Chapter Text
Sitting on the dock of the bay….
Legolas staggered into the study, humming the blasted song as the heavy crystal glass banged into the doorjamb as he passed. The good bourbon sloshed on the Turkish carpet as well as his black suit, creating a dark stain. It was a sucky night, he thought. It sucked, it sucked and didn’t bother to swallow. Like a Vegas showgirl, he thought with a sneer. The morose shit was eating him alive, one healthy bite at a time. Considering how drunk or high he was most of the time, neither drug managed to keep the self loathing at bay.
He was an exile.
Aranel Elven, another Berkeley grad a year ahead of Legolas, was hosting the fraternity party at his Painted Lady in Pacific Heights. He was quite proud of the acquisition, giving parties at the drop of a hat. His wife didn’t mind, she had her own interests to feed during these little gatherings. But showing up stoned out of his mind was not allowed, not by genteel society. So Legolas had to wait patiently for the large amounts of alcohol to click off the endless monorail of memories that coming to San Francisco had not changed.
Sigmas alum frat parties were for anyone who had been accepted after making it through the hazing. Legolas was such an alum, so was his father. Sindarins had been Sigmas since coming to Berkeley, all of them had taken a turn as President of the Alumni association at some point. It was an excellent place to make new deals, reestablish old ties or strengthen their standing. Tonight, well tonight had not gone as planned.
Aranel was the current president, who had never quite gotten past his college days. Oh, he was a successful banker in a time when money and greed were nasty bad words, but he still lived life like there was a keg stand around the next corner. Once Legolas had moved back to the Sindarin house in Russian Hill, Aranel had been the first person he had called. Not out of friendship because that would be too strong a word for what they were, but out of genuine hope to forget the woman Legolas had left in New Hampshire and the one being rammed down his throat in California.
Thranduil’s choice was a nice girl, great breeding, long legs with good capped teeth. She had regular physicals so he might assume that she was capable of bearing children. She might as well be a horse for all the description that Thranduil had given him. Good education, finishing schools in southern France, cooking school in Paris. She had been trained from birth to be an exceptional wife, nothing else. Legolas hated her on the spot.
Tauriel occupied his mind in the waking moments between hungover and fully baked. Thranduil had drugged his water that night after the Mirkwood invasion, putting Legolas on a plane with two bodyguards. It was only after when he awoke did the guilt shatter him like a pane of glass, with each fragment ripping his soul in two. He had not meant to shoot her, he had been aiming for the black haired bastard. Maybe? His rage that night made the events a bit hazy around the edges. But she had saved him, stepped in front of his arrow as a shield. For Love. Why? How could she love the Durin’s trash and not him?
Tauriel kept her secrets too though everyone in Mirkwood had been speculating for months on her love life. Legolas remembered her being distant or suddenly always gone. It had been hard for him, trying not to crowd her, to push her to open up to him as they did when they were children. She had not chosen him in the end, obviously for the best considering their circumstances. But telling Thranduil about seeing her and that Durin’s trash on a bench at the Hallowsfest had been a grievous mistake. One of many it seems.
Maybe Tauriel didn’t love him the way he had dreamed because she was his illegitimate half sister? Had she known the truth where he had not? Thranduil had an aneurysm on the phone when Legolas had asked him, sputtering like an old chevy before changing the subject. Everyone has secrets, Thranduil had tried to hide his the best way he could. Running to the other side of the country had not buried what had started in San Francisco, his father should have known better than that. Too many people knew and still talked with the right incentive.
Several of his mother’s family had told him about Thranduil’s affair once Legolas had ensconced himself in town. They had never forgiven his father for his actions as well as Legolas’ mother’s suicide. It was quite acceptable amongst their set to have a mistress but it was bad manners to leave your wife for her, pregnant or not. Then to add to the embarrassment, Thranduil had chased his slut across the country to New Hampshire, trying to get her back. The woman’s name had been Silvan.
Legolas had raged at his cousins for days, demanding to know why no one had mentioned this before now. The excuses had been just that, excuses. They had not wanted to get involved too directly, they thought he knew because it wasn’t a secret here in California, they were scared of Thranduil while they hated him. It made Legolas want vomit all the bullshit lies they told.
Legolas dropped a bottle of Johnny Walker Blue to a Queen Anne table with a thunk, hopefully denting the wood. He swiped it from the gleaming wet bar by the window before taking a chair by the fireplace. Aranal had hid the good Glenmorangie somewhere but he wasn’t in a hunting mood. Slouching in his seat in the study, Legolas reflected on the next problem on his horizon. Tonight had proved that fate was a heartless bitch with an evil twisted sense of humor. He had fallen in love with a half sister, shot her in the back but that wasn’t enough. He had come face to face with one of the Durin’s trash way out here in San Francisco.
One of the black bastard’s cousins, Gimli, had been a freshman pledge to Sigma at Berkeley. He had made it through hell week with flying colors, a feat unheard of for an eighteen year old kid, garnering fame along the way. The chapter’s president loved him, couldn’t stop talking about him. An engineering major with ties to a high producing gem mine, they all wanted to hear about his childhood. Had he used the rubies and other gems for marbles? Legolas wanted to run him over with his Cayenne.
The introductions had been tense, each man knowing the other, maybe not all the history but enough to know that an enemy was in the room. One of the blond call girls that Aranel had hired for entertainment had wiggled past on mile high stilts, taking Gimli along with her. It had broken the tense moment of who could outstare who, but the night wasn’t over and Legolas started mainlining single malt.
He knew how the game was played on this side of the world. There was no reason to draw more attention to the little piece of shit than necessary but he was going to have to go. Legolas would have to take it slow, make little comments that cut into the runt’s popularity. Gimli might look the part, dressed in Brooks Brothers with a white silk shirt that highlighted his russet beard and dark eyes. The charcoal grey of the suit cut nicely across his wide shoulders, obviously tailored.
If Legolas was exiled to the coast until he bred up the next generation, he wouldn’t spend it looking at that mountain goat! Better Gimli slink off now, than get a foothold and have to be wedged out like a splinter. Reaching beside him where he placed the bottle of Johnny Blue, Legolas topped off his glass.
The door opened on his left side, the soft click of it closing didn’t stir him. The alcohol was much more interesting. “Well, look who it is.” A disembodied voice bounced from the walls.
“Yes, look who it is.” Legolas, half drunk didn’t bother to look up at the visitor. He didn’t care at this point to engage here and now.
“Tell me, is it guilt that makes you drown in booze for almost killing my cousin? Or trying to fuck your sister?” Gimli stalked out of the shadows, his whole body rigid with anger.
Legolas chuckled at the boy’s words right before he threw the tumbler at him. Then a magazine and a humidor. Staggering out of the chair, he took a drunken swing at the shorter man to no avail. The room spun like a tilt-a-whirl as Legolas found himself slammed face down on a card table in the center of the room. Gimli had simply batted his punch away, planting him face first on the polished wood. Hitching his arm behind his back, Gimli leaned forward using his solid bulk to hold Legolas in place.
“Now, let’s review. You tried to kill my cousin but shot your sister instead. The sister you have been trying to bang for like ever, right?” Gimli chuckled at his own dry wit.
Legolas struggled trying to use his hips and lower spine to push heavier man off him, but the alcohol didn’t help. “I didn’t know she was my sister until three weeks ago. Get off me!”
“Now, now. Hold still. We don’t want you to get hurt, little princeling. Granted I have seen her, she’s a knockout, your sister. But in the end, she ran after the Durin’s Folk boys!” Gimli cackled as Legolas started to struggle. “Must have liked what she got, to keep coming back for more!”
“Maybe. Maybe she felt pity. I seem to remember Durin’s folk will fuck even their cousins. I think his name is Ori? He must be a friend of yours considering the way you are rubbing your cock on me!” Legolas still struggled to get loose but the hold on his arm was solid. The rub of the kid’s erection burned across his buttocks.
“You are the one grinding on me, little princeling.” Legolas snarled at Gimli’s words though his tone had gotten husky in the last few minutes.
“Oh really? You’re the one with the hard dick, little man or are you smuggling salami in your pants!” Legolas bucked again, using his left arm to try to push off the table again. Nausea churned in his alcohol filled gut at the sudden movements, making his wish he sampled the buffet before taking up residence at the bar.
There was a space between his hips and the edge, Legolas managed to put more distance for leverage forcing Gimli to take a step back. He felt something, indistinguishable at first due to the warm breath on the back of his neck, distracting him. It was a hand, Legolas realized, a hand that rubbing against his cock through his pants.
“My cock might be hard, but it isn’t alone. Is it, Mr. Sindarin?” Gimli’s words were rushed as he used the heel of his palm, rubbing hard against Legolas’ groin. His own wide hips stroked up and down the back of Legolas’ thighs.
“What are you doing?!” Legolas gasped as a tingling sensation rippled up his spine.
“Tell me to stop and I will.” Gimli cupped Legolas’ balls, rolling them deftly along his fingers with the dexterity of a trumpet player. Legolas moaned softly, it was more than he had ever felt during intercourse, and they were both fully clothed!
Arousal warmed him, raced through his body harder than the whiskey. Legolas felt his knees bend of their own accord so that he could get closer to the boy behind him. The thick fingers had stopped their play, now they grabbed his balls firmly in a tight squeeze. Legolas had stopped fighting, he didn’t want Gimli to let go. His cock was harder than steel now, but it was a lack of sober coordination that kept him from taking it out. Thoughts blinked in and out like a traffic light as Legolas stained against the shorter man behind him. Solid. Need him. Cock. Gimli continued to grind down at Legolas’s ass, the murmur of the material sliding was lost as the two men panted their excitement.
As suddenly as it started, Gimli released him and stepped away. Legolas flopped on the table, a whine escaping him before he could stop it. There was so much desire cutting him apart, he had no idea what to do but lay there in a puddle. He heard the door slam open as Gimli snarled out of the room, his heavy foot falls walking away.