~ Legolas is a naughty elf. Thankfully Wynne cheers him up. ~

35. Dirty Thoughts

Legolas was alone after enduring another of those awkward, painful walks. As usual he had been forced to lean heavily on the hateful crutch, his legs just barely holding up his weight, with everyone looking at him with badly hidden pity.

He felt weak and miserable and he hated it with a passion.

He wanted away from this awful rock and this claustrophobic room that might as well be a cell, out where there were trees, and sunlight, and fresh air. He missed his horse, he missed weapon practice, he missed eating real food and bathing. He missed Wynne. And his hair was a disaster.

A treacherous tear trickled down his cheek and he angrily wiped it off.

Ada had told him to rest like he was an elfling who needed a nap.

He didn't want to sleep. He wanted Wynne.

They hadn't been alone at all the whole day yesterday and she wouldn't dare come in now either. Not when his adar had all but ordered her to go on that tour.

He longed so much to hold her again. The bubbling happiness he had felt when she accepted him had turned to glum misery. How could he have believed it possible to have a secret relationship under his adar's hawk eyes? It would all turn to nothing.

Even if they could be alone now and then it would be far too seldom to amount to anything.

Rest, indeed! He was not tired; he was annoyed, and agitated, and he wanted to be his normal, strong self. Sleep was the last thing on his mind right now.

He needed cheering up, and if no one else would do it he had to do it himself. With everybody away looking at stupid machines he knew he would be alone and undisturbed long enough to what he intended. Good.

Kicking the crutch into a corner, he pulled off his tunic and threw it in a messy heap on the floor, almost hearing his adar's grating voice in his head. "This place looks like a swine sty. You need to take better care of your belongings, son."

Well, Ada was not here and if he didn't like garments littering the floor he could tidy them away himself. Sliding down his hose he rebelliously tossed them on Thranduil's bed.

Only in his undershirt, he sank back and made himself comfortable on the fluffy mattress, drawing a few calming breaths, willing himself to push down the anger and frustration.

He pulled his comforter up to his neck and closed his eyes. Protected by it – not that anyone would come in, but just in case – he slipped a hand between his legs.

He picked among his memories, choosing a very recent one: Wynne, when she kissed him. He replayed to himself her sweet, soft lips; how she had felt and tasted; the way his body had responded. When she pulled back her cheeks had been flushed and her eyes bright, and he knew she felt the same way as he.

Next he pictured her when she bathed, her wet chemise revealing her fit body. Those broad hips and buttocks that he very much wished to caress, as well as her legs that indeed were very nice, what with all the riding and exercise – and higher up, her breasts. They were just the right size to cup with his palm. He pictured himself doing so, and then tracing its rounded shape to touch a pink nipple.

He had to suppress a strong sense of guilt when he pictured her breasts, for the reason he knew what they looked like was because the orcs had cut her clothes that time, and to be using such a memory for his own pleasure was so shameful he would never, ever admit it to anyone.

But he did use it, and he deeply despised himself for it, but that image brought him to climax.

After cleaning himself and waiting for his breath and heartbeat to slow to normal, he lay back down on the bed, still only in his shirt. He felt a little calmer now but no less unhappy. As always the forbidden thoughts and actions had made him feel dirty.

He stared at the stone ceiling, every crack of which he now knew by heart, blinking away another few bitter tears.

Before he met Wynne, he had not cared very much about females, although he admittedly had turned his eyes after one or two in the past despite what he had told her. But that had been it; he had not thought more of them and he had certainly never wished to see them without their clothes.

Well, except for that time when he and another elfling had peered into the ellith's bathing area through a slit in the wall, but that didn't really count. He had just been a curious kid and only caught the glimpse of the backside of one before he and his partner in crime had been discovered.

That was the only time he could remember his father punishing him physically. He had probably deserved it too, though he naturally had been rather mortified at the time. It had at least thoroughly cured him of any wish to sneak peak on naked ladies again.

But then Wynne had crashed into his life one spring day, and captured both his heart and his desire. The urge to look at her – with or without clothes – had overpowered him, and the past weeks in her company had ignited a need in him. Now that part of his body craved his attention in a way it never had before. It was disconcerting.

It had become especially bad now after his injury when he was locked down here with nothing to do but think. Maybe when they finally could leave this horrible hole and continue their journey he would be more like himself.

But he healed ever so slowly. Terribly, disgustingly slowly.

His restlessness was returning and he grinded his teeth. He felt trapped like a bird in a cage, the walls pressing down on him.

A knock on the door made him jump guiltily. Who could that be? Surely the tour was not yet over.

Then sunshine flooded his room as Wynne, his lovely, wonderful Wynne sneaked in, a sly smile on her face.

"Sidra saved me!" Her smile widened. "Why, someone has been moping. And here I brought lembas and everything."

He didn't reply, his throat had grown thick with emotion. He pulled her to him and made her crash on top of him, ignoring the painful protests from his wound. He claimed her lips, sweeter and softer than ever, and it was so amazing, it felt so good.

Like the flipping of a coin, his world had gone from absolute darkness to the brightness of an early summer morning. He could almost hear trees rustle and birds chirping merrily. Wynne was his, Ada would come to terms with it in time, Legolas would soon be strong again. Everything would work out for the better.

She ended the kiss rather too soon he figured, but it was alright anyway. When she sat on his bedside he could look at her, admire her fluffy, curly hair and those cute freckles. Did she have them elsewhere on her body too? He would check some time.

"This place is a mess." She observed his discarded clothes critically.

"Aye, I hate it. Get me out of here," he begged.

"I was actually thinking of asking Goltur if you could move to us now. Don't they need this room for other patients? You are so much better."

"I would not mind sharing a room with you."

A look in her gray eyes told him she was also thinking about the possibilities of sleeping in the same place.

He imagined himself secretly snuggling down beside her in the dead of the night, pressing his body tight against hers while sliding a hand in under her chemise to explore her legs, and then her breasts...

A new pang of guilt over what he had done before she came in pushed the pleasant picture out of his head. Thank Elbereth she had not come sooner.

"Did you know your ears turn pink when you blush?"

That of course very likely made him redden more, which obviously was just what she had intended, the little vixen. Her look was far too knowing for her own good.

A well aimed tickle-attack wiped the smug smile off her face and soon he had her rolling next to him, giggling and panting for breath. "Alright, alright, you win! Stop!"

"Not before you grant me a boon."

"I shall. Haha I shall!"

He stopped and wrapped his arms around her, burying his nose in her hair to inhale her lovely, sweet scent that he remembered from when she had slept in his tent.

"Well, what would you have me do?" she murmured against his collarbone, her breath tickling his skin pleasantly.

"Help me go outside."

"What, now?"

"Yes! I shall waste away if I stay in here another minute. I need air." He kissed her unruly curls.

"Fine, I will. But if Thranduil kills me, it's on you. Just so you know."

She helped him rise and stood close, hugging him while he tried to gain his balance. His wound hurt; the stitches pulled on his skin and the damaged abdominal muscles throbbed. He found himself leaning heavier on Wynne than he liked.

He was the warrior; he should be the stronger one. Yet here he was, displaying this humiliating weakness. She had seen his father fussing over him, seen his tears, she had even witnessed the embarrassing poppy seed hallucinations he had. It was a miracle she still wanted to be with him.

"I hate this," he muttered darkly.

"I know. But it will soon pass." She turned her face up and he expected to read pity in it, but instead her eyes were dark and her lips had parted. Her hands tentatively began to explore his back and shoulders over his thin undershirt. She desired him!

Again the bleak thoughts disappeared, spirited away by this amazing woman who wanted him and desired even this broken body. He was truly a lucky elf.

She was much too good for him, not that he would let that stop him from selfishly keeping her.

When standing, Wynne just barely reached his shoulder and he appreciated being so much taller. That, at least, had not been taken from him by his injury.

He bent down and kissed her, feeling himself respond to her bewitching, caressing hands, one of which had found its way to his ear just like the last time. Did she have any idea how sensitive he was there? More importantly, almost undressed as he was, would she notice the effect it had on him? With her pressing herself so closely against him, he was unable to hide the telltale hardness. Hopefully she didn't know what it was.

"Maybe I should put something more on," he mumbled into her lips.

"I like this outfit."

Cheeky. He loved it. "Unfair; you wear a lot more," he countered.

"I can change that."

"Temptress."

"Yes." She pinched his earlobe and he let out an involuntary groan. By the Valar, if she kept doing that he would bed her here and now.

Reluctantly he decided to be the wiser one for a change. With great effort he managed to take a step back, releasing her from his arms. "I really should get dressed. You are taking me out, remember?"

"Oh alright then. Spoilsport."

A/N:

Here you go, another chapter from Legolas' point of view. I wanted to delve into the feelings of an injured, sexually frustrated warrior elf, confined underground. And also show that nobody is perfect, even if they look the part (i.e. is a ridiculously hot elf!).

Image Credits:

Cropped version of a public domain photo, uploaded by Zack Hopkins. Source: https://www.wallpaperflare.com/grayscale-photo-of-woman-covering-her-breast-using-her-both-hands-wallpaper-egouq