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Title: Teeth Like Knives
Author: Evandar
Fandom: Lord of the Rings
Rating: R
Genre: Romance/Fluff/Angst
Pairing: Legolas/Gimli
Warnings: Accidental self-mutilation, biting kink, kink negotiation, sort-of healing!cock
Disclaimer: I do not own The Lord of the Rings and I am making no profit from this story.
Summary: Gimli wasn't expecting to have to stitch Legolas back together after their first attempt at lovemaking, but now that the initial shock has worn off, he can't say that he's surprised.
AN: Painless!verse!It's not dead yet! Set sometime between In the Garden and After the Fire when Legolas and Gimli are still in Gondor. It was written for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
lynndyre, who requested that the 'Bites/Bruises' square on my Season of Kink table be filled with Painless!verse Legolas/Gimli. I'm also using this to fill the biting prompts on my Trope Bingo and H/C Bingo cards as well.
Legolas doesn’t flinch as the needle threads through his skin, but he doesn’t meet Gimli’s eyes either. He stares down at the twisted sheets of their bed and the black bloodstain just beginning to stiffen the fabric. It’s not how Gimli was expecting the aftermath of their first attempt at lovemaking to be, but now that the initial shock has faded, he cannot find it in him to be surprised. Legolas, at some point, had bitten down on his own arm, and now Gimli finds himself suturing a bloody chunk of flesh back into position.
With his sharp teeth stained black with his own blood, Legolas looks far more like an Orc than an Elf. Gimli refuses to say as much, because Legolas also looks miserable. For all that his body feels no pain, his heart certainly does, and Gimli has no desire to grieve him further. Even so, there are questions building on the tip of his tongue that need to be asked if they are to ever move on from this.
“Why did you bite yourself?” Gimli asks once the final knot is in place. It seems like a good place to start. He deposits the needle and the remaining thread on the little table by their bedside and reaches for a small jar of healing salve and a clean cloth.
“It felt right,” Legolas replies, his voice so quiet that Gimli has to strain to hear him. “It felt like something I needed. I –“
He hadn’t meant to hurt himself. Gimli cleans his wound with gentle touches and smears it with the salve. The edges of the wound are swollen and an odd shade of grey – he can only hope that that is one more Orcish aspect of Legolas’ physiology instead of a sign of infection. Gimli isn’t sure if Orcs get infections, or if Elves do, and given that Legolas is a combination of both and manages to be neither, all he can do is bandage it and hope for the best. And try and make sure that he doesn’t do it again.
“You enjoyed it?” he asks.
Legolas’ ears darken and he nods. His fingers curl in the sheet, and he finally looks up. His eyes are clouded with grief; they have darkened to the deep blue-grey of a stormy sea, and Gimli feels his stomach twist at the sight. Legolas is afraid of him. At least, he is afraid of what Gimli will say, and that hurts just as much. He slides his hand up Legolas’ arm and across his shoulder to cup the back of his neck and pull him down so that their brows touch. He feels Legolas’ muscles shift under his skin, but doesn’t let go until he feels Legolas relax and his soft sigh ruffle the hairs of his moustache.
“Next time,” Gimli says, “bite me.”
Legolas tenses again. He draws back enough for Gimli to see his frown. “You wish for this? For me to do this to you?”
“You said you enjoyed it,” Gimli replies. “The biting.” He reaches up to run his thumb along Legolas’ lower lip, tugging just enough to reveal his teeth. They’re straight and white and even, just like any Elf’s – but they’re longer than they should be, and sharp as knives.
“Gimli –“
Gimli interrupts him. “I trust you not to hurt me,” he says, and gets to see Legolas’ expression as his words sink in. “I trust you to stop if I ask. Do you trust me with this?”
For a moment, Legolas flounders. His pain and confusion is written all over his fair features, and it is so obvious that no one has trusted him like this in all his long years. Gimli has never wanted anything more than to hunt down the people who hurt Legolas so and introduce them to the business end of his axe. That Legolas finds it so hard to believe in his own innate goodness offends him on every level. Legolas is kind and fair and sorrowful, though he wears a mask of merriness that hides his grief from casual observers.
He is Gimli’s One, and so, Gimli will wait patiently for an answer until his last breath has left him.
Legolas sighs and leans forward, pressing their brows together once more. “I do,” he says. “I trust you.”
…
At Gimli’s insistence, they do nothing more until after Legolas’ arm has healed. It is fortunate, perhaps, that the wound as deep, because Legolas heals quickly and cleanly, and Gimli suspects that if it had been any shallower then they would not have had enough time to come to terms with their agreement. He has caught Legolas watching him several times over the last week, and there have been several more moments when he has felt a prickling on the back of his neck and the sensation of being watched, but has not been able to spot his lover.
Brave Legolas, one of the Nine Walkers, does not believe himself worthy of Gimli’s trust.
Gimli keeps himself busy. Instead of hunting down those nebulous, hurtful figures from Legolas’ past, he hefts and carves stone to clear streets and rebuild the White City. He returns each night to the small house he shares with Legolas, and listens as the Elf speaks of gardens and seedlings and the restoration of life. They share a bed every night; Gimli falls asleep to Legolas curling his long body around him and tangling his fingers in his beard.
One evening, when he checks Legolas’ arm, he finds nothing but a scar. He tests the wound with his fingers, and finds no sign of instability. He removes the sutures without comment, and presses a soft kiss to Legolas’ healed skin when he is done.
“If you wish to change your mind,” Legolas says quietly, “I will understand.”
Gimli shakes his head. He guides Legolas back onto their bed and positions himself so that he is hovering over him, staring down into his eyes. “I want this,” he says.
In truth, he has thought of little else. He has wondered how painful it will be, given how sharp Legolas’ teeth are; how much pressure it will take for him to draw blood. Legolas usually hides his teeth so well – behind close-lipped smiles and raised hands – that a glimpse of them is rare. Treasured, as Legolas is so wary. And Gimli wants Legolas to be happy. He wants him to feel safe and secure in their bed and their love, and if getting Legolas to bite him will help that, then he is more than willing no matter what pain it will cause.
He leans down and kisses Legolas deeply.
They move slowly, carefully. They are still very new to one another and the differences between their bodies, and they tease each other with kisses and gentle touches as they shed their clothes. Last time, Legolas had lain on his stomach to make it easier, but this time he sprawls out on his back and hooks his long legs up around Gimli’s waist.
“Like this?” he asks, and he is breathless. Gimli rocks down against him, grinding his erection against Legolas’ own and causing the Elf’s breath to hitch.
“Aye,” he says. “Like this.”
Legolas grins widely, and he is beautiful in his lack of restraint. His eyes are dark; his face and ears are flushed. His pale, hairless body writhes on the mattress as he rolls his hips up to meet Gimli’s own. It is better this way, Gimli thinks as he reaches between them to wrap his hand around both their cocks; this way he gets to see Legolas’ face as he pleasures him. He gets to kiss him; have Legolas’ fingers tangle in his beard and claw at his back and shoulders.
When the bite comes, Legolas is careful. Even in the throes of passion he is more concerned for Gimli than he ever was for himself. The first sting of pain as Legolas scrapes his teeth across the meat of Gimli’s shoulder does nothing to quell his lusts – it heightens them, if anything, as the contrast between pain and pleasure makes his blood sing – and when he makes no protest, Legolas bites down.
He can feel the strength in Legolas’ jaw. He can feel the tension as Legolas tries to gauge the correct pressure, and he manages to twist his head enough to press a kiss to the very tip of Legolas’ long ear. Legolas whimpers, and then – with a soft cry – spills himself into Gimli’s fist.
…
Gimli scars easily for a dwarf. Though Legolas never bites too deeply or too hard, he manages to decorate Gimli’s chest and shoulders with a series of circular scars. There’s no pattern to them, but that doesn’t stop Legolas from tracing them with his fingertips each morning. Gimli wakes to those gentle caresses, and to the sight of Legolas’ fair face soft with love and awe.
It is worth the small amount of pain the bites cause, to know that Legolas is hurting a little less.
Author: Evandar
Fandom: Lord of the Rings
Rating: R
Genre: Romance/Fluff/Angst
Pairing: Legolas/Gimli
Warnings: Accidental self-mutilation, biting kink, kink negotiation, sort-of healing!cock
Disclaimer: I do not own The Lord of the Rings and I am making no profit from this story.
Summary: Gimli wasn't expecting to have to stitch Legolas back together after their first attempt at lovemaking, but now that the initial shock has worn off, he can't say that he's surprised.
AN: Painless!verse!
lynndyre, who requested that the 'Bites/Bruises' square on my Season of Kink table be filled with Painless!verse Legolas/Gimli. I'm also using this to fill the biting prompts on my Trope Bingo and H/C Bingo cards as well.Legolas doesn’t flinch as the needle threads through his skin, but he doesn’t meet Gimli’s eyes either. He stares down at the twisted sheets of their bed and the black bloodstain just beginning to stiffen the fabric. It’s not how Gimli was expecting the aftermath of their first attempt at lovemaking to be, but now that the initial shock has faded, he cannot find it in him to be surprised. Legolas, at some point, had bitten down on his own arm, and now Gimli finds himself suturing a bloody chunk of flesh back into position.
With his sharp teeth stained black with his own blood, Legolas looks far more like an Orc than an Elf. Gimli refuses to say as much, because Legolas also looks miserable. For all that his body feels no pain, his heart certainly does, and Gimli has no desire to grieve him further. Even so, there are questions building on the tip of his tongue that need to be asked if they are to ever move on from this.
“Why did you bite yourself?” Gimli asks once the final knot is in place. It seems like a good place to start. He deposits the needle and the remaining thread on the little table by their bedside and reaches for a small jar of healing salve and a clean cloth.
“It felt right,” Legolas replies, his voice so quiet that Gimli has to strain to hear him. “It felt like something I needed. I –“
He hadn’t meant to hurt himself. Gimli cleans his wound with gentle touches and smears it with the salve. The edges of the wound are swollen and an odd shade of grey – he can only hope that that is one more Orcish aspect of Legolas’ physiology instead of a sign of infection. Gimli isn’t sure if Orcs get infections, or if Elves do, and given that Legolas is a combination of both and manages to be neither, all he can do is bandage it and hope for the best. And try and make sure that he doesn’t do it again.
“You enjoyed it?” he asks.
Legolas’ ears darken and he nods. His fingers curl in the sheet, and he finally looks up. His eyes are clouded with grief; they have darkened to the deep blue-grey of a stormy sea, and Gimli feels his stomach twist at the sight. Legolas is afraid of him. At least, he is afraid of what Gimli will say, and that hurts just as much. He slides his hand up Legolas’ arm and across his shoulder to cup the back of his neck and pull him down so that their brows touch. He feels Legolas’ muscles shift under his skin, but doesn’t let go until he feels Legolas relax and his soft sigh ruffle the hairs of his moustache.
“Next time,” Gimli says, “bite me.”
Legolas tenses again. He draws back enough for Gimli to see his frown. “You wish for this? For me to do this to you?”
“You said you enjoyed it,” Gimli replies. “The biting.” He reaches up to run his thumb along Legolas’ lower lip, tugging just enough to reveal his teeth. They’re straight and white and even, just like any Elf’s – but they’re longer than they should be, and sharp as knives.
“Gimli –“
Gimli interrupts him. “I trust you not to hurt me,” he says, and gets to see Legolas’ expression as his words sink in. “I trust you to stop if I ask. Do you trust me with this?”
For a moment, Legolas flounders. His pain and confusion is written all over his fair features, and it is so obvious that no one has trusted him like this in all his long years. Gimli has never wanted anything more than to hunt down the people who hurt Legolas so and introduce them to the business end of his axe. That Legolas finds it so hard to believe in his own innate goodness offends him on every level. Legolas is kind and fair and sorrowful, though he wears a mask of merriness that hides his grief from casual observers.
He is Gimli’s One, and so, Gimli will wait patiently for an answer until his last breath has left him.
Legolas sighs and leans forward, pressing their brows together once more. “I do,” he says. “I trust you.”
…
At Gimli’s insistence, they do nothing more until after Legolas’ arm has healed. It is fortunate, perhaps, that the wound as deep, because Legolas heals quickly and cleanly, and Gimli suspects that if it had been any shallower then they would not have had enough time to come to terms with their agreement. He has caught Legolas watching him several times over the last week, and there have been several more moments when he has felt a prickling on the back of his neck and the sensation of being watched, but has not been able to spot his lover.
Brave Legolas, one of the Nine Walkers, does not believe himself worthy of Gimli’s trust.
Gimli keeps himself busy. Instead of hunting down those nebulous, hurtful figures from Legolas’ past, he hefts and carves stone to clear streets and rebuild the White City. He returns each night to the small house he shares with Legolas, and listens as the Elf speaks of gardens and seedlings and the restoration of life. They share a bed every night; Gimli falls asleep to Legolas curling his long body around him and tangling his fingers in his beard.
One evening, when he checks Legolas’ arm, he finds nothing but a scar. He tests the wound with his fingers, and finds no sign of instability. He removes the sutures without comment, and presses a soft kiss to Legolas’ healed skin when he is done.
“If you wish to change your mind,” Legolas says quietly, “I will understand.”
Gimli shakes his head. He guides Legolas back onto their bed and positions himself so that he is hovering over him, staring down into his eyes. “I want this,” he says.
In truth, he has thought of little else. He has wondered how painful it will be, given how sharp Legolas’ teeth are; how much pressure it will take for him to draw blood. Legolas usually hides his teeth so well – behind close-lipped smiles and raised hands – that a glimpse of them is rare. Treasured, as Legolas is so wary. And Gimli wants Legolas to be happy. He wants him to feel safe and secure in their bed and their love, and if getting Legolas to bite him will help that, then he is more than willing no matter what pain it will cause.
He leans down and kisses Legolas deeply.
They move slowly, carefully. They are still very new to one another and the differences between their bodies, and they tease each other with kisses and gentle touches as they shed their clothes. Last time, Legolas had lain on his stomach to make it easier, but this time he sprawls out on his back and hooks his long legs up around Gimli’s waist.
“Like this?” he asks, and he is breathless. Gimli rocks down against him, grinding his erection against Legolas’ own and causing the Elf’s breath to hitch.
“Aye,” he says. “Like this.”
Legolas grins widely, and he is beautiful in his lack of restraint. His eyes are dark; his face and ears are flushed. His pale, hairless body writhes on the mattress as he rolls his hips up to meet Gimli’s own. It is better this way, Gimli thinks as he reaches between them to wrap his hand around both their cocks; this way he gets to see Legolas’ face as he pleasures him. He gets to kiss him; have Legolas’ fingers tangle in his beard and claw at his back and shoulders.
When the bite comes, Legolas is careful. Even in the throes of passion he is more concerned for Gimli than he ever was for himself. The first sting of pain as Legolas scrapes his teeth across the meat of Gimli’s shoulder does nothing to quell his lusts – it heightens them, if anything, as the contrast between pain and pleasure makes his blood sing – and when he makes no protest, Legolas bites down.
He can feel the strength in Legolas’ jaw. He can feel the tension as Legolas tries to gauge the correct pressure, and he manages to twist his head enough to press a kiss to the very tip of Legolas’ long ear. Legolas whimpers, and then – with a soft cry – spills himself into Gimli’s fist.
…
Gimli scars easily for a dwarf. Though Legolas never bites too deeply or too hard, he manages to decorate Gimli’s chest and shoulders with a series of circular scars. There’s no pattern to them, but that doesn’t stop Legolas from tracing them with his fingertips each morning. Gimli wakes to those gentle caresses, and to the sight of Legolas’ fair face soft with love and awe.
It is worth the small amount of pain the bites cause, to know that Legolas is hurting a little less.
