Author’s Note: This vignette takes place between chapters 25 and 26. I strongly urge you to download Barber’s Adagio for Strings and listen to it repeatedly whilst reading this; it makes the experience sooo much nicer. Trust me. A few lines of the rite are from the song “I Will Love You” by Fisher. Dedicated to Technoelfie.

I Thee Worship, a Smutty Interlude in which Buffy and Legolas become Husband and Wife

“I will sleep now,” Boromir announced, then mentioned, “I am a very sound sleeper, and my chamber is upstairs, in the farthest corner of the house. So if… certain noises were made in the bedroom downstairs, I would not hear them.” And with that he stalked from the room, leaving Buffy and her elf standing there gaping after him.

“He is as subtle as an arrow through the neck, is he not?” Legolas muttered and busied himself by wiping up a few spilled droplets of water. So intent on his tidying was he that he didn’t notice until too late that Buffy launched herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck and legs around his waist, until it was far, far too late.

Not that he would have wanted to evade her, anyway.

“So,” she said, her lips very close indeed to his, “are you gonna put down the dish towel, or do I have to take extreme measures to convince you?”

Legolas slung the cloth over his shoulder and placed his hands on Buffy’s backside, holding her close to him. “I think I might need to be convinced,” he said thoughtfully. “Know you anything that could make me forget my passion for cleanliness?”

Buffy swept aside the golden fall of his hair. “I might,” she conceded between nibbles on the point of his ear.

His head fell back, allowing her better access. “Good,” he muttered, and threading his fingers into her hair to hold her still, kissed her. Buffy’s lips parted on a sigh, allowing his tongue entrance, and a desire such as she’d never even dreamed of seized her. Sensations battered her on all sides; the feeling of his slim, strong body against hers as his scent filled her nose, heating her blood to boiling.

“Hurry,” she muttered against his mouth.

But he only laughed, the music of it filling the kitchen and sending a thrill up her spine. “We are immortal, tithen maethoramin. We have all the time in the world.” As if to prove it, he unwrapped her from around him and set her back a little. “There is the matter of bathing to attend first.”

“Don’t wanna bath,” Buffy pouted, reaching for him, but he danced back out of her reach and arched a golden brow.

“Do you not, truly?” Legolas enquired, eyes glowing like stars. “I would have thought the idea of our naked bodies, slick with soap as we pressed together would be… an attractive concept.“

“Wuh,” was her intelligent response, gaping stupidly at him as images of Legolas wearing nothing but suds assailed her mind. She shook her head to clear it. “Ok. You’ve convinced me.”

He laughed again. “I thought I might.”

Buffy frowned. “Just for that, Mr. Smug Elf, you can drag the water in.” She stubbed her toe walking through the dark sitting room, and wished fervently not for the first time that Middle-Earth had the joys of modern electricity. Once in the bedroom, she got a fire going in the little fireplace and began to unbind her hair.

“Let me do that,” Legolas murmured behind her, and she turned to find him holding an enormous cauldron of steaming water. She’d never thought blue eyes could be hot, but his burned brightly into hers and she blushed, dropping the end of her braid.

“Ok,” she replied, unaccountably shy all of a sudden as Legolas poured the water into the already half-full tub at the foot of the bed. Bed, she thought, and a picture rose in her mind of her and Legolas entwined upon it, sheets tangled around sweaty limbs… “Hurry?” she whimpered, and was rewarded with another of his rich laughs.

“Yes, Buffy,” he said at last, “it is time to hurry now.” It was the first time he’d ever called her by her real name, and the sound of it in his honeyed voice send a shiver through her in spite of her proximity to the now-blazing hearth. “The flames cannot compare to the fire within you, tithen maethoramin.” He took a step closer to her. “You are a being of fire, of light and life. A phoenix.”

Legolas lifted a hand to her hair, beginning to untie her hair. “My phoenix,” he said, the possessiveness in his tone thrilling her. Unraveling the plait, he combed his hand through the long tresses with fingers that Buffy was shocked to see were shaking, just a little. “Mine.”

And he kissed her. God, did he kiss her. He kissed her so deeply, so lovingly, so passionately that the world spiralled down into a small pinpoint of awareness: Legolas’ mouth on her. It was only when he ended the contact that Buffy blinked, realizing they were both not only nude, but sitting in the tub of hot water up to their waists.

“When did that happen?” she asked weakly, looking around in amazement. Their clothing was strewn all over the room,

He chuckled. “You were as active a participant in the undressing as I was, Dagnir. If I recall correctly, it was you who were the bane of that chair, as well.” He nodded toward the corner, where a chair lay on its side. He was rubbing his hands together, creating a rich lather in his palms from the soft, sweet-smelling soap he scooped from a pannikin beside the tub. “Lay you back against me,” he directed, and she was only too happy to comply.

Her hair fanned out in the water, floating on its surface and wrapping them both within it like a silken prison. The feel of his slick, warm body surrounding her was heavenly. His skin was like the finest-grain suede and Buffy felt every cell in her body leap to attention, prickling with excitement at such contact. Wiggling against him, her breath caught in her throat when something hard pressed into the small of her back. “Wuh,” she blurted. “Hurry?”

But he would not be rushed. Slowly, his hands smoothed over her shoulders to coast down to her breasts. Lifting their light weight in his palms, he cupped and squeezed them before gently pushing under the soft tissues.

“What’re you doing?” she demanded in a strangled voice, arching up into his grasp.

“It is a deep massage,” he murmured into her ear, his tongue flicking the lobe before darting behind it to lave down the line of her throat. “Does it please you?”

“It feels incredible.” Buffy felt like she was floating away, as tension she hadn’t realized she had melted away. With a final pinch to her stiff, distended nipples, Legolas’ hands resumed their southern course and moved to her belly, soaping her leisurely before once more pressing deeply, finding and releasing soreness from the muscles of her midriff and abdomen.

She was so relaxed that she didn’t notice when his hand drifted further until it was already there. Legolas slid into the triangle of brown curls, the water making them twine around his fingers, and Buffy undulated against him. The action brought both herself into firmer contact with his hand, and then her bottom more closely against his groin, and they both groaned at the contact.

“Legolas,” she breathed, unable to keep her hands to herself any longer. She raked her fingernails lightly up the length of his legs, loving his gasp of pleasure and the slow push of his erection against her. Then his hand delved lower, sliding between the petals of her secret flesh, unerringly finding the hard nub awaiting his attentions.

“Mmmm,” was all Buffy could manage then, her head falling limply back onto his shoulder. He cupped her face with his free hand and directed her mouth to his once more, his tongue spearing inside to tangle with hers.

He slid a finger into her, then another, and worked his thumb against her clitoris as he began a slow, relentless rhythm in and out of her slick channel. “Wuh,” Buffy whimpered, not sure what she should press against… his mouth on hers? Her ass against his erection? Her pelvis against his hand? She wanted to all three at once, but didn’t think she could manage the multi-tasking required. She’d wanted him for so long, loved him forever, it seemed…

Legolas slipped a third finger inside her, rubbed his thumb in an insistent circle around the distended knot of pleasure, and Buffy tore her mouth from his to shout as orgasm overcame her in a rush of sound and fury.

Falling bonelessly against him, she sobbed in a breath. “Did that please you, Buffy?” he asked, never pausing in his lavishment of kisses over her face.

“You couldn’t tell?” she asked weakly. “It was incredible. Only one thing wrong with it.”

“And that would be?” His voice was very amused.

She squirmed until she was on her knees between his spread legs, facing him. “That you didn’t come with me,” she said, and lowered her face to his. Instead of kissing him, however, she licked down his neck to place little love-bites over his shoulders, then made her way to his nipples, which she suckled and bit lightly until they were pink and swollen.

Meanwhile, her hands were busy under the surface of the water. His penis, thick and hot, thrust insistently into one hand while his heavy sac filled the other. She set up a steady pace, stroking him from base to tip in counterpoint to the motion of his hips.

“I want to feel you in my mouth,” she whispered when she’d trailed her mouth back up to his. “Get out of the tub.”

Legolas obeyed silently, his face as intent and serious as when he was in battle. Grabbing a square of linen, each haphazardly dried the other before tossing the cloths away and reaching for whatever bit of naked flesh they could reach, their lips fusing in another scorching kiss.

Finally Buffy managed to yank herself away, and pushed him onto his back on the bed. Clambering over him, she once more began trailing kisses down his torso. This time she ignored his nipples, preferring instead of pay attention to the ridges of muscle defining his belly. She smiled at his ‘ahh’ of delight when she flicked her tongue in his navel, and again when she scratched lightly at the downy gold surrounding the base of his desire.

Taking him in hand once more, she inhaled the scent of him. It was stronger, muskier, down here and she was helpless against her urge to rub her cheek against the patch of curls at the top of his long thighs, breathing him deeply. Then, just to surprise him, she didn’t bother with any tentative forays like kissing shyly at his tip. Instead, she engulfed him whole, working her mouth down to the base in a single moment.

“Ai!” he cried, in shock at the wet heat that surrounded him without warning, and his hands came to clench in her hair. Buffy suckled on him until he was writhing against her, mere moments from coming, and then pulled away. “Cruel woman!” he gasped, twitching in frustration. “Cruel, heartless, unkind, merciless— Ai, Valar!”

His shout rang through the room as Buffy placed her mouth at the precise spot between the base of his erection and his balls, sucking it lightly into her mouth and flicking her tongue against the sensitive area. It seemed to render him speechless, for without another sound he bucked up and came copiously.

Buffy latched her mouth onto his cock with some difficulty, as he was thrashing quite a bit, and nursed on the pulsing head until he was still once more. Looking up, she saw he’d flung one arm over his eyes. “Legolas?” she asked, wondering if he were okay.

In a flash, he’d tackled her backwards. “Does your mouth taste like me now?” he purred into her ear, and kissed her slowly, his tongue exploring. “It does,” he answered himself, sounded immensely satisfied. “I would now know your taste, my Buffy.” And he began to run his lips down her body to his destination.

“Oh good,” she replied fervently, for she’d longed to experience his mouth on her. Would the reality live up to the fantasy?

Why yes, it would, she thought with a goofy smile. The cool silk of his hair flowed over her as he traveled south, and she rubbed handfuls of it against her skin when his breath whispered through her pubic curls and his large archer’s hands pressed her legs apart. Settling comfortably between them, he placed his palms on the butter-soft skin of her inner thighs and parted her with his thumbs.

“Fiery-hot,” Legolas murmured, and bent to lap at the honey that poured from her. “Sweet, like nectar.” His greedy tongue licked every trace of her fluids away. “And yet spicy as well.” He slithered upward from where his tongue had been tickling at her fragile inner lips to rub at the hidden underside of her clitoris, focusing his attentions on that tiny spot until lights were dancing in Buffy’s vision.

Vaguely, as if from a great distance, Buffy felt movement against her leg and realized that Legolas was hard again and rubbing himself slowly against her. She would have liked to reach down and stroke him, to feel his hard length in her hand once more, but she couldn’t seem to move any part of her body except her hips. Oh, and her hands… they were grasping great fistfuls of his hair, holding him against her as she began to hunch herself more and more quickly up against his talented mouth.

Then he used the very tip of his tongue to lift the hood of her clit and delve carefully underneath, and the world came apart. There was a roaring in her ears, like the ocean but a thousand times more powerful, and she realized it was the sound of her own heartbeat.

With a shudder, her taut body relaxed and sank back down again. Buffy opened bleary eyes to find Legolas on hands and knees over her, crawling slowly up her body like a predator. “More?” she asked, and wasn’t sure if it were in anticipation or dread.

“More,” he affirmed, and settled his body on hers.

“Oohhh,” Buffy sighed. This was the final piece of the puzzle, the answer to the riddle, the key that fit the lock. She wrapped her legs around his slim hips, rubbing her feet over the satin-smoothness of his buttocks. “I love you.”

Legolas drew back a little, to look at her. “And I you, Buffy.” His face glowed with joy and devotion, and he looked thoughtful, almost hopeful “I would bind myself to you,” he said, avoiding her gaze by nuzzling at her throat, and placed her hand on his cock

Buffy felt tears sting her eyes. Binding was the elven version of marriage, and usually took place during lovemaking. Legolas was asking her to marry him. She tried to think of reasons why she shouldn’t accept; it wasn’t very long ago, after all, that he’d broken her heart with his thoughtlessness and assumptions.

She had no doubt she loved him, though, and wondered when it had started. She hadn’t even been attracted to him until after they’d left Lothlórien, but something had changed soon thereafter. Blinking, she realized that it had started after she’d died saving Boromir, when he’d tasted her tears and told her to reach out for the love that was before her. Good advice, she thought.

“You have my heart,” she said softly, beginning the ritual as Galadriel had explained so many years ago, and guided him to her entrance.

His head came up then, and he stared at her in awe before speaking. “I give you mine to replace it,” he told her, recovering quickly. “Will you guard it?”

“I will keep it as my own,” she vowed, kissing his chin. “Until my body is dust, until the world is no more, I will love you.”

“Until the sun starts to cry, and the moon turns to rust, I will love you,” Legolas said, sipping up the tears that spilled down her cheeks. “I offer you myself, unguarded and vulnerable. Will you accept me?” And he pushed just the head of himself into her.

“I accept you within me; fill me.” She reached down to clasp his backside in her hands and drew him closer. “Lose yourself in me.”

Legolas slowly sheathed himself in her body. “Lose yourself in me.” He began a smooth rhythm, each thrust propelling them closer to a shining prize in the distance.

Closer and closer they approached, and when it was within her grasp, Buffy managed to gasp out, “With my body, I thee worship. Hervenn-nîn!” before the ecstasy overtook her and she strained against him, convulsing as joy suffused her mind.

“With my body, I thee worship,” Legolas repeated, his voice harsh as he struggled to speak. “Herves-nîn!” And he followed her into the abyss, staring blindly into her eyes as he went completely motionless but for the pulsing of his essence into her.

They were still for long moments afterwards, and it was only when Buffy noticed something strange that she found the will to move. “Hey,” she said, raising up on one elbow and dislodging Legolas a little from where he was slumped over her. “Listen to that.”

He frowned, paying attention, and then smiled. “You did not know? To be sure, I was surprised you would know the words to the marriage rite.”

“Galadriel told me,” she said idly. “I think she was still harboring hopes of me hooking up with Haldir.” Then she laughed when Legolas frowned darkly. “She never mentioned this heartbeat thing, though.”

“Perhaps she wanted you to experience it, rather than hear it described,” he suggested, and brushed a kiss over her sweaty brow. Where their chests pressed against each other, their hearts thudded in perfect synchronicity together. “It is a profound moment, and a sweet one.”

“You got that right,” she murmured happily, and snuggled deeper under the fall of his hair over her face. His scent was swirling around them once more, and she sucked in a lungful until her eyes crossed. “I love elves.”

“Just the one, I hope?” he prompted, grinning, and rolled them so she sprawled across him.

“Nope, I love a lot of them,” she teased. “Galadriel, Celeborn… Haldir…” She added the last one slyly, and giggled at his glare, before continuing. “But I only married one.” Snorting in a most unladylike manner, she rested her head on his smooth chest. “I only have the strength for one.”

“Excellent,” Legolas said with satisfaction. “I have every intention of keeping you far too exhausted to look farther afield for an elf you might prefer to me.”

“You’ve got nothing to worry about, and you know it.” Buffy admonished, and yawned. “Less talky, more sleepy now, okay?”

He kissed the top of her head. “Okay.”

tithen maethoramin = my tiny warrior

hervenn-nîn = my husband

herves-nîn = my wife