“My Lord, two riders approach.”
Eomer raised his head from his desk and looked up at the young servant in the doorway of his study. “Two men? Do they bear any marks?”
“The man appears to wear the White Tree of Gondor. His companion is on a white horse and appears to be a lady or a young lad…”
Eomer chuckled. “I highly doubt either of those assumptions would be appreciated. Although the Lord Steward’s companion is very pretty indeed, he’s definitely no lady, and he’s older than this tower I’m sitting in.”
“Oh. Should I…”
“The head maid should be expecting them, and she should have a room prepared for them. You can have her escort them there, and then instruct her to have the servants prepare my personal bath.”
“Only one room, sir?”
“Yes, lad. Lord Boromir’s companion assists him in all matters and is rarely far from him.”
“Oh,” the young man said. “Any other orders, sir?”
“No… wait, yes. Can you read, lad?”
He frowned. “Not very well, sir. I can read a bit… signs on stores and such. Why do you ask?”
Eomer rose and went to his bookshelf, studying the dust-covered and clearly unused tomes; Eomer was a man of action, not literature. A few of the books in one corner, though, seemed to have been handled rather often, and it was one of these Eomer pulled from the shelf.
“Can you read what that title says?”
“Err… no, sir. I don’t think I know those words. Is that… er..ot…”
“Just take this book to Lord Boromir’s room and leave it somewhere out of plain sight but where he’s likely to find it… under the sheets on the bed would work.”
“Anything else, sir?”
Eomer opened a drawer at his desk and removed a package wrapped in cloth and tied with twine. “Leave this on the table. It’s a gift for the guests. Don’t open it.”
“Of course not, sir!”
“Very good. Off with you.”
He sat back down at his desk and leaned back, smiling. If his gifts didn’t give the Lord Steward and his elf enough ideas, he could think of a few other suggestions.
Boromir stood with arms crossed, examining the room the maid had left them in. He was forced to admit, grudgingly, that it was more than appropriate for guests of his status, with fine furs and tapestries on the walls and wooden furniture with subtle but very skilled carvings of horses and other figures. The bed, he noted, was very large and sturdy-looking, with a solid wooden headboard engraved with a stylized landscape of horses grazing on the plains of Rohan.
Legolas took note of the bowl of apples sitting on the table and picked one up, inspecting it before taking a bite. Fresh fruit was difficult to come by on the dry and unforgiving roads between Gondor and Edoras.
“For a creature that doesn’t need to eat, you certainly spot the food quickly enough,” Boromir muttered.
Legolas shrugged and took another bite of his apple. “I could say something similar about you eyeing those bottles of wine on the shelf over there, but I won’t.”
“I believe you just did.”
“Did I? Hmm.”
Boromir rolled his eyes, but forced himself to remain silent. He knew perfectly well that the more he let the elf bait him now, the more he would make him work for his reward later, and after watching the elf’s ass slide across his horse’s bare back all day he wasn’t in the mood to have to play games.
“What’s this?” Legolas asked, studying the cloth packet.
“I don’t know. Open it.”
Legolas shrugged and pulled the twine. Inside the cloth he found some very smooth and almost silken material, along with a note.
“What is it?” Boromir demanded.
“King Eomer requests the pleasure of us joining him for a ride tomorrow to inspect the progress of the repairs to the roads surrounding the city.”
Boromir made an irritated noise.
“He also notes,” Legolas said, running his fingers over the odd fabric, “that these particular undergarments are often worn by the riders of Rohan in order to minimize discomfort from too much time in the saddle… and to soothe areas that might already be irritated from excessive riding.”
“Excessive riding,” Boromir repeated, rolling his eyes again. “How subtle our friend Eomer is.”
“As opposed to you, Lord Steward, being so well-known for your subtlety,” Legolas noted, licking the juice escaping from his apple with a flick of pink tongue.
“Oh, and of course, elves are supposed to be too noble for such worldly desires,” Boromir shot back.
Legolas raised an eyebrow. “If you want to play the game as to which one of us can go without for longer, that’s fine with me. I’m twenty-five hundred years old… I guarantee you I’ve had longer dry spells than you can tolerate.”
Rather than allow Boromir to answer this challenge and make the visit very dull for both of them, he strolled over and sat down on the bed, then frowned.
“There seems to be something here…”
He reached under the blankets and drew out a book with a leather cover well-polished by extensive use. Boromir wandered over and looked down at it.
“’Erotic Tales from Exotic Lands’, hmm?” he muttered. “Sounds like something the ladies would keep hidden in their boudoirs. Erotic tales…”
Legolas thumbed through the pages. “It’s well-illustrated.”
“Oh?” Boromir said, suddenly interested.
“Mmm-hmm. And there’s a bookmark here at this chapter… seems to be a story about how in Harad it’s so hot all time time that a bath is a great luxury, and about several individuals taking advantage of the opportunity to enjoy a bath together and… well, here.”
Boromir studied the illustration curiously. “That looks like a good way for someone to get hurt.”
Legolas shrugged. “That’s never concerned Eomer much, has it?”
Boromir growled. “He’s a reckless idiot.”
“Hmm. That may be, but he’s a reckless idiot with some particularly impressive assets. Don’t you agree, my Lord?”
Boromir turned quickly to find Eomer standing in the doorway, grinning. As usual, he was dressed in plain cloth and leather; the King of the Riddermark didn’t have much respect for royal attire, to the constant annoyance of Eowyn, who had frequently complained that if he did not wish to dress or behave like a king, perhaps he ought to abandon the position and let her be the queen instead. On Boromir’s last visit, Eomer had admitted to considering taking her up on the offer, but deciding that she would be even more utterly intolerable as a queen than she was as a princess.
“Reckless idiot?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.
Boromir scowled. “Are you doing to deny it?”
“No. Then we’d have to have an argument, and I had other things in mind.”
“We noticed,” Legolas said, holding up the book he’d been looking at.
Eomer grinned broadly. “I assumed you would be weary and dirty after your journey, so I took the liberty of having the servants prepare the royal bath for you.”
“And were you planning on joining us?” Boromir asked.
“Well, water in Edoras in the summer isn’t plentiful enough to be wasted frivolously; I thought I ought to at least economize by sharing with you.”
“How very sensible of you,” Legolas commented, setting the core of his now-eaten apple on the table. “I suppose it would be a shame to waste the efforts of your servants by allowing the water to get cold.”
Boromir gave the elf a sharp look. “Since when are you so happy to hop into a bath with anyone who suggests it?”
“I like baths,” Legolas said archly. “You’re assuming that I intend to do more than bathe, and I won’t say that’s not going to happen, but it will take a considerable amount of persuasion on somebody’s part.”
Boromir glanced at Eomer. “Or a bit of manhandling and some strong rope.”
“Our rope is made to hold horses,” Eomer pointed out.
“That should work nicely,” Boromir said.
“I didn’t agree to any of that,” Legolas said sharply.
“Well, then,” Boromir said, reaching over to grasp a handful of the elf’s ass. “I suggest you consider behaving yourself.”
The royal bath was made of stone and stood in the center of a reasonably large room with wooden benches along two walls. Along the far wall was a low stone fireplace with a metal bar for hanging kettles of water over the fire and an iron bar with a hook for retrieving them. The fire had been banked to produce shimmering red-orange coals, and the water in the bath was steaming in the cool air slipping in through the narrow windows high on the walls. Bottles of oils sat on a small shelf, along with several bars of soap. Eomer took one of these and handed it to Legolas, who smelled it and nodded approvingly.
“Without all our resources dedicated to warfare, we’ve actually had some to develop some other talents in Edoras,” Eomer said. “There’s a team of ladies who make these soaps and scent them with herbs that grow here.”
“Arwen would approve,” Legolas said, glancing at Boromir. “Perhaps if you bring her some as a gift, she might forgive you for your rather poor attitude at the last advisory council.”
Eomer chuckled. “You might consider that, Boromir.”
The man rolled his eyes, but Legolas knew that by the end of the trip there would be a package of the soap in their saddle bags. Much as Boromir liked to insist that he kept Legolas around for the sole purpose of fucking him at every opportunity, he relied on the elf’s skills in diplomacy and tact, two areas in which Gondor’s Steward was somewhat lacking.
“Are you going to have a bath, or just stay dirty?” Eomer asked, as he pulled his tunic over his head. Boromir took a moment to appreciate the extremely well-muscled chest and shoulders, shaped by daily handling and riding of the horses that made Rohan famous and marked with scars from battles, some old, some from battles recent enough that Boromir still bore some of the same. Legolas, of course, was perfectly unmarked, and as he casually stripped off his clothes Eomer stopped what he was doing to study the slender but wiry frame and pale, flawless skin.
“It must be a fine thing, to be immortal,” the Horse Lord observed.
Legolas glanced at him. “It isn’t such a fine thing when all of one’s friends are mortal and count the years of their lives as you are used to counting leaves falling off trees in fall.”
Boromir, not liking this line of discussion, stripped off his own clothes and tossed them aside, reaching over to grab Legolas by his trailing blond hair and tug on it sharply. “None of that, now. We’ve got other things to do.”
Legolas smiled. “Impatient as always. It’s not a good trait for a Steward.”
“They tell me it’s not a good trait for a King, either,” Eomer commented. “But as you can see, my impatience continues to increase as we chat.”
He nodded downward, and the man and elf took a moment to appreciate the thick, sturdy, erect cock that the Horse Lord had proudly on display. It was a fine example and Eomer knew it, and didn’t hesitate to make sure everyone else did too, at any appropriate or questionably appropriate opportunity.
“Stop staring,” Boromir growled at Legolas.
“You first,” the elf retorted.
Eomer grinned and stepped into the bathtub. “I’m going to enjoy the hot water before it turns into cold water. Are you joining me?”
Boromir slipped into the bath, thinking that the hot water did, in fact, feel quite nice after days of traveling the rough roads between Gondor and Rohan. This thought vanished a moment later when Legolas stepped into the bath and settled himself contentedly between the man’s legs. Boromir muttered something under his breath and hooked an arm around the elf’s chest, pulling him closer.
“Oh, don’t tell me you’re not planning on sharing,” Eomer said, frowning.
“Depends on whether I feel like it,” Boromir said.
Legolas raised an eyebrow. “I should remind you that I am not your personal sex toy, my Steward.”
Boromir reached down and began to stroke absently at the elf’s hardening length. “That’s right. I forgot how much you prefer paperwork and meeting with trade advisors.”
Legolas sighed and slumped into the touch. “I didn’t say that, necessarily.”
“And I wouldn’t put up with your ill-mannered behavior if I kept you just as an assistant,” Boromir added, and now his other hand had come up to the elf’s throat, fingers resting lightly against the pale skin. Eomer watched the elf’s demeanor shift from arrogant and lazy to still, silent, and entirely focused. Boromir slid his hand further around the pale throat, exerting no pressure, but pressing the elf’s chin up with his thumb.
“Are you settled now, elf?”
A slow nod.
“Much better,” Boromir murmured, still stroking with his other hand. “Shall I hand you over to Eomer to play with for a bit?”
Legolas made a sharp noise of protest and shifted uneasily. Boromir’s hand tightened around his throat slightly, but his voice was still low.
“Don’t worry; I’m in no hurry to share you just yet. Eomer’s been known to be rather careless with his toys and I don’t intend to let him harm mine.”
Legolas, breathing a bit harder with the man’s large hand around his throat, nodded again. Boromir glanced over at Eomer.
“I don’t suppose any of those bottles over there have any nice thick oil that would be useful in water.”
Eomer grinned. “Of course.”
He pulled the cork from one of the bottles and poured some of the viscous oil into the hand that Boromir held out. Instead of returning it to the elf’s cock, he slid his hand downward, and Eomer watched the blue eyes widen and darken as his body stiffened against the sudden intrusion of Boromir’s sturdy fingers. The hand around his throat tightened even more, and the blue eyes darkened nearly to black, while his muscles relaxed and his back arched. Boromir smiled.
“There’s a good elf.”
Legolas gasped, and Eomer judged correctly that Boromir had added another finger to the elf’s slender body. Having observed Legolas in battle, the Horse Lord knew that he could have yanked off Boromir’s hand around his neck and beaten him black and blue before the man could have spoken a word of protest, but instead he was perfectly still except for the rapid rise and fall of his chest and the occasional jerk of his hips as Boromir’s fingers found their target or shoved in deeper.
“I do believe I’ll let Eomer play with you for a bit,” he said. “I want to watch you while he fucks you with that big horse cock of his.”
Eomer chuckled, but was surprised when Boromir grasped Legolas by the shoulders, turned him around, and pushed him into Eomer’s arms. Legolas was unresisting, his eyes still dark and distant. Eomer reached around and found the elf’s cock still hard, then slipped his hand down to find his entrance stretched and slick. Boromir looked at him expectantly.
“Well? I’m not going to wait all day for my turn.”
Eomer didn’t have to be told twice. He lifted Legolas slightly and lowered him steadily down onto his cock. Boromir watched the elf’s face as the man stretched and filled him, flashing between pain and desire. Eomer gasped and tipped his head back.
“Good gods… I had forgotten quite how fine this particular companion of yours feels, Boromir…”
The man nodded indulgently, his casual tone belying his intense interest. “Amazing, isn’t it? No matter how many times I fuck him, he’s as tight the next time as he was the first.”
Legolas attempted to mutter something that might have been a rude comment about neither of them having sufficient equipment or stamina to cause any permanent change in this matter. Boromir chuckled and slid across the bath, leaving a surprised Eomer pressed back against the stone with Legolas in his lap and Boromir on the other side of the elf, silencing him with a bruising kiss and grabbing his wrists to pin them against the stone over Eomer’s shoulders. Eomer stared for a moment, until Boromir’s green-eyed gaze met his.
“Are you going to fuck him or not?”
Eomer took a good grip on the elf’s hips and got to work, trying not to be distracted by Boromir watching him intently. It was even more distracting when Boromir leaned over the elf’s shoulder and kissed Eomer just as thoroughly as he had kissed Legolas before, sliding a hand down the man’s back and running his fingers over the tightly stretched opening clenched around Eomer’s cock. Legolas closed his eyes and moaned softly, and Eomer managed a small sound of surprise.
“Fuck him harder,” Boromir ordered.
Eomer obeyed, his thrusts shoving the elf against Boromir. Legolas made a pleading noise, and Boromir chuckled.
“No, no. You don’t get to come yet, elf.”
His timing was perfect; just as Eomer arched and groaned and gripped at the elf’s slender hips, Legolas reached for his own cock, but Boromir slapped his hand away and closed a tight grip around the base of it. Legolas moaned in protest, although Eomer was far too lost in his own unraveling to notice. Boromir waited until the Horse Lord had slumped back against the side of the bath, face blank, before abruptly pulling Legolas off his slightly softened cock and dragging him across the bath. When Eomer managed to drag himself back to reality, he was treated to the sight of Legolas bent over the edge of the tub with Boromir’s hand tangled roughly in his hair while he thoroughly and determinedly fucked him. After what seemed like quite a while, Boromir finally grunted his satisfaction, pulled the elf back into his arms, and with a few hard strokes had him writhing and shaking as he was finally allowed his own release.
“Well,” Eomer said breathlessly.
Boromir ignored him; for the moment his attention was on the elf slumped loosely in his arms.
“You’re all right now,” he said, stroking the wet blond hair back into place. “You did well.”
Legolas smiled. “I would hope so.”
“Don’t start your mouth again,” Boromir warned, but with no real threat in his tone. “Did you enjoy our Horse Lord?”
“Hmm. I think you should try having that thing shoved up your ass before you subject me to it again.”
Eomer raised an eyebrow. “I’d have no objection to that.”
“I’ll bet you wouldn’t,” Boromir shot back.
“We do have a ride planned for tomorrow,” Eomer reminded him.
“It’s not tomorrow yet,” Boromir said. “And you, Eomer, have yet to thank me properly for letting you use my elf.”
“Hmm. You have yet to thank me properly for your hospitality,” Eomer observed.
Legolas leaned back against the stone and smiled. “I do believe I may enjoy this.”
Boromir gave him a sharp look. “Unlike certain immortal creatures, men can’t just turn around and get right back to business, you know.”
Legolas smiled knowingly and licked his lips. “I’m sure I could provide some… stimulation to assist you.”
Boromir glanced at Eomer. “That’s not an offer he makes every day, you know. Perhaps we ought to take him up on it.”
“Only if I get to go first,” Eomer argued.
“I’ll be the judge,” Legolas said. “I’ll work on both of you, and whichever one of you is ready again first gets the first go.”
The two men glanced at each other again.
“That sounds like a challenge,” Eomer observed.
“It certainly does,” Boromir agreed.
“I like challenges. Especially when I know I’m going to win them, old man.”
“Old man? We’ll see about who wins what…”
The next morning, the stable master noted that his King was uncharacteristically late in arriving at the stable with his two guests for their ride; the horses had been prepared and waiting for some time. He politely ignored the fact that all three of the riders looked somewhat worse for wear.
“You know it was a rough night when even the elf looks like hell,” Boromir muttered, as they rode out through the main gates of Edoras.
“I resent that,” Legolas said.
“I expected you to,” Boromir said. “I know if I want to piss you off, all I have to do is imply that you look anything less than pristine.”
“At least I don’t look like I’ve been beaten about the head with a club.”
“That’s Eomer’s fault,” Boromir muttered.
“The wine had something to do with it,” Eomer pointed out. “Besides, I’m quite sure I didn’t beat myself about the head with a club, and I feel as bad as you look.”
Boromir glanced at Legolas. “Here’s the proper question, though… did we actually manage to fuck you thoroughly enough to leave you with a sore ass in the morning?”
“Certainly not,” Legolas sad.
“Oh?” Eomer asked. “Then take off those nice silken underwear I gave you both to make the ride easier.”
“No thank you,” Legolas said quickly.
Eomer laughed. “I told you… they may not look very manly but there’s nothing else to make certain rather abused and friction—irritated regions less painful in the saddle.”
“Well, since you’re not sore, take them off,” Boromir challenged.
“I’ll keep them,” Legolas said.
“Hmm. So we did manage to fuck an elf hard enough to leave him sore the next morning,” Eomer said, pleased.
“I don’t think that counts,” Legolas argued.
“Because I’m not sure there was any point during last night when one of you two wasn’t fucking me.”
“No whining, elf,” Boromir said, riding ahead and whistling contentedly to himself.
“He’ll never shut up about that,” Legolas muttered.
Eomer shrugged. “He does like to boast.”
“Hmm. We are staying another night, aren’t we?”
“I expected you would.”
“Perhaps we can take some of the boast out of our Steward.”
Eomer grinned. “I’d certainly like to try, But I’m not sure my… equipment will be recovered by then.”
“Well, then. We shall have to arrange a longer stay.”
“That can be arranged,” Eomer agreed.
Boromir rode ahead, content and oblivious to the plotting behind him and doing his best to ignore the soreness in his lower regions. He wasn’t sure what the elf was chatting about, but it didn’t matter much; he’d be in his bed again tonight, and despite any arguments, that at least was never in doubt.