He gazed upward and blinked against the huge drops of rain that fell from the dark sky, and sighed. “Well, we did manage five miles,” he said cheerily. Eyes of various colours glared at him from beneath elven hoods and he sank into silence.

“Boromir is right,” a gentle voice encouraged. The elf gazed at them all, looking miserably out at him, rain dripping down and obscuring their view.

“Thank you,” Boromir replied, without irony, as was his usual want. “The day’s hike could have been hampered all the sooner,” he noted optimism.

“If you’re in such an optimistic mood,” Sam began smarmily, but then dropped the tone to one of pessimism. “Why don’t you think up a good way to lift our spirits.”

“Sam’s right,” Aragorn agreed. “This storm will continue for another six hours at least, so we shall be here for a while. What is your secret?”

Boromir suddenly seemed hesitant and guarded. “Well, whenever I was in Ithilien on long patrols, I would . . .my men would . . .”

“A good start,” Aragorn praised when nothing else was forthcoming.

Boromir shook his head. “It matters not. Sometimes there would be games like dahtr or some such, or drinking songs and occasionally . . .dirty jokes. Rarer still, when luck would be upon us, and we were in Osgiliath, we would have a few serving girls to slake other thirsts.”

“And what if there were no serving girls?” pippin asked quietly.

Boromir dropped his gaze. “We would find alternative ports of call,” he replied.

“What does that mean?” Merry asked softly, looking from Pippin to Frodo. The hobbits spoke quietly amongst themselves.

Boromir leaned back against the overhang of the cliff, listening to them slip into Middlemish, a language he knew very little of. A word here and there was the same or similar, but he could guess what they were discussing - alternative ports of call. His mind wandered to the other ports of call he had visited. Pulling his cloak about him he closed his eyes and sank a frigid hand into a pocket of his britches to warm it.

Aragorn eyed the downcast clouds and knew they were doomed to spend the entire day, and perhaps the whole night as well, against the curve of the cliff. He smothered a sigh. The hobbits were talking amongst themselves and had decided on a second breakfast. He smiled to himself as he watched them. The rain seemed to bother them very little. Boromir was probably used to it out of habit and was dozing and the two remaining members of the fellowship were huddled together.

Gimli did not like the damp. Cold he could stand, but not the rain. He and Legolas were sharing their cloaks, having curled them about themselves like a continuous bedroll. Gimli, who had been shivering on the point of hypothermia a moment before, was enjoying the warmth, that much was clear, and Aragorn did not like to disturb them. He stood to stretch his long legs and wandered a little way to look out over the forest and the river.

Above him stood a shear limestone cliff of no more than twenty feet in height and which curved around as if gouged by a huge hand. The river must have flooded this far from its present channel, he supposed, cutting its signature for Ages to come. Now it raged some feet below them down the impassable rapids. They had set the boats on their sides to afford a little shelter from the rain. It worked to some extent, but by that time they were all already drenched to the skin and icy cold. He could see from the corner of his eye that not all of them were cold.

A furtive glance from beneath his hood confirmed his suspicions. Elven hands were warming a dwarf body. Innocent as it was Aragorn shuddered at the thought, no imagination was needed to picture what that hand moving beneath the cloak was doing, even innocently.

Legolas leaned closer to whisper in his ear. “Are you warmer now?”

“Aye,” Gimli replied softly, feeling his breath against his cheek. “I have to admit, I have never been warmer.”

Legolas gazed at him, a gentle smile to his lips. “Then, I must suggest that I amend that, friend-Gimli, for you are too cold.” He shifted a little closer and curled an arm beneath his head and lay on his side against the dwarf, curling his free arm across the dwarf's stomach. “Better?”

Gimli gazed up at him and smiled. “That is a little warmer,” he agreed.

“Only a little?” Legolas asked. “Then, I must find a way to warm you further.”

Gimli felt the elf’s hand smooth up and over his taut stomach and chest before sweeping down to dip beneath his shirt. He gasped softly feeling hot fingers whisper across his skin and released a shuddering breath. “That works,” he said. “But I thought you were intending to simply keep me warm, not get me aroused, young Princeling.”

“Why should one preclude the other?” Legolas asked silkily.

“What . . .? I . . but . . .” Gimli looked around them and no one seemed to be interested. He looked up at the elf only to have his words cut off by the inadvertent touch of their lips. He drew back. “Oops, sorry.”

Legolas, by way of reply, pressed his lips to Gimli’s. It seemed to the dwarf that he liked that as a moment later he did it again. Quick, tender, chaste kisses lengthened and lips parted and tongues met, slowly swirling and teasing each other.

Legolas’ hand smoothed downward to cup his groin, already starting to swell with interest. Gimli moaned softly against his mouth. Parting his knees a little, he thrust his hips upward. Legolas returned the moan, squeezing gently to feel the tiny movements of the dwarf beside him. After a moment, he pulled leather from buckle and loosened the belt enough to slip a hand into his trousers.

Gimli sucked in a breath as warm fingers curled around his shaft. He lifted a hand to cover his groin, forgetting for a moment that they were covered with elven cloaks. But then, he realised, no one was looking at them anyway. His palm touched not skin but cloth, and in his dreamlike frustration his hand travelled to find another groin pressed against his hip. Not wasting time with ceremony, he pushed open the clasp and opened the elf’s leggings and smoothed down the soft skin of his belly. His searching fingers moved closer to his apex and was surprised to find not male but a strangely more feminine body.

Legolas gasped and jerked slightly as a single finger dipped between his thighs to stroke the enlarged clit it found there. He lifted his upper knee to give him more room, feeling the desire surge through him. Rocking his hips against the exploring touch, the clit swelled all the more, poking erect and needy against Gimli’s finger.

Gimli pulled away a little to gaze into the desire-darkened eyes. Legolas moaned softly, shuddering and rocking with need. “You like being warmed up as well, I see,” he whispered.

Legolas nodded, breath thick as his hips pressed into Gimli fingers. “We should stop, before the others see us.”

Gimli smiled softly, noting that neither Legolas’ smooth strokes of his length, nor his rocking stopped. “You don’t want me to,” he said.

Legolas breathed unevenly. “Do not stop.”

Gimli smiled and accepted his mouth against his own.

Boromir watched the elf and dwarf to his left. Only their kissing faces were visible and the gently moving shape of bodies curled together beneath the cloak. It did not take a master scholar to work out what they were doing, and when the knee rose beneath the cloak it was even more obvious.

His fingers in his pocket delved a little deeper to where his sleeping friend lay, although not so asleep any more. he touched the head through cloth, nipping it between his fingers and thumb. Along the seem of the pocket a hole had formed at some point since he had first donned them two years before.

Boromir moaned softly, manoeuvring the cloth over his slit and began to caress it. He licked his dry lips, panting softly. To his right, beyond the pitiful excuse for a fire, four hobbits were snuggled up. He blinked. Perhaps snuggled was not the word. Two of them were pressed chest to back, the one behind, Sam, kneeling, hips flexing against the other, Frodo’s, ass. The second gasped softly, attesting to entry and enjoyment.

Boromir took his hand out of his pocket and opened the buttons of his trousers. His member was hot and ramrod hard. He squeezed it, feeling his need and desire roll through him. His eyes opened in surprise as a third, Merry, joined in, taking Frodo's shaft into his mouth and sliding down on him. Frodo gasped, leaning back against Sam, shear ecstasy on his face.

Pippin forgot the uncooked meal in the pan and slipped Merry’s trousers off his hips to his ankles. Smoothing his hands across his cousin's buttocks he opened his own pants and firmed himself for a moment before entering in one long thrust. He reached around to smooth a hand along the silkiness of Merry’s length.

Frodo’s moan changed to a growl and he lifted a hand to stop. “To fast,” he whispered. Pippin slid from the hot sheath of Merry’s body and waited as Frodo lay down on his back, his legs curling around Sam’s still kneeling form. Sam lifted his master’s hips onto his lap and slid into him again. They sighed together and thrust gently. Merry dropped to his hands and knees over him and felt Frodo’s mouth on him almost instantly. Moaning softly he descended again to the Frodo's member, taking him deep into his mouth. Behind him Pippin slid into his welcoming depths.

Boromir pumped harder, noting the huddle of limbs and bodies to his right and the deeply kissing elf and dwarf to his left. His eyes drifted shut and opened again, and fixed on a lone figure standing not ten feet away. He rose and joined him, standing at his shoulder. He could tell by the slowly clenching ass cheeks that he was dealing with a pent up desire of his own.

‘Missing your woman, too?’ he asked.

“Aye,” Aragorn whispered. He gasped as he felt fingers brush damp hair away from his throat and nape and lips take its place. “Boromir, I . . .I have never . . .been with a man.”

“Do not fear, Aragorn. I am gentle,” he whispered and mouthed his neck again, swirling his tongue beneath his ear. He smoothed a hand over the man’s tight cheeks, pressing his fingers deeply into the cleft at the top of his thighs.

His other hand teased fingers from his shaft and pressed his need against the man’s ass. Pushing cloth down over his hips, he pressed again, hearing a gasp. “I am also big,” Boromir panted, dripping a finger into the cleft and sliding slowly in.

Aragorn clenched, although he had not meant to, and felt a hand on his shaft smoothing slowly from tip to base and back again, calming him. Fingers searched for his entrance and one slid in, moving languidly in and out, readying him. Aragorn moaned softly.

“Feel good?” Boromir asked.

Aragorn nodded, panting. “I’m going to blow.”

Boromir slowed his hand and added a finger, slowly thrusting in and out, allowing him to cool slightly before massaging his balls. hearing Aragorn moan softly, he added a third finger and thrust harder, feeling the man shudder against him.

Drawing his fingers out, Boromir positioned himself and entered slowly, gratified with the grunt of desire that rolled through the would-be-king. Boromir took his shaft in hand again and thrust deeper. Aragorn closed his eyes, parting his legs slightly and braced himself against the tree trunk in front of him. He shuddered just as the thrusting massaged his G-spot, body trembling and breathing uneven. “Feels good,” he whispered.

Boromir moaned in agreement and smoothed his shaft in long strokes, increasing the pace. “So do you,” he breathed huskily. He thrust harder grinding his hard against his G-spot.

Aragorn reached behind him, to grasp his buttocks, holding him closer. Boromir shuddered, his rhythm faltering. Thrusting hard and fast, he pumped the shaft and suddenly stilled. With a grunt Boromir spilled his seed and felt the lurch within Aragorn’s shaft a split second later. Behind them four hobbits groaned quietly together, a sound so gentle it could have been mistaken for snoring. They sank into the ground, breathless and spent. After a moment, Boromir slipped from his body.

Aragorn panted, feeling the man’s body against his chest. “Thank you.”

Boromir rested against him, unwilling to move just yet. “For what?” he asked.

“For showing me your alternative ports of call.”

Boromir smiled against his cloak and sighed a laugh. “At least the rain has stopped.”

Snuggled within their cocoon of elf cloaks, they continued to kiss and move against each other, wanting to increase the contact of naked skin, but unwilling to lose the precious touch of the other. Panted breaths had shortened their impassioned kisses and movements had increased as the heat rose. All else had ceased to exist.

Two fingers slid into the hot hole and pushed in hard and deep. Legolas moaned, shuddering, arching into his touch. “If we had time alone, it would be me inside you,” Gimli whispered.

“I wish it, the first opportunity we get,” the elf whispered back, and smoothed the thick shaft in his hand, almost forgetting to breathe as fingertips nudged his G-spot. His body arched forward, thrusting and trembling in delicious waves. He moaned, panting.

Gimli lost himself in the rapid strokes of Legolas’ hand and the breathy open-mouthed kisses that assaulted him. He needed more, but had to be content with what he had, and closing his eyes to imagine Legolas’ skin against his own, an elf's body undulating beneath him as he thrust and withdrew, but it was not enough to throw him over the edge.

“I need you right now,” he growled, lifting a leg to hook a toe on the elf’s leggings to pull them down and off his legs. And without another word he rolled onto a pliant lover and entered.

Legolas hissed a gasp at the size of him, feeling his body stretch around the dwarf’s thickness. He raised his knees as the first thrust took him deep inside. His eyes popped wide and searched for Gimli’s. This was more than a distraction from the rain, he could tell, plus the whispered declarations of love that passed those lips were an obvious sign. Curling his arms around the shorter figure, he pressed his hands to the clenching ass, wanting deeper and faster.

Gimli held back for a time, enjoying the feel of him, his uncertain anatomy forgotten in the flight of heated love. His eyes drifted shut but opened again, not wanting to miss the look of bliss on his lover’s face. Gimli smiled and was rewarded with a flash of white teeth.

Legolas bit his lip to quash a loud moan that threatened to escape. He panted, meeting each move, feeling dwarf fingers where lips wished to be, his lips, jaw and throat. His mouth fell open at the thought and he gasped, drawing a hand up Gimli's back to plunge his fingers into the thick hair at the nape of his neck. A loud groan escaped, despite his resolve. “Meleth nîn.”

Gimli shuddered at his declaration and growled in response. Plunging deeper, he thrust against the ridge of flesh, feeling Legolas jerk beneath him. He groaned loudly, hearing cries come with each move he made. The elf’s body was clenching him, Gimli gasped and lost control. With a sudden rush, he cried out and rammed home.

Legolas’ head rolled back and a wall of sound filled the forest glade. He sank, breathless and limp with release. His body shuddered, pulsating and clenching around Gimli’s shaft.

Finding himself grasped tightly within Legolas’ body, Gimli lifted his head, the stars beginning to fade from behind his eyes. He attempted to slip from his lover’s body, but nothing happened. He was stuck.

“Sweet love,” he whispered, although why he whispered he couldn’t say. Half of Middle Earth would now know exactly where they were, and say nothing of the rest of the Fellowship. Gimli determinedly quashed all attempts his body made to reveal his embarrassment.

Legolas lifted his head and lowered his knees enough so that he could curl his body upward, kissing the dwarf who had seared him mind, body and soul. he smiled. “Yes, Gimli?” he whispered.

“Would you mind letting me out?” Gimli asked softly, with some amusement.

Legolas looked down to where they were joined and back at his lover. “How do I do that?”

Gimli grinned and chuckled quietly. Finally elven muscles relaxed and he slipped from his body. Sliding up, chest to chest, he kissed him again. “That blows our secrecy out the window,” he supposed.

“The others would have realised it sooner or later, meleth,” Legolas replied.

“Actually I was referring to our whereabouts with regards to the orcs that are tracking us.”

“Oh,” Legolas said. He curled an arm around him and drew him close. “I warmed you up, though,” he said triumphantly.

Pulling him closer, Legolas dipped is head for another kiss . . .someone cleared his throat, and the lips drew apart before they had change to meet.

“Beakfast is ready,” Merry told them both, desperate not to allow the threatening grin a foothold on his face. A quiet ‘oof’ beside him betrayed the sideward jab of an elbow.

Legolas sat up and wriggled a little trying to find a gap for his hand through the double layer of cloaks. No sooner had he found one and snaked his arm out than the elven cloth mutinied and gave the fellowship a full view of his naked leg and hip.

Legolas took the proffered plate and yelped and Gimli simply looked, smiling and took his time covering it up again. “Gimli!” he hissed.

Aragorn laughed softly. “Finally, we have proof. Elves have legs.” The glare he got only made him laugh all the harder.

“Shall I help you get dressed?” Gimli asked innocently.

Legolas hesitated as he gazed at him. “Some help you would be, I can tell,” the elf replied, and passed him the plate of food while he rummaged for his clothing. “And do not eat it all. I am hungry,” he warned.

“So am I,” Gimli replied.

Legolas’ ears turned an interesting shade of sliver pink. “For food,” he added. “Elves are always ravenous after . . .intimacy,” he revealed.

“My hands are sticky,” Pippin suddenly announced with a frown.

“I can still taste Sam,” Merry said, not to be outdone.

“And the problem is?” Boromir prompted. They were silent.

“As long as we’re all warm,” Sam said with a smile for Frodo, who returned it.

“Comfort in the rain,” Frodo noted.

“Aye,” Boromir agreed. “We needed the rest, a brief break from our journey. If there comes no other time, we may go to our deaths knowing that we loved together.”

Aragorn smiled and clasped his shoulder. “Whatever tomorrow brings, we love each other, and are stronger for it.”

Legolas fastened his leggings and turned to reach for the plate in Gimli’s hand. It was empty. “Gimli! Êow grædig pigge!”

El fin