Wizards are Lovely

by Haleth Haladin

Website: www.heartofslash.net

Pairing: Legolas/Gimli, Legolas/Gandalf, Gandalf/Thrain implied, Gandalf/Gimli insinuated. Let's face it, Gandalf is a bit of a slut in this one ;-)

Rating: R

Warning: Interspecies boffing. (Maia/Elf, Maia/Dwarf, Maia/anything that moves...) Shameless theft of opening gag from Monty Python. Yet more decidedly non-Tolkienish use of the word 'buns'.

Disclaimer: Emphatically not what Tolkien had in mind. This is not a commercial enterprise.

Author's note: Pre-prequel to The Drinking Game and the Effects of Ale on Wood Elves (which are, as it turns out, of a delightfully aphrodisiacal nature). These stories are available at here: http://www.heartofslash.com/html/extended_scenes.htm "Wizards Are Lovely" is an explanation of sorts for the following quote, regarding the penile/sexual attributes of various species:

"And Wizards..." Legolas trailed off and looked back up at the sky. Gimli could have sworn his eyes grew misty. Legolas sighed, and Gimli watched in fascination as a pale hand, which had been resting on Legolas's knee, trailed up a taut thigh and came to rest under his long tunic, somewhere in the vicinity, judging by what Gimli had seen earlier, of a rather beautiful Elven crown. "Wizards are lovely," Legolas whispered.

Mirkwood, 2850, Third Age, Around tea-time.

The dishevelled figure huddled by a sputtering campfire, wrapped in filthy rags, hair hanging in tangled grey clumps about his weathered face, was the last thing the Wood Elf expected to find this deep in the forests of Mirkwood and so close to the lair of the necromancer.

Giant, venomous spiders were to be expected. The odd wandering Orc. Perhaps one of the Edain from down the river. Sometimes they wandered this far, lost in the dark and menacing woods, so frightened by the time they reached this point that, as a rule, they could barely speak.

This was not a Man. Not of the ordinary kind. He didn't smell like a Man. He didn't smell like an Elf, either. He was definitely not an Orc.

The prevailing odour was Evil, but it was not coming from him. It was hovering around him, clinging to him as a burr clings to one's leggings. Underneath the foul stench of Dol Guldur, there was the definite was something fresher and brighter than Legolas had ever smelled before. Something pure.

Masked by something acrid. Legolas recognized it as the scent of pipeweed, something he knew of from his dealings with Dwarves in Esgaroth and the Dunedain who sometimes came to Mirkwood. It clung to the stranger, in spite of the fact that he was not smoking at the moment, the sort of odour that comes from long-term exposure, and permeates every fibre of clothing, every strand of hair.

Legolas crinkled his delicate nose.

"Am I that offensive?" came a voice from within the matted beard. It was surprisingly sonorous, if a touch rough.

Legolas stood straighter and emerged from the shadows. "You are... pungent," he admitted.

If finding a bearded, bedraggled stranger in the woods was the last thing he expected, the richness of the laugh that the stranger emitted was the second-to-last.

The figure stood, rising to roughly Legolas's height. He looked to be an old man, with a long grey beard and thick, bushy eyebrows. His hair was long as well and as grey as his robes. He had bright eyes, so bright they were almost Elven in nature. Elven, but more so.

"You are not a Man," Legolas said.

The wrinkled face smiled at him. "No, that I am not, although you may refer to me as one, if it would make you more comfortable." The stranger watched the Wood Elf's nose twitch and eyes dart, could see his eyes narrow in suspicion, widen with realisation and finally lower, in a touching gesture of deference.

"You must be..." Legolas wasn't sure of what the other must be. A part of him knew, instinctively, and understood that this was someone older and wiser and more powerful than any he'd ever met. But he couldn't find the right word. 'Wizard' seemed too fantastical. He would have felt himself childish if he uttered it.

"I am Mithrandir."

Mithrandir. The grey pilgrim. That explained a few things. Legolas would not ordinarily accept the word of an utter stranger so readily, but it was the only possible explanation, and the eyes of the stranger were to be trusted. It was that simple.

"You are Legolas."

Legolas looked up into twinkling grey eyes.

"You have never been at home when I have called, not in all the years of your life. I am pleased to finally make your acquaintance." Mithrandir gave a remarkably elegant bow. Remarkable for his current state, that is. Legolas did not expect such courtly treatment from one who looked such a ragged beggar.

Legolas bowed back. "I am honoured to meet you, Mithrandir. You seem to have fallen on difficult times. The air of Dol Guldur is evident."

Mithrandir gestured for Legolas to join him next to him by the fire, but the Elf did not move. The Istar lowered himself with a sigh. "I was there for a time, but not at the invitation of the Necromancer. I am tired, but I have survived my ordeal without major injury. Others..." Mithrandir fingered the pouch that hung from his belt. He felt the long, key within, picturing the silver sheen of it and the delicate carvings on the barrel. "Others were not so fortunate."

"How may I assist you?"

"I would like to rest a few more moments, and then I would like to eat. But first, perhaps, I should bathe."

Legolas's eyes darted around the clearing. "This is not a safe place for any of those activities. I suggest we move as soon as possible. It is not wise to linger. There is a safer place not far from here, a camp with guards and secure caves to rest in. There are warm springs, and food. But it will take two, perhaps three hours. Can you endure it?"

Mithrandir nodded. "I could withstand a few more hours of travel, in your company."

The Elf held out his hand The Istar took the hand in his. Strong. Large. Calloused. Warm. He watched Legolas's blue eyes grow wide when they touched. There was a palpable energy passing between them.

Yes, he did have that effect on Elves, sometimes, he chuckled to himself.

Legolas shivered, then reached inside his tunic and withdrew a small, cloth-wrapped bundle. "These will help you regain your strength."

Mithrandir unwrapped the dried berries and roasted nuts gratefully, and the two of them began their journey. Mithrandir felt new strength in his limbs with every step he took away from the Necromancer's lair. He did not doubt for a moment that the presence of this particular Elf had as much to do with his increased energy as the sustenance did.

Soon the two of them were making good time, walking through the trees with Legolas in the lead, while Mithrandir gave him a brief synopsis of his experiences in the depths of Dol Guldur. Legolas stopped to say a brief prayer for Mithrandir's lost friend Thrain.

Mithrandir wondered if Legolas would have been so touched by a stranger's death if he'd known Thrain was a Dwarf. Knowing Legolas's father's disdain for Dwarves, he had withheld that particular piece of information. But this young one seemed different. Mithrandir did not doubt that the prejudice would be difficult to overcome, but he sensed that, somehow, this Elf was one who would rise above the enmity of ages, someday.

Exquisite, he thought to himself. Long and lithe and ever so graceful. Deadly, though. He would not wish to be on the wrong end of the knife where this one was involved. The power in his limbs, his fast reaction time and sharp senses, were evident even as he walked. It seemed to take no effort at all for Legolas to climb up a tree to scout ahead, or to haul Mithrandir over a chasm in the forest floor. The mere snap of a branch brought arrow to bow. The rabbit had not stood a chance. They would eat fresh meat tonight, after Legolas said the appropriate prayer of thanks for the unfortunate creature.

Mithrandir cut his account short; he did to want to dwell on recent events. There would be more than enough questions to answer when Mithrandir called a council to discuss his disturbing discoveries. At this time, he merely wanted to breath the free air, and so he concentrated on the lovely form of the Elf, and his lilting voice, and his delicious scent.

It had been so long since he'd encountered anything he wanted to smell, he'd dulled that sense. Now he wanted to take in great gulps of air, to let the tantalizing scent of Wood Elf fill his nose and mouth and lungs. He could smell him. He could taste him. He felt as if he had a part of Legolas inside him. He wanted so much more.

Funny, he thought to himself, that after near-death experiences he always wanted sex. But then, even if he'd suffered no more than a stubbed toe, the presence of Legolas would likely bring forth the same reaction. His movement was positively feline. He was the most perfect Elf Mithrandir had ever seen.

That could be an effect of the trauma, he reasoned with himself. Any Elf would look good after what he'd been through.

No, his other side (probably the lower one) argued back - Legolas really was that marvellous.

Mithrandir caught himself wondering if the camp they were approaching kept a stock of ale on hand.

Legolas came to a dead halt in front of him. He whistled lightly and cocked his head. Mithrandir noticed that Legolas had the faintest hint of a bruise on the side of his neck. Pale pink against pale throat, almost invisible, almost healed, and definitely the shape of front teeth.

Mithrandir arranged the front of his robe in a more modest fashion. It was most unseemly for an Istar of his age and importance to react in such a visceral way to a mere Elf, a stripling of an Elf at that. It wasn't that Legolas needed to be protected from Mithrandir's urges. It was obvious that he was not a stranger to the more physical pleasures in life, judging by the fading love bite; that was to be expected of Elves on patrol in this forest. Still, Legolas couldn't be more than one or two thousand years old.

But then Thrain, Mahal rest his soul, had not been nearly so old.

This one looked so young, though. Clear, smooth skin. Long, soft golden hair. Firm muscles. Taut thighs. And when he climbed the tree above Mithrandir, the Istar was afforded a most striking view of tight buns. Excruciatingly tight buns. Buns one could imagine, upturned and round, the cleft between the pale globes dark and inviting, long legs spread wide.

Mithrandir shook his head hard, as if to dislodge the explicit image from his head. It would not do to abuse the hospitality of his benefactor. Especially not when a half dozen heavily armed Elves were at that very moment dropping from the trees around him. There was a hurried discussion in that peculiar dialect the Wood Elves favoured, a dialect Mithrandir could understand if he so chose, but instead decided to ignore the meaning of, in favour of relishing the soft lilt of Legolas's voice.

At length, Legolas turned to him with a broad smile. "This way, Mithrandir. The camp is secure. You can bathe and then take some rest."

Mithrandir was not surprised some time later, when he spied golden hair in the trees at the edge of the mineral spring. By this time, he had removed his clothing and was luxuriating in the warm waters.

Legolas emerged from the woods, and for the second time that day the wizard was quite taken aback by the sudden beauty.

"I have come to fetch your clothes so they may be washed."

"Indeed," Mithrandir answered. "And what do you propose I wear until they are dry again?"

The brief flash of panic was followed by a schooled, most Elven calm. Charming.

"I will bring you a blanket, and escort you directly to a cave where you may rest. By the time you are refreshed, I am sure your clothing will be ready for you."

It must have cost the young Sindar dearly to stay so calm. He was sneaking eager glances at the water, at the wizard's long beard, trying to see what was hidden beneath it. Mithrandir nodded his agreement and stayed in the water until Legolas reappeared with a towel and blanket. Mithrandir cocked a bushy eyebrow, for the express purpose of causing Legolas to blush mildly and turn around to give him some privacy. This afforded him a thoroughly enjoyable view of tight buns and long legs, since the Elf had removed his tunic and stood before him clad in only a shirt, leggings and boots.

"You do not wish to bathe?"

Legolas turned back to face the wizard again. The look of disconcertment was adorable, Mithrandir thought, however fleeting it might be, when Legolas realized that he had not exited the spring.

"Surely, there is enough room for two." Mithrandir could only hope.

Legolas smirked. Actually smirked...

"Now, wait a minute, a second ago he was bashful and shy, now you say he was smirking!" Gimli interrupted the story.

Gandalf scowled. "I'm trying to impress upon you the fact that it was not I who initially corrupted your dear Elf, Gimli. Once he understood that the invitation was extended, he lost all shyness whatsoever."

"Hummph. You make him sound like some sort of Woodland tart."

"Not at all. Legolas has always been quite discriminating."

"And how do you know what he was thinking all that time?"

"Pillow talk, my dear Gimli. Do the two of you never chat when you're finished?"

Gimli looked the wizard up and down. "I still don't see what he saw in the likes of you. Not that you don't have my full respect, as a wizard and a leader, Gandalf. Don't get me wrong; no offence intended."

"And none taken, I assure you. Now, may I continue with my story, or do you want to haggle about my attractiveness, or lack thereof, until Legolas finishes his dancing and comes over here to find out what we're sitting here whispering about?"

"Go on, go on!" Gimli spared a glance at his friend, who was twirling on the dance floor with some Gondorian maiden who, no doubt, thought she stood a chance with the dashing Elf. He wondered briefly if all women took the occasion of a wedding feast as an opportunity to search for a husband. Poor lass. She'd never get anywhere with the Elf. She clearly had the wrong equipment.

Gandalf cleared his throat. Where was he? Ah, yes, the wizard and the Wood Elf in the hot spring... that had a rather salacious ring to it, now that he thought about it.

It was true, however, that he and Legolas had both been in the spring, at the same time, and that both had more than mere bathing in mind. He backed up in his storytelling for a moment, and took a good minute or two to describe the tantalising strip tease Legolas had performed at the side of the spring.

Inch by glorious inch of pale, flawless skin was revealed as Legolas peeled off his light grey shirt and leggings. The sight of a half-hard Elven cock, lying pink and heavy against a pale thigh, had made the wizard's mouth go suddenly dry. Legolas had neglected, due to nerves, or possibly absent-mindedness or maybe even guile, to remove his boots first, so Mithrandir got a stunning view of those tight buns when the Elf bent over to unfasten his boots, with the leggings pushed down to his knees. And a glimpse of what was between those tight buns.

By the time Legolas managed to extricate himself from all his clothing, (not something he was used to doing, as the boots usually stayed put when he was celebrating with the other Elves in the dangerous forest of Mirkwood) he joined the wizard in the spring water.

Legolas floated beside Mithrandir, taut thigh pressed against him, smooth chest touching his arm. "Is this what you had in mind?"

"Something along these lines," the wizard choked out. Gandalf was not ashamed to admit that the closeness of the Elf was a bit unsettling. After all, he was telling the story to someone who had himself experienced Legolas in an unclothed state; it would hardly do to claim the experience was not thoroughly arousing.

"What about this?" Legolas murmured, as he twisted and floated in front, legs straddling the wizard's lap. He pressed forward until their groins met.

Mithrandir was not nearly as hard as he'd been earlier, since the warmth of the water had a distinct softening effect. However, the weight of the Elf, the firmness of the thighs on either side of his, the slippery slickness the mineral water gave to the hairless torso sliding across his white-haired chest, and the moist, sweet lips hovering over his all caused a rather impressive heft to present itself rapidly.

Legolas was still only half hard, but anyone who has seen a naked Wood Elf would know that half-hard is impressive in and of itself.

"Hmmm," Legolas sighed across his lips. He slithered a hand between them and wrapped his long fingers around Mithrandir's staff. "Do you know how to do any magic tricks with that?"

Not the most original thing anyone had ever said while they held the wizard's erection, but the naughty tone of voice and the hint of a laugh beneath it convinced Mithrandir that Legolas was making the risqué joke with full knowledge of its corny nature, on purpose, and with intent to further arouse said staff.

It had been some time since the Istar'd had the pleasure of the molten insides of a Wood Elf. He groaned, not in a pathetic manner but with enough need to impress upon the Elf the need for haste. Or at the very least, efficiency. He pushed his lips forward until they connected. Ah, soft lips and a hard tongue: his favourite.

Legolas nose twitched while they kissed, tickled by the moustache. His free hand roamed through Mithrandir's white beard. Tugged.

Legolas had never had a beard before. Not a shocking thought, when you considered that the only Elf with a beard Mithrandir had ever met was Cirdan, and there was scant chance that a Mirkwood prince had travelled all the way to the coast. But a stimulating thought. Long fingers tangled in the white hairs, soft from the minerals in the water, and the combing Mithrandir had given it earlier at he waited for Legolas to return.

"It's wonderful," Legolas panted. "May I?"

"Be my guest," Mithrandir replied magnanimously, and was thrilled when his beard was gathered up and rubbed across Legolas's pale chest.

"Ooh, it's lovely," the Elf cooed. "It's like the softest wool..." He raised up, thighs so tense Mithrandir felt obliged to stroke them gently, and dragged the wet beard over his flat belly. "Ahhh..."

Legolas made the slightest downward gesture.

"By all means," Mithrandir sighed, and Legolas wrapped the sodden hair around his by now rather large cock. Long and full, with the vivid pink head protruding from the handful of white beard.

Mithrandir hesitated. He did not want to distract the charming Elf from his chosen task, but he had to do something about his own desire, which had overcome the softening effects of the warm water and was beginning to ache. Legolas noticed as soon as a hand left his lean thigh.

"Oh, my, where are my manners? Let me," he breathed out heavily, then took a deep breath in, letting go of the beard and sliding down in the water until his head was completely submerged. The tongue swirled as lips caught the head of the wizards substantial cock and did not let go.

Mithrandir sat very still, watching golden hair fan out on the surface of the water, wondering just how long the average Elf can hold his breath.

Four minutes and thirteen seconds. Impressive, he thought to himself. Legolas came up sputtering, but in an adorable manner.

Mithrandir slid his hands down past the slender waist and took hold of the Elf with two hands. "And what am I supposed to do with this?" he asked, waggling his bushy brows.

Legolas laughed. "Whatever you want, of course. But first, I really must have you inside me!"

Relief swept over the wizard. It had been some time since he'd had anyone inside him, and the thought of ending several centuries of anal chastity with an organ of that size was daunting. He stood in the water as Legolas draped himself over a nearby rock, one which seemed to have been designed for that exact purpose. The top was smooth and rounded, the shape fell away at groin height so there was ample room for a fully-inflated Elven cock, and the height of it could not have been more appropriate.

Mithrandir gave a quick prayer of thanks to the Valar for giving him a body possessed of a height so similar to that of an Elf. Then he added a short thank you for the convenience of the rock. He tried not to think about how extremely smooth the surface of the rock was, for that would have inevitably lead to speculation about the cleanliness of the water. The Valar only knew how many of Mirkwood's citizens had used this very pool for this purpose in the past.

A thought soon banished from his mind as he sank, with the aid of some soap, into the heat of the Elf.

"I don't think ..." Gimli's eyes darted from left to right. "This might not be the best place to discuss such matters."

Gandalf laughed. "But Gimli, it's the perfect opportunity. A wedding feast, where everyone is engaged in the festivities and unlikely to overhear. And where everyone has imbibed enough that if they do overhear, they'll likely forget what they hear or assume they misheard."

"I doubt that. Anything you say about that Elf will be duly noted and remembered. And I'm not sure I want to hear it, at any rate."


Gimli frowned. "I have no right to be. I don't own him, you know."

"No, but you are his current paramour."

"From the sounds of things that might not mean as much as..."

"As you would like it to?"

Gimli craned his neck to watch Legolas as he chatted with a crowd of giggling maidens. He was startled by the low, growl-ish voice of the wizard close to his ear. "Tell me something, master Dwarf. Has he ever mastered you?"

Gimli felt his not insubstantial cock strain against his breeches. "I don't know if he could."

"Why not? He did it to me."

"But you just said it was you who..."

"That was only the first time."

Gimli was possessed by a mad, envious rage at the image of the Elf pushing inside the body of the Istar. Then Gimli tried to imagine the decidedly substantial organ of the Elf entering his body. The very thought of it made him dizzy with desire. "He's never asked," he whispered.

"He has to be in the right mood."

"And how might he get into such a mood?"

The pressure of a hand on Gimli's arse was unmistakeable. "I think that if he were to see you with someone else, he might feel the urge to claim you in such a manner."

"Him jealous of me? I think not."

"Why not?"

"Well, look at him!"

Look at him, indeed. Legolas was radiant as he bowed low to the group of ladies and their eager daughters, long legs hugged by silvery leggings, crisp white tunic riding up over what could only be described as tight buns.

The Istar and the Dwarf let out identical sighs.

He turned toward them and frowned. There was Gimli, his Dwarf, looking handsome in his fine new jacket with his beard neatly braided, a must when they went out in public together, as the sight of the soft, chestnut beard flowing freely over Gimli's broad chest tended to make it difficult for Legolas to concentrate on what he was doing.

And there next to him was Gandalf, his Mithrandir, the White Pilgrim now, with his snowy beard looking even softer than Legolas knew it used to feel.

And Mithrandir's hand was obviously planted on Gimli's shapely rear. A rear Legolas had wanted to get to know much more intimately for some time. Alas, Gimli had never shown the slightest interest in being mastered in such a way. So why would he allow Gandalf to touch him like that? In public? In Legolas's presence?

"Gimli, Gandalf, I see you are getting along quite well," he said tersely as he approached the pair.

Gimli swatted Gandalf's hand away brusquely.

"Gimli, dearest, could you fetch me something to drink. I am somewhat parched from my exertions on the dance floor."

"Of course. What would you like?"

"I understand the ale is wonderful." Legolas smiled sweetly.

Gandalf smirked.

Gimli bustled away to procure some ale without another word.

Legolas leaned toward the wizard. "Anxious to get your hands on a Dwarf?"

"It's been a while," Gandalf murmured. "And they are quite delightful."

"Well, that particular Dwarf is taken." This was said in a threatening manner, and Gandalf discovered that achieving the rank of White Wizard really was piddly when compared to the wrath of a jealous Wood Elf. It was difficult to not be aroused by the depth of the passion in Legolas's eyes.

"I wouldn't presume to take him from you."

Legolas relaxed.

"Unless of course, you would be amenable to sharing..."

Continued in "Wizards Are Inventive"