Wizards are Inventive

by Haleth Haladin

Website: www.heartofslash.net

Rating: R

Pairing: Gimli/Legolas/Gandalf, two voyeurs and a surprise guests at the end.

Summary: Gimli is about to find out, first-hand, why wizards are lovely. And inventive. And revered by Elves of all types.

Warning: Many different species boffing – Dwarf, Elf, Maia, Edain – you name it. Also, along with the usual non-Tolkien use of the word 'buns', there is a decidedly un-wizardly exclamation – pay it no heed, this is a comedy, after all.

Author's note: Will make no sense at all if you have not read "The Drinking Game", "The Effects of Ale on Wood Elves" and "Wizards are Lovely", all available here: http://www.heartofslash.com/html/extended_scenes.htm

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


Legolas's eyes darted back and forth, down to the left and then across and up to the right, from rich-tone braided chestnut to smooth, satiny white, from Istar to Dwarf and back again.

"You want me to what?"

That the offer was tempting clearly showed on the fair features of the Elf. His eyes shone brightly as they skipped back and forth, from beard to beard. Then flicked down past the beards, as if he could divine what lay beneath heavy ceremonial robes and tunics. Truth be told, he knew full well what lay beneath. And craved it.

"I think you heard what Gandalf said."

"I heard the words, dear Gimli. It is the intention I wish to confirm."

"I assure you, Legolas, I do intend to carry out all I have proposed." The white-robed wizard stepped closer to the Elf and leaned in close, whispering something in a low, smooth voice.

Legolas smoothed the front of his tunic and cleared his throat. "This is the wedding ceremony of King Elessar and Queen Arwen. We cannot simply leave the festivities for frivolous purposes."

"The King and Queen have left the festivities, half of the other guests have left the festivities, and it is well within our rights to leave in order to pursue our own festivities," Gimli groused.

"No one would think it amiss if we did," Gandalf added.

The Elf looked up and down the corridor. "I suppose we could retire to my rooms." He motioned for the other two to follow him.

Gimli gave Gandalf a lascivious smirk. Or so it would seem to the casual observer.

The casual observer pressed his body deeper into his hiding place so the members of the Fellowship would not see him as they walked past. He took a slow, even breath. After the three passed, he slipped out of the alcove and across the hall, the better to observe the trio. He watched them turn left at the end of the corridor and slunk after them silently.

The left passage at the end of the corridor was a narrower hallway leading to a curved staircase. Trailing white robes could be spied as their wearer mounted the steps. The dark figure crept forward, gauging the length of time he should wait before mounting the stairs himself.

"What do you think you are you doing?"

The casual observer stopped dead in his tracks.

"Are you tracking the wedding guests?"

He stood upright. It was always better, he'd found in situations like this, to rise to his full height. The intimidation factor had often proved effective.

"I hardly think it is appropriate for a man of your station to be seen skulking around the halls, is it?"

"I, um..." he thought furiously, but his mind was clouded by his earlier consumption of a little too much ale. "Yes. I saw something suspicious, and I was following the, um, suspects. I didn't want to raise the alarm until there was something concrete to report, or if they did something, ah...more suspicious."

One eyebrow arched like a bowstring was the only response, expressing disbelief - not only in the allegation of suspicious behaviour, but disbelief that anyone would think the disbeliever could be so utterly stupid as to believe what he was being told.

Perhaps the truth would have to suffice.

"I saw them," the casual observer began.

"Go on..."

"In Edoras. After our return from Helm's Deep. The men were drinking, and then they mostly passed out. I made one last sweep of the area before I retired for the night. It's an old habit of mine..."

"One I share."

"Ah. Of course. As I would expect. So, I, um, I saw them. The Elf. And the Dwarf." The casual observer moved his right hand, ever so slightly, shifting his heavy leather tunic to a more comfortable position over the burgeoning lump beneath.

His interrogator noticed the movement and, with arms crossed over chest in an authoritarian gesture of recrimination, smirked. "And they were in some sort of... compromising position?"

"I'll say! The Elf was on his back with his legs up over the Dwarf's shoulders, babbling something about width and how 'dwarves were lovely too'. And the Dwarf was grunting about 'mining the very depths' and 'discovering core temperatures'."

"Oh. My."

"And then they switched places, and the Elf sat on his lap and rode him almost until sun-up."

"And you stayed to spy on the whole incident?"

"Of course not! I left as soon as I saw what was happening. Almost. But I could hear them. They were right outside my window. It was... it disturbed my sleep."

"I see. So you think this night of disturbed rest gives you the right to follow them around?"

"Not at all, but I saw them again, at the camp, the night before they went into the Paths of the Dead. Legolas told Gimli a story, and then Gimli fetched some ale and met Legolas in their tent. Again, they were next to my sleeping place. I could not help overhearing, and when I rose to attend to nature's call, I ... uh..."

"Could not help over-seeing?" the interrogator prompted.

"They rolled right out of the tent, at my very feet, as it were. The Elf was wrapped around the dwarf so tight, it was a death grip."

"I see."

"No, you don't. You can't see until you've actually seen. They are... he is..."

"Am I to conclude you have a 'thing' for the Elf?"

"I, um... I can't be faulted for that. Have you ever seen his buns?"

"I can't say I have. I'm sure they are as fair as the rest of him. What about the Dwarf?"

"He's got some pretty impressive equipment as well. Not that I've looked. On purpose. It's just that... they're very passionate. And there they were, on the ground. They didn't even notice me, they were so... passionate." He couldn't think of any other word.

"And what is your excuse for following them?"

"I saw the dwarf fetching large quantities of ale. For the Elf. I thought maybe there was a correlation between the ale and the, um, behaviour."

"But they were accompanied by Mithrandir!"

"Yes, well, that appears to be part of the general plan."

"That's preposterous! I've known Mithrandir all my life; he's advised my family for generations. He would never..."

There was a rustle of heavy robes on the stairs. Both men shrank back against the wall. The interrogator hooked his arm around the casual observer and yanked him out of the hallway, into a dim passage behind a sculpture of Elendil.

"What the...?"

"Shhh."

Gandalf swept past them, muttering under his breath. "Sweet almond oil. Yes, I think I know where I can find some of that... and perhaps another flagon of ale..." He bustled off in the direction of the kitchens, half-singing, half-humming a tune about Mirkwood Elves and the effects of ale.

"Well, what do you know?" The interrogator shook his head. "Perhaps this does warrant some investigation." He gestured toward the deeper, darker part of the passage. "That leads upstairs to the guest rooms."

"How do you know?"

"You forget that I grew up here, Eomer. I know all the secret passages." Faramir winked at the king of Rohan and went out in the hall to fetch a torch. Soon the two of them were creeping up the narrow, secret staircase.

They did not notice the shadowy figure gliding in their wake.

Legolas sat on the edge of the impressive, canopied bed in his sleeping quarters. A room fit for royalty, he'd been told when shown the way. He supposed it was. The bed was certainly fit for royalty. It would fit a king and a queen admirably, or even a pair of amorous lords, but an Elf, a Dwarf and a wizard? He eyed the thick, woven rug, spread across the stone floor, wondering how soft it was. Reborn Istar though he was, Gandalf was clearly inhabiting the body of an elderly, albeit slowly-aging, Man. There were, obviously, certain differences between the wizard and the average Edain, but Legolas was sure those special qualities did not extend to the state of Gandalf's knees. Adequate padding would definitely be required.

He voiced these concerns to Gimli, who tut-tutted him and insisted there was plenty of space on the bed, and would he please drink up his ale.

"You always want me to drink ale. You only want me when I drink ale."

"That's not true at all. I like you at all times, my dear Elf. But this is a special occasion."

"And what if I do not want any more ale? What if I want to be sober and in clear possession of all my faculties?"

"Gandalf will be back soon, with sweet almond oil. Your favourite."

Legolas smiled dreamily. "It is extra special when he uses the best oil."

Gimli cleared his throat. "Actually, I was hoping you might want to use the oil."

"Me? But Gandalf... you said he was going to join us."

"He is."

"Well, then he will be using the oil."

"If you wish. But I was rather hoping you might like to. On me. Well, in me."

"In you?" Legolas looked surprised. "You want me inside you?"

Gimli looked down at the floor and shuffled his feet. "Yes, I was rather hoping you would like it as well."

"I did not know Dwarves were partial to such activity."

"We aren't, as a rule. Most Dwarves, that is. But this one is."

"But Gandalf is here. I assumed he would be the one to use the oil."

Gimli placed his hand on his own rump. "I have no intention of letting that old..." Gimli paused. Clearly, it would not help his case to cast aspersions on the wizard. "I would much prefer you inside me, my love."

Legolas beamed at him. "How lovely! But," he frowned, "I'm much too big." He ran his hand down the front of his leggings, moulding the fabric to the long, thick ridge against his thigh.

Faramir's eyes almost popped out of his head.

"It's real," Eomer hissed in his ear. "I've seen it."

Faramir elbowed Eomer to quiet him. There was only a thin layer of tapestry between them and the rest of the room. It turned out that the secret passageway led directly behind the room occupied by the Elf. In past times, it had been the room in which suspected enemies of the kingdom of Gondor were housed, and the convenient observation passageway had saved the realm from invasion on two notable occasions, along with alerting the court to a somewhat embarrassing situation involving a Steward, a corrupt ambassador's wife and an unscrupulous wine merchant, back during the reign of Narmacil II.

He wondered briefly why Legolas had been placed in this particular room. Perhaps it had something to do with the exquisite view and the outer stairs to the garden.

Gimli was nestled between the widespread legs of the Elf, his short stature bringing him into a most convenient resting place, which made Legolas sigh sumptuously. "That, my dear Elf," Gimli explained, "would be the reason for the oil."

"Oh, no," Legolas shook his head, golden hair falling around his face and the Dwarf's. "The oil is for Gandalf. Wizards are lovely... but a bit rough. A little too much texture, if you know what I mean. Compared to the satiny, smooth, mmmm..." He had his hand down Gimli's trousers, and Gimli's eyes closed tight. "So smooth," Legolas cooed. "So thick..."

The door opened and Legolas snatched his hand back as if he were a mere Elfling caught stealing the last piece of lembas.

"It is only me," Gandalf snickered. "Do what you like with your Dwarf, Legolas. I am not here to get in between the two of you." He smiled warmly. "On the contrary," he continued, "I was hoping you might like to get between us."

Gimli's eyes lit up. "Excellent idea, Gandalf. Wizards are so marvellously inventive. On the bed, then. Hands and knees, me, then Legolas, then you."

Gandalf looked down at Gimli fondly. "Dwarves are so very practical."

"And what about Elves?" Legolas asked, looking mildly put off at being left out of the compliments.

"Elves? Why Elves are passionate," Gandalf replied smoothly.

"And adventurous," Gimli added, stroking the inner thighs that were inching up around his waist.

"Beautiful," Gandalf said as he shed his outer robe.

"Hot," Gimli murmured. "Inside and out."

Legolas sighed and wrapped his legs tighter around Gimli's torso. "I hope you brought the oil," he said as he pulled his tunic up over his head.

Faramir gripped the nearest object, which turned out to be Eomer's forearm. "Oh," he breathed out as he saw the smooth chest and flawless belly of the Elf revealed.

Eomer clamped a hand over Faramir's mouth just in time. Gimli had extricated himself from the grip of long, Elven legs and nudged Legolas up onto the bed, on his hands and knees. Faramir bit Eomer's fingers when leggings were peeled down to reveal a pair of infinitely tight buns.

When Legolas turned over, to give Faramir his first ever glimpse of Elven tackle, the Steward drew one of Eomer's fingers into his mouth.

When Gimli shed his clothing, and the impressive equipment of the Dwarf was revealed - not as long as the Elf but easily as wide and possessed of a certain, Dwarvish solidity that was enough to coax a series of ridiculously arousing purr-like noises from the Elf - Faramir sucked another finger inside.

Eomer was barely able to stifle his moans as Faramir's slick tongue swirled around his fingers, and Gandalf dropped the rest of his clothes to the floor.

As gnarled as his weathered face and white hair suggested it might be, the organ that stood out from a nest of pure white curls was less than smooth. Gimli halted his oral examination of Legolas's nipples to gaze at the ruddy, lumpy staff.

"Oh, my..." he said, and dropped to a crouch. From this position he had an eye-to-eye view. He ran a finger along the slightly rough skin, the bulging veins and protuberances, pausing at one on the underside, just beneath the swollen head. He turned his hand around, holding it next to the penis, with his palm by the base and his fingers aside. He crooked his index finger, noting the location of the lump. "Oh, my," he repeated, "That's at the exact right depth..."

Gandalf nodded smugly.

Legolas's eyes glazed over.

"It is as if the Valar designed you with the pleasure of male Elves in mind," Gimli observed with a craftsman's eye for texture, size and shape.

"Female Elves, as well," Gandalf bragged. "But I'm not in the mood for a comparative anatomy lecture. Up on the bed, Legolas. I'd like to put this oil to good use. Would you like any more ale?"

Legolas shook his head and took his place in the centre of the bed. Gimli climbed up in front of him. Gandalf lingered at the side of the bed, watching the Elf stroke and pet and prepare his Dwarf. He handed over the oil at the appropriate moment, and reached beneath Gimli to give him a distraction when Legolas first penetrated him with oil-slicked fingers. Gimli moaned harshly and asked for more.

Eomer thrust his fingers in and out of Faramir's mouth at a steady pace, grateful when the steward added a light sucking action to his tongue movements. He was also grateful when Faramir shifted position, so that his backside nestled between Eomer's legs where he squatted on the floor. Eomer grasped Faramir's hip with his other hand and pulled his future brother-in-law closer.

Gimli hissed loudly at the initial pain of entry. Legolas did indeed seem too big for him, but the Dwarf insisted on continuing. Gandalf drizzled more oil on the overstretched opening. Legolas had his hands fisted in Gimli's hair and was fighting to not thrust wildly. His head was thrown back, throat bared, shoulders tense, buns rock hard with the effort of slowing his movements.

"Don't stop now," Gimli grunted. "I think you might find Dwarves are deeper than we appear on the outside..."

Legolas pushed forward until he was fully enveloped, and was rewarded with a howl of pleasure.

Gandalf grinned. The observers could see him making the calculations in his head. "Well, then, now we know why Dwarves don't howl for me." For while Gandalf was impressively endowed, he was shorter than the Elf by far.

Gandalf mounted the bed so he could mount the Elf. There was no shortage of moans and musical sighs from Legolas as Gandalf worked his way in between those tight buns. "Delightful," Gandalf murmured to no one in particular. He held a narrow hip with one hand for balance, and used the other hand to rub the ends of his beard across Legolas's back. Eliciting sighs of "perfectperfectperfect" and "deeper". He continued to sink into the hot Elf. "Hang on, Gimli. Things are about to become..."

There was no need to say what things were about to become, for at that very moment, things became. Things became frantic, and kinetic, and very loud as well. Legolas pumped into Gimli hard, Gimli fell forward, head buried in the bedding, with his arse angled up at what appeared to be the perfect angle, for it inspired an enthusiastic wail from Legolas.

Eomer tilted his hips up and back down again, rubbing himself against Faramir's backside. Faramir writhed and reached back, gripping Eomer's tense thighs.

Cries of "Mahal, oh, Mahal!" and "Ai! Elbereth" and "For the love of the Valar, I fucking love Wood Elves!" filled the room and the bodies on the bed surged against each other at a frenetic pace.

Eomer and Faramir thrust against each other at a similar tempo. They no longer cared if they were discovered; they needed only release, although it was doubtful they would be heard above the roar of the Dwarf, the keening of the Elf and the groaning of the Istar. Faramir's moans were muffled by Eomer's broad hand, the palm of which was being treated to as thorough a licking as Eomer had ever given a maiden, and Eomer buried his face in Faramir's neck, stifling his moans against the damp skin there.

Eomer's whole body stiffened when he realised that, for the first time since that growth spurt in his youth had rendered him desirable to every female within flirting distance, he was on the verge of coming in his trousers. He reached down to cup the bulge under Faramir's leathers, determined to make the Steward share equally in this humiliation.

Faramir was all too ready to comply. He swung about abruptly and threw his body atop Eomer's, grinding his pelvis down furiously. Their lips joined in time for them to swallow each other's moans of completion.

The three on the bed reached a startlingly mutual climax not a minute later, and collapsed into a sweating, heaving, panting heap of limbs and tangled beards and hair.

Faramir rolled off Eomer, and the two lay on the cold stone floor, side by side, eyes closed, damp stains spreading across the fronts of leather-covered crotches. Feeling like a couple of awkward youths, they struggled to sit up.

And two pale, long-fingered hands descended, one on Faramir's right shoulder, the other on Eomer's left shoulder.

"And just what do you two think you are doing?"

The King of Rohan and the Steward of Gondor slowly looked over their shoulders, into the cool, clear eyes of Eowyn, the White Lady of Rohan.

Arwen giggled. "No!"

"Oh, yes," Eowyn confirmed. "That's exactly what happened."

Arwen covered her mouth and looked around the garden to make sure no one had overheard the tale. "Oh, my, and I was wondering why Aragorn insisted on putting Legolas into that room. It's so easy to spy on someone there."

"You mean, Aragorn intended to spy on Legolas and Gimli?"

"Goodness, no. At least, not that night. I assure you, we were quite busy by that time. But I'll tell you about my wedding night some other time. Tell me what happened next..."

TBC soon in "You Have Some Explaining To Do..." (at Haleth's site)