moaning through his screamed-hoarse throat.
When he’s settled back down to fluttering breath, Aragorn now scraping along his collarbone, Legolas breathily teases, “You are going to force me to wear a full cape at tomorrow’s council...” At the moment, there isn’t much of Legolas that doesn’t show the brutal force of Aragorn’s love.
Aragorn just chuckles, “You know that is not what I wish, my prince—I am bruising these marks into your pretty skin for a reason. I wish everyone in attendance to know just whom you belong to.” Legolas answers with a little laugh, swiftly broken in a languid groan.
He twists back, even his agile Elven bones protesting, and draws his hand along Aragorn’s chin, petting the stubble fondly. “You will note I do not need such displays to know you are mine.”
“I am nothing to look at,” Aragorn laughs, pausing to run his busy hands down Legolas’ smooth stomach, dipping between his legs. “But you, my gorgeous Legolas, are a beauty worth fighting for...”
Legolas grins, pleased and flattered, then opens to gasp and keen as Aragorn scrapes blunt nails along his inner thighs. Around the sharp, delicious sensations, he purrs, “You are plenty handsome, Aragorn...” Handsome, talented, and then some. Aragorn traces new lines along Legolas’ legs, then back up to his chest, and mouths at his shoulder to suck in a new marking. On a whim, Legolas murmurs, “We are lucky my father has not come; it will be a miracle if I manage to cover these...”
“That’s the idea,” Aragorn growls, now rising to nip at the pointed tip of Legolas’ ear. It’s one of his most sensitive areas, and being treated so roughly there always makes Legolas mewl. He isn’t the least bit surprised when Aragorn tightens his grip and lurches backwards, dragging Legolas with him.
Legolas rolls happily around in his arms, looking forward to relinquishing another night to this intensive joy.