#also i do blame aragorn for me loving gale

[tiny-stale-cupcake]

[tathrin]

Since AO3 is apparently going to be down for a while, here’s a random little snippet of movieverse Legolas and Gimli with poor Aragorn, as usual, playing the role of their third wheel. I don’t write movieverse fic so I have nothing else to do with this thing, so here: I offer it forth freely. Do as thou wilt.

(Also I’m currently bleary-brained from covid so if you see any massive typos or paragraph jumps that don’t make sense...blame that, not me. Shh.)

Set after the Battle of Helm’s Deep. Rating: PG for innuendo.

Gimli barked a hearty laugh in response to the dry jest. "Oh, Master Elf," he chuckled, "I could kiss you right now!"

"You are very welcome to do it."

The words popped out of Legolas's mouth without his leave, and though he snapped his teeth closed after them it was far too late to catch them back.

For a moment there was nothing but silence in response. Legolas's thoughts whirled, trying to piece together a follow-up statement that would turn the sentence so that it seemed no more than their usual banter; something to make it harmless and light, like all their teasing was these days. But his thoughts broke apart like foam in the strong eddy of a stream, and no empty jesting words offered themselves to his salvation.

The silence seemed to be growing, as though all of Helm's Deep had paused in this moment to partake of his shame. Was every mortal in the courtyard staring at them? Had all of Rohan witnessed him making a fool of himself by so blithely, so vainly speaking the secret words of his heart? Legolas closed his eyes, as though that might be enough somehow to shut-out the world; as though he could hide on the other side of his eyelids like mortals did in their dreams.

"Well, then." A gruff voice broke the weight of the silence, and Legolas flinched as a dwarven throat cleared itself in a musical avalanche. "You'll have to bend down first, you fool elf—or do you expect me to fetch over a box?"

Legolas opened his eyes.

Gimli stood before him, not turning aside in derision or disgust; not laughing at him, or dismissing his words as some ill-spoken jest. Indeed, the dwarf's cheeks were redder than usual against the bright copper of his beard, and his strong fingers worked anxiously against one another, pressed so tightly that the pale knuckles stood-out against his callused skin like bright pearls.

"No," Legolas murmured. He felt dazed, like one who had wandered too close to some strangeness of wizards or great lords and was left reeling from the shock of brushing against a grand and unknown power. "No, you need no box."

He bent, arcing his head down towards Gimli's like a sapling who bows before a great mountain gale, and pressed his lips gently to Gimli's waiting ones.

Oh, but it was like kissing sparks—as though fire itself had been made flesh in Gimli's form, and Legolas shivered as those sparks spread to dance brightly through his veins. He drew back—

And suddenly rough, strong hands caught him by his jerkin, and he was pulled down hard and swift and hungry into another kiss, and oh it was not sparks at all; this was a blaze, a forest fire that would overrun and incinerate him; burning the tree of his heart down to ash, and Legolas would love the very fury of the blaze for its strength and its unceasingness; would throw himself into those flames again and again for the sake of feeling its heat dance upon his skin. It was like being alive, this fire; alive such as he had never felt himself before, in all his years under tree and sky.

"Gimli," he mewled, and his words were met by a growl such as that which mountains must have made when the world was forming. Legolas shuddered at the sound and all the strength fled his limbs.

He landed on his knees, falling with such gracelessness that a gasp of shock was torn from his lips only to be swallowed by Gimli's as the dwarf pressed their mouths together once again. Legolas surged forward into the kiss, now arcing up to meet the dwarf rather than down, and broad, strong hands unfurled along his back, pulling him tight against Gimli's cold mail and soft beard.

Legolas tangled his hands in the rich, thick hair, and whimpered in Sindarin so incoherent that he himself did not even know what he spoke; only that he spoke of love, and fire, and Gimli—always, always of Gimli!

"Stop talking so I can kiss you proper, Elf!" the dwarf grumbled, and Legolas went limp against Gimli and let himself be devoured by strong dwarvish lips and tongue and teeth and, oh, if this was how mortals dreamed then he was never going to wake up, never—!

A throat that had no mountains in it cleared behind him, and Legolas dimly became aware of cold stone under his knees, and the drip of old rainwater from tall places, and the creak and shuffle that was the constant noise of Men's rough bodies; he heard coarse voices muttering, and coughing, and muffled laughter; and he remembered where he was.

He drew back from Gimli slowly, trembling, and blinked in surprised confusion at the world beyond the dwarf's scorching mouth. It seemed impossible, somehow, that it should all still be there—the damp stones of Helm's Deep, the battered army of the Rohirrim, the tired king and the ragged Ranger—when everything else had changed so wholly and completely at the touch of Gimli's mouth that all of Arda now felt as though it had been made anew.

"Ah," he said thickly. "Aragorn."

"What is it, then?" Gimli growled impatiently, and his broad hands tightened on Legolas's shoulders and the elf shivered against the urge to melt into his strong touch once more.

"Glad as I am," Aragorn drawled, and while his tone was sharp with exasperation his eyes danced with bright joy, "to see this matter finally settled between you two, I must remind you that we are in some haste. There is a wizard to be seen to, remember?"

"Ah," said Legolas again, trying to remember why he should care about wizards when he might have dwarven hands upon his skin instead, "yes, of course. My apologies, Aragorn."

"I do not apologize," declared Gimli, and Legolas shivered again at the thrill of delight that the dwarf's possessive rumble sent dancing down his spine. "But very well; duty calls, and all else must wait upon its satisfaction…and," he added in a low voice meant for Legolas's sharp ears alone, "the waiting will make the satisfaction all the more rewarding, when at last I can tumble you into my arms."

Legolas's breath strangled in his throat and he sagged against the dwarf. Gimli chuckled and brushed his lips across the elf's pointed ear, and Legolas felt as though all his bones had turned to starlight. "Oh, you are wicked, Gimli!" he breathed, and Gimli's laugh rumbled in both their chests.

"You have no idea, my friend," he murmured back. "But how I will enjoy showing you."

"Enough," Aragorn commanded, although his lips were twisted sideways in amusement. He caught Legolas by the shoulder and hauled him to his feet, and never before had any elf risen with such ill-grace; he stumbled, and had Gimli's hand not been there to steady him, he likely would have fallen. He barely felt as though he could remember how to work his legs.

Gimli shot the Ranger a dark look and shook his finger at him. "Watch who you're man-handling, laddie," he chided. "King or no, it'll be axe-work for you if you go around oft putting hands to my elf like that in front of me."

My elf! The words sang in Legolas's head like stars. My elf!

He looked down at his dwarf��his dwarf!—and beamed. Gimli glanced up, and then away quickly, and his cheeks were crimson.

"Ah, well!" he mumbled. "No need to be getting all sappy about it!"

Legolas laughed and dipped to press a quick kiss to Gimli's brow—but no more than that, lest he once again forget all else but the presence of his own dear love.

Aragorn muttered something in weary Sindarin, but Legolas was not listening. No more did he hear the shocked muttering or nervous laughter of the watching Rohirrim; he had eyes—and ears—only for Gimli, as they followed Aragorn down the stairs to the waiting horses and the king.

He leaned down and caught Gimli's hand, lacing his long thin fingers through the sturdy weight of Gimli's shorter, broader ones. His heart sang to see how well their grips fit together, as though a part of him long missing had been reunited and made whole at last. "Your elf indeed," Legolas promised quietly, "from now until beyond the breaking of the world, in every way in which it might be measured."

"Ach!" Gimli made a strangled, choking sound, and his fingers tightened convulsively on Legolas's. "Sappy, as I said!"

Legolas laughed. "I am a Wood-elf, Gimli. My blood is half sap already—yet now, yes; now I think the other half is all given over to dwarven fire!"

"Not yet it's not," Gimli growled. "But give me time, and we'll fill you up with dwarven fire until you all but sing of it."

A shudder ran down from the tips of Legolas’s ears to his toes and back again. "And a better song all of Middle-earth will never before have sung," he agreed fervently.

"Friends, please!" Aragorn groaned from a little ways ahead. "I can still hear you!"

"Not half so well as all of Rohan will soon hear my elf singing his pleasure under my hands," Gimli muttered, and Legolas bit his lip with the effort of restraining his whimper.

"I promise you," he said huskily, "the song will be a duet, my dear dwarf."

Gimli shivered so hard his armor clanked. He spoke then in the language of the dwarves, and while Legolas did not know that secret tongue, the rumble of its words through his heart made his breath draw short and the tips of his ears burn red.

He paused on the last step before the courtyard and turned to face Gimli. "Meltha nín, I—" Legolas licked dry lips and tried again. "Gimli, if I—"

"Please!" Aragorn shouted. "My friends! Saruman, remember?"

Gimli shook his head and raised his voice to bellow, "A pox on all wizards!"

Legolas laughed as Gandalf sputtered in confused outrage. He left it to the dwarf to explain as he swung up atop their horse, pretending he could not see the aggrieved glower on Aragorn's face, and reached a hand down to pull Gimli onto Arod's back behind him. Strong dwarvish arms encircled his waist, and Legolas grinned as the horses trotted forward.

He was very much looking forward to that duet.

{ read more legolas and gimli fic here, once AO3 returns }

p.s. please feel free to reblog if you liked the fic. I know a lot of folks are new to tumblr right now, but trust me: that’s not just an acceptable thing to do on this site, but a lovely one. Whenever you see a post you like, consider reblogging it to share it with more people.