Mirror Mirror on the Wall
by Laura Bryannan

Visiting Legolas' family is always a tedious affair. But they are reasonably accepting of our relationship—one would hope, considering it's been decades—so it could have been worse. The endless parade of beautiful elf maids his mother thrusts under his nose is always galling, but I knew my lover would have to marry and fulfill his familial obligations one day, just as I would, so I couldn't begrudge her attempts to lure him away from me to more respectable pursuits.

When the last event of the evening was finally over, we wandered up the family manor's long flight of stairs, making our way to his chambers. As usual, in the hall we passed by a large door that was always closed. It took forty years, but I was finally curious enough to ask.

“What lies beyond that door, my love?”

“We called that the Old Folk's Wing when I was growing up,” he informed me. “It housed the apartments of my grandmothers, several ancient aunties and a rogue brother of my grandfather. They have long gone to the West. The wing has been empty for eons. No one goes in there any longer that I am aware of.”

“Show me,” I demanded. He shrugged, reached for a lamp hanging in the hall, and opened the great old door. We wandered into the various rooms, all uniquely decorated, enough that I could guess the personalities of each long-departed family member.

We came to the last apartment, obviously belonging to a female of refinement and taste. As he held the lamp high, I was startled by movement on the wall—a mirror—one so old the glazing cast our reflections in sepia tones...and decided the moment I saw it. I took the lamp, setting it down nearby, then stood behind him to admire the view.

“The golden hues in this mirror become you, mellon nin,” I whispered, as I ran my hands over his belly and chest. Teasing him through his breeches, he sighed and relaxed against me, his eyes closing. I took my time, enjoying the sight of him writhing in the mirror. He was eager enough to untie his breeches himself, so I hungrily reached inside to take him in hand and stroke in earnest. It wasn't until I could feel his climax nearing that he began to protest.

“Ar'gorn, wait,” he panted. “I'll release on the mirror.”

“Aye,” I replied. “I want to watch you do it.”

“But I cannot!” he cried. “It is great-grandmother's mirror!”

“Aye, and you look so beautiful in it,” I whispered, nibbling on the point of his ear. “Let go, elfling mine.” He struggled half-heartedly—he could have thrown me across the room if he had truly wanted to, of course—but I was insistent.

“Nay, Aragorn. I will not sully grandmother's things in such a manner!”

“Aye, you will. You will release and I will enjoy watching every single moment of it.” My left hand reached inside his tunic and pinched a nipple. He moaned and shuddered, his eyes closing yet again. Legolas is so sensitive there, it is usually enough to bring him around to my way of thinking.

“Ar'gorn...nay....” he protested weakly. I perceived he was very close, so I increased the rhythm between his legs and my tweaking under his tunic. He looked glorious! His body appeared to glow in the golden light of our reflection.

Finally his back arched and his body spasmed in climax, the warm liquid landing on the mirror in white drunken script. He rested comfortably in my arms for several blissful moments before opening his eyes. Spying the disgraced mirror, he stiffened and immediately attempted to escape.

“Ai!” he cried. “We must clean this immediately!”

I held on tight, not allowing him to move. “Hold, Legolas,” I insisted. “Leave it be.”

“Nay! It is obscene!”

“It is not,” I replied. “You said yourself no one comes in here any longer. I would like to think that this message will remain until the Third Age ends. A testament to our...ahem...love.”

He sighed, shaking his head ruefully. “Men are an odd lot, to be sure,” he observed with a smile. “But I find it strangely romantic.”

He turned in my arms and kissed me soundly, making my knees wobble with the intensity of it, my arousal seeking solace in the hard muscles of his thigh. He broke our kiss, eyeing me in that way, and I was lost.

“Since we have already marked grandmother's mirror,” he whispered, “perhaps it is time to sully the bedsheets as well. Do you agree, mellon nin?”

“The mattress appears to be goose down,” I noted. “I wholeheartedly agree.”

end