#i can't help it world building is apparently my version of sex lmao

[tathrin]

Kiss #44 out of lust? If you want! Not sure how spicy you want to make it if you do, it’s up to you

Ooh okay, I'm excited to give it a try! (Let me know what you think of the results, please, folks?) Prompt taken from this; anyone can feel free to send other numbers in at any time, I don’t care how long it’s been. (Just maybe add some context to your ask if it’s been like a month or more since I posted this, because otherwise I won’t know what to do with the random number in my inbox lmao).

"Thank you, Master Legolas," one of the Gondorian counselors said, rising with a thin smile that somehow failed to reach his phlegmy eyes. Legolas was not sure of his name; too many of them looked too much alike, with their pale and wrinkled faces and their dull, lank hair and their duller eyes, all wrapped in heavy robes despite the summer warmth.

Legolas paused, confused by the interruption; why was he being thanked? He had not finished…

"However," the counselor continued unctuously, "I must wonder…and with all due respect to your efforts on behalf of our great city and indeed all of Middle-earth, of course…" He pressed a hand to his chest and gave a shallow bow. Legolas responded in kind instinctively, but the man hardly seemed to care; he went on, still with that thin smile, without pausing for a response. "Well, I must wonder, what would a Wood-elf know of such things?"

"My fellow counselor makes a salient point," said another, rising to his feet beside the first. They exchanged thin and cheerless smiles. "We are indeed grateful for your assistance thus far, Master Legolas, but this is one case in which I fear that an elvish perspective will be of little aid. Let us turn our attention to the aqueduct designs proposed by Beringrond…"

Legolas opened his mouth to explain that he was not speaking of the ways things were done by the trees of his forest, but rather those employed within his father's underground hall, which had a great deal more in common with this stone city and which had furthermore been largely built according to dwarven engineering, not elvish—but the other men were already talking among themselves, their backs turned and their ears closed to him for all that he was still standing there.

He sat down abruptly, the stone bench suddenly very hard and cool beneath him.

Aragorn caught his eye from the far side of the room and grimaced expressively, a silent apology. Legolas understood that his friend was too new a king to wish to risk offending his counselors for so polite a snub. Arwen was more direct in her response, sending directly to his mind her apologies and irritation, along with a firm assurance that the men who thought they would be able to bully her husband and his friends lightly would learn otherwise soon enough.

Legolas was not nearly as skilled in gohanath as Galadriel's granddaughter, and he could not reply in kind without a calmer heart and more time to muster his concentration, so he merely nodded his appreciation and acceptance of her mental words. He even mustered a smile in response, so that she and Aragorn would both know that he nursed no grudge nor held any blame for them over the actions of these arrogant men.

Arwen's answering smile was thin, and the expression in her eyes when she turned to look at the counselors again glittered with grim warning. Legolas had a feeling that this discussion of the city's infrastructure was not going to end the way they expected.

That did not necessarily make him feel better about being snubbed, but it was comforting to know that one's friends were offended on one's behalf.

Gimli was considerably more than merely offended. Legolas could almost feel the bench beneath him vibrating with the outrage that thrummed in the dwarf's veins. He pressed a hand to Gimli's knee and squeezed, hoping both to convey how heartening it was to see such rage kindled on his behalf and to convince the dwarf to keep said rage bottled-up for now; better to let Aragorn and Arwen tear down the arrogance of their council politely rather than for he or Gimli—interlopers here, both of them, for all that they had come to help—shout about it.

Gimli tensed, then slumped in resignation. He nodded glumly, but his eyes still smoldered as he glared at the pompous men swanning around before them in their heavy robes and tawdry jewels. Legolas smiled, and patted his knee again before withdrawing his hand and resuming a polite, attentive posture.

He could do nothing about the flush of shame that darkened his ears, of course, but none of the men were paying him any attention anyway so he doubted they would make much note of it.

The discussion of the proposed aqueducts droned on and on, circling in a pointlessly repetitive fashion that would never have occurred in Eryn Lasgalen. Legolas wondered if all men were like this, or if it was a trait specific to those of Gondor; he fortunately had to deal with very little of this sort of thing in Ithilien, for Faramir oversaw all cooperation between his people and the elves who dwelt in those slowly re-awakening lands, and Faramir was a sensible and gallant soul. If such discussions happened in Ithilien, Faramir made sure that they were sorted out before any elves got involved.

Legolas made a mental note to ask Gimli later how such matters were handled in Rohan. He had a hard time picturing the Horse Lords squandering their hours on needless discourse like this, but he had been wrong about men before. They could be such strange creatures, with such very odd ways of looking at and approaching all aspects of the world. Legolas did not think that even if he lived among them for a thousand years he would ever truly understand their minds.

The ones who stood before him now were surely not the best representatives of their peoples, anyway. It was all Legolas could do to keep himself still while they prattled on and on and on, and a sweet summer breeze wafted through the tall windows that lined the conference room. He longed to be out there in the open air doing something, not sitting here in this stuffy room listening to even stuffier men swell themselves up on the empty words of their own self-importance.

When Gimli motioned for him to lower his head so that he might whisper in Legolas's ear, he leaned over eagerly to hear whatever distraction the dwarf might be about to offer—but instead of speaking, Gimli planted a kiss on the tip of Legolas's ear. He gasped, and quickly pressed his lips together to stifle the sound, and none too soon; for Gimli's teeth followed his lips, closing gently around Legolas's ear and biting down just hard enough for a swift, sharp ache to run through him like a trickle of lightning.

Legolas shuddered, and glanced sideways at Gimli with eyes gone wide with shock and horror, but he did not pull away from the grip of those blunt teeth upon his ear, either.

Gimli smiled and released him, but Legolas still did not move; just hung there half-bent, breathing hard, as Gimli spoke at last. "There is something I have wondered," he said, his voice so quiet that his breath barely stirred the hair around Legolas's ear, "for some time now, Legolas."

Legolas's eyes darted around the room. "Yes?" he breathed.

"I have noticed," Gimli said, "the extraordinary sensitivity of elvish ears." So saying he stuck out his tongue and slid it up inside the point of Legolas's ear, as though exploring every curve and crease of the skin within by touch alone.

Legolas pressed his lips together tightly and managed to suppress all but the faintest gasp of a moan. His eyes had gone closed, and he was not sure precisely when; only that he did not dare open them, for fear that what little control he had would evaporate at the sight of his dwarf.

His hands were on Gimli's knees now, his long arms trembling with the effort of keeping himself upright; his fingers dug in hard, clinging to that solid dwarvish flesh as though Gimli's legs alone held him up above the edge of an endless cliff.

Gimli grinned—Legolas could feel it in the way his beard moved as it brushed his flushed and tingling ear—and murmured,  "Sensitive indeed! So sensitive, in fact, that I have long now been wondering…"

He paused, and Legolas swallowed against a throat gone suddenly as dry as the plains of Gorgoroth.

"Is it possible, do you think," Gimli said, "to move an elf to spill his pleasure by a touch upon his ears alone?"

Legolas moaned aloud, he could not help himself. He sank into Gimli's lap, going as loose and limp as molten gold—and then quickly thrusting himself back upright on their bench, his eyes snapping open again in horror as he remembered where they were, what they were doing.

As ignored as he had been before, the eyes of the whole council room were on them now. Legolas could feel the hot flush sinking down his ears and spreading sideways across his cheeks. "Oh," he said, swaying to his feet. "I—forgive me, the—I was only—the air is very close in here, I—I did not mean—"

"I think our Wood-elf needs some fresh air," Gimli said over his stammering. He climbed off the bench and dropped down beside Legolas, then took one of his hands and patted it soothingly between both of his. "If you will excuse us both, your highnesses, I will see to it that he is properly attended to."

Legolas trembled, and bit the inside of his lip to restrain the noises that wanted to slip free of his mouth in response to Gimli's promise of attending to him.

"Of course," said Aragorn. His eyes were bright with confusion and concern alike, and Legolas forced himself to smile reassuringly at his friend. Aragorn raised his eyebrows, a silent question.

Legolas replied with a gesture so vague that even he wasn't sure what he was trying to say, and he saw Aragorn's gaze drop to Gimli's face instead. Gimli nodded confidently and Aragorn gave a little shrug, as though resigning himself to trusting the elf and dwarf to look after one another instead of prying further.

Legolas was so relieved he almost melted off his feet again.

"Thank you," he murmured, ducking his head to avoid the stares of the councilors.

"Do feel better soon, Legolas," Arwen chirped, and Legolas felt his blush deepen.

"Er," he said. "Thank you, your highness."

He sketched the swiftest, shortest bow of his life and fled the room.

Gimli followed him, chuckling to himself, and Legolas shot him a surly glare the moment the door closed behind them.

"What in the name of your precious Mahal was that about?" he demanded.

Gimli raised his eyebrows, a hirsute picture of innocence. "Whatever do you mean?" he said. "I thought I made my intentions…" He grinned, and there was no trace of innocence left on his bearded face now. "Quite plain." He caught Legolas's hand again and pressed a kiss to the sharp knuckles, then pulled Legolas along after him down the hallway. "Quite plain, indeed."

Legolas shivered and did not withdraw his hand.

"Yes," he said, widening his stride to catch-up so they were walking now side-by-side. He was a little annoyed to hear his voice come out in such a low rasp. "But why there? Why now? Why," he implored, "in front of the entire High Council of Gondor?"

"I did not like how they spoke to you," Gimli growled, his grip on Legolas's fingers tightening.

"I did not much care for it myself," Legolas agreed archly, "but I do not see where the one thing follows the other!"

"I did not want to cause trouble for Aragorn by speaking-out against them as I wished to," Gimli explained, "so I resolved to take you away from them and show you the proper appreciation that a treasure like you deserves." His eyes twinkled up at Legolas like polished agates. "For as long as it takes until you are suitably assured of my high regard for every last inch of you, my dear. Starting with those two long points, if you please."

Legolas's knees wobbled under him. "Gimli…"

"You are lucky," Gimli rumbled, "that I cannot easily reach your pretty ears without breaking stride, or I would have you singing your pleasure right here in the middle of the hallway."

Legolas choked on his own breath. Only Gimli's hand in his kept him moving, pulling him forward when his feet would have faltered and left him standing there stupefied on the floor. Two clerks nodded to them politely as they passed and Legolas could feel his ears burning afresh.

"Gimli!" he hissed. "What if they'd heard you!"

"If I could reach your ears," Gimli grumbled, "they certainly would have heard you."

Legolas whimpered. He saw Gimli's beard twitch over a smug smile in response, and flushed darker. It was hardly his fault that dwarves kept all their most sensitive parts well-covered—save their beards, of course, but it would have been exceptionally rude to fondle a dwarf's beard in the sight of strangers. Legolas was far too polite to do such a thing to his friend (the occasional subtle tug or tweak or twist of its long, rich strands when no one else was looking was something else altogether) and now as thanks for his forbearance, he was being tormented!

"Gimli," he hissed again. "Stop it!"

Gimli only chuckled and pulled him along, now walking a little faster.

"Once I get you into that bed and down within arm's reach," Gimli told him, "I do not intend to stop until neither of us can remember a word of Westron, least of all you, Legolas." He shook his head fiercely, sending his braids bouncing. "Not for anything short of the return of another Dark Lord will I stop—and even then, I would be hard-pressed to find a reason to let you out of that bed while you're still in any state to draw a bow, so we might as well stay put and let someone else deal with it this time."

Legolas was finding it extremely difficult to remember how to breathe, and not because of the speed with which they were currently clattering down the stairs. "Gimli…"

"The sounds I am going to coax out of your bare mouth, Legolas…" Gimli seemed to be speaking as much to himself now as to anyone else, but that did nothing to blunt their effect upon Legolas, who nearly slipped a step—clumsiness that was quite unsuited to an elf!

This whole thing was intolerable. Never before had the exchange of their banter been so unbalanced, not at least so that Legolas could recall—although, admittedly, his recollection abilities were likely not at their best right now, distracted as he was by the images that Gimli's words were sending tumbling through his mind like intoxicating starbursts.

The thought of that skilled and silvertogued mouth applying itself so fervently and extensively to his sensitive ears had his breath catching in his lungs, his blood throbbing in his veins like liquid mithril. He was all but quivering with need, undone by desire for his dwarf.

Their rooms had never seemed so far from the king's chambers before!

"Gimli," he breathed, "you are a menace."

Gimli chucked but did not disagree. "And you are not?" he retorted. "Legolas, the sight of your ears flushing like that in the council room…Mahal, it was all I could do not to have you right there on the bench in front of all those half-bearded fools."

"What?" Legolas squawked. "Gimli!"

"I speak no jest!" Gimli insisted. "Stars above and gems below, Legolas, you know what seeing those ears of yours go dark with pleasure does to me." His broad chest heaved in a sigh like a mountain settling and Legolas's heart skipped a beat in response.

"It was hardly pleasure I was blushing from in there," he protested.

"I know, I know," said Gimli, grimacing, "but I could not see your face from behind you to make note of whatever distress their rudeness caused, my dear; only the tips of your ears, dark and red and so cursedly far away from my hands. How I wanted to touch you, to watch that flush spread down your cheeks and your hair flow loose around my fingers and hear your voice rise in incoherent song under my hands…"

Legolas swallowed and put a hand out to brace himself against the wall. The white stone felt cool under his palm, cool and much more steady on its foundations than was he. Gimli's masterful and lyrical wordsmithing had always been able to move him, but these words fell like an avalanche upon Legolas's heart.

"Gimli," he said and shivered, "Gimli, you…"

"Do you have any idea," Gimli continued as though he had not heard, "what a torment it was to sit there beside you with your blushing ears just over my head, unable to cradle and caress them in the sight of all those foolish, stoneless men? To see that tempting flush, and not dare to touch it? To touch you? Ah, Legolas, I could not bear it. I could not!"

"You did not bear it long, I'll note," Legolas murmured, and Gimli laughed breathlessly.

"No," he agreed, "I admit I did not. But how could anyone have expected me to? A dwarf can endure much, yes; but that!" He shook his head fiercely. "That was too much, Legolas. Even great Mahal himself would have crumbled before such a trial! Stones below, Legolas," Gimli breathed, "the sight of you…"

Legolas shivered again, trembling under the weight of Gimli's adoration—and then he remembered that it had not been men alone who had been in that council chamber.

Perhaps it was time to balance some of those scales from earlier.

He glanced down at the dwarf and said, as calmly and as casually as he could manage with his heart thundering against his ribs and his ears burning so hot it was amazing they had not yet scorched his hair, "Ah, Gimli, you will recall that you mentioned the acute sensitivity of elvish ears before?" Legolas looked up again quickly, before Gimli could see the impish smile he could feel tugging at his lips.

"Yes?" Gimli said. His impatient tone seemed to add, Is that not exactly what we are on our way to explore further?

"Well," Legolas said, as he at last lifted the latch to open the door to their shared rooms, "there is no denying that they are, indeed, quite sensitive to the touch; but you seem to have forgotten that they are very keen of hearing, also."

"Yes?" Gimli said again. "What of it?"

Legolas smiled. "Queen Arwen," he said, "you'll remember, has the keen ears of the elves."

For a moment Gimli just frowned up at him, as though confused as to why Legolas was bringing up Arwen, of all people, when they were about to climb into bed together—and then his eyes widened and his ruddy cheeks went pale.

"Oh," he said in a strangled voice. "Oh, no. Then—you mean—?"

"That she heard every word you spoke to me in the council chamber?" Legolas said. He grinned and stooped to press a kiss to Gimli's forehead before twirling back around and bounding inside. "Yes!" he laughed. "Yes, she most certainly did!"

Gimli moaned and closed his eyes. "I can never show my face in this city again," he declared.

"Then bring your face in here to the bedroom, and the rest of you with it," Legolas suggested. "For you have quite a lot of work to do in here 'ere you will have need to face Arwen or anyone else in Minas Tirith again, my most beloved dwarf!"

"Impudent elf!" Gimli yelled and followed.

The slamming of the door behind him shivered in Legolas's bones like an avalanche and he lay back upon the bed, grinning with anticipation as his dwarf climbed up beside him.

Elven ears, it transpired, were every bit as sensitive as Gimli had hoped, and more.