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He slid his hands down to her waist and, making good
use of his elven strength, rolled her on top of him.
“Legolas!”
“What?”
“You know what.” She grinned.
“That?”
“Yes.” She giggled.
He raised his eyebrows.
She shook her head.
“Why not?”
She giggled again. “Maybe I do not want to.”
“Maybe?”
“Maybe I would prefer to sleep.” She laid her head
on his chest. “But you would obviously prefer to do
something else...”
“Little vixen!” He rolled her over onto her back, pushed
aside the bed roll, rose to his knees and loomed over her.
“That,” said Eowyn, staring up at him, “is just
not fair.”
“Why?”
“Because it shows you in a most advantageous light.”
“That was the intention.”
“Come here.”
“I may prefer to sleep.”
“Ha!” She reached up and stroked his long, thick shaft.
Then she curled her hand around him—“Come here,”—pulled
him down to her mouth, and sucked him, very, very softly.
“Valar!” Despite his awkward position, Legolas squirmed
with pleasure.
Drawing him deeper, she sucked harder.
“Oh...” He took his weight upon his hands and
stretched his legs out wide, muscles taut, thrusting gently downwards,
gritting his teeth to maintain some self control.
Eowyn grasped his thighs and sucked.
His hands curled into fists—a delicious pain had begun rippling
through his testicles. He gazed down between his arms. Eowyn was
moving rhythmically, concentrating on her task, her eyes tightly
closed, and—
“MELMENYA!”
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