Chapter Text
Aragorn’s biggest fear was always that Legolas would hurt him, that if he handed his heart over to someone else, they wouldn’t take care of it.
However, handing his heart to Legolas was one of the easiest things he ever had to do.
When they had gotten home from the party, the twins had immediately gone to lie down amidst the trees, both tired and happy. The kisses they placed on both of their cheeks before walking into the forest still made Aragorn’s chest warm.
He and Legolas had walked over to where the fireplace was, loyally burning away. They had sat in front of it, letting it bathe them in warmth and when Aragorn cupped Legolas’s cheek and drew him in, the blonde came willingly; he let Aragorn pull him closer, roll their bodies over and settle himself between the blonde’s legs, kissing him slow and sweet.
They didn’t do more than kiss, just warm presses of lips on lips, never going further because although this seemed like a long time coming, they weren’t going to rush it. Neither of them planned on rushing it. They had been friends for practically a year. There was no way in hell Aragorn was going to rush this—going to risk screwing this up.
They fell asleep there, locked in an embrace with Legolas curled into the circle of Aragorn’s arms, soft breaths brushing over Aragorn’s neck.
The next day wasn’t awkward, like Aragorn expected. They went along in their usual way, but shared glances held more meaning, soft touches had more depth.
The exchanging of a soft brush of lips in the morning when they first arose was new, but not unwelcome.
Aragorn had to say that his favorite thing was how Legolas was letting him set the pace.
They didn’t need to talk about it. They knew what it meant.
With a single look, they could have entire conversations and Aragorn loved it.
Smaug and Tragu didn’t mention it, just went on with their shenanigans and didn’t act surprised or tease when they noticed them standing a bit closer together or how the frequent touches suddenly seemed just that bit more intimate.
When ten o’clock rolled around, Legolas urged the twins up into the trees, clambering up after them.
“We’ll keep our eyes open,” he assured Aragorn before disappearing amongst the leaves.
Even after the many months of having the forest in there, Aragorn couldn’t help still being in awe of how sturdy the trees were.
When his family entered the penthouse, it was to immediately stall by the elevator doors as they gaped at the towering trees and painted walls, the deep blue ceiling with the glittering star light.
“Where do you sleep?” Elrond asked, voice barely above a whisper, like the sight had taken away his strength. Arwen was silent next to him, her hand gripping Eomer’s tightly while Elladan and Elrohir merely gaped, eyes flickering over everything, drinking it all in.
“On the grass,” Aragorn replied, turning around and slipping into the throng of trees calling back a “leave your shoes by the elevator doors” before disappearing.
His only real reason for disappearing was to calm his suddenly racing heart because this was his home and he really shouldn’t feel so uncomfortable about letting his family see it, but he did. He loved his home, it was his safe haven and letting them in was like burning down the Secret Garden.
Absolutely stupid.
He nearly shrieked when Legolas dropped down in front of him, but managed to contain it to gasping like a fish and flailing backwards two steps before stabilizing himself.
“Hey, hey, Aragorn,” Legolas soothed, reaching his hand out and cupping the brunette’s cheek, running his thumb along his cheek bone and it was depressing yet heartening how easily the simple act managed to calm him, how it slowed his heart and yet sped it up at the same time. “You’re fine. This is going to go fine and when you’re done here, we get to go fill out the paperwork to keep Smaug and Tragu, okay?”
The blonde stepped closer and Aragorn’s hands immediately came up to grasp the blonde’s hips, drawing him close and resting their foreheads together, letting their breath mingle, letting the soft caress of the blonde’s fingers lull him into the sense of security the blonde always seemed to provide.
“Feeling better now?”
He opened his eyes, grey meeting blue and huffed a soft breath, letting their noses brush, a slow smile pulling at his lips and the blonde grinned in response. “Remember to shave before we leave,” were his parting words as he pulled back and went to the nearest tree, easily pulling his body up into the branches.
If Aragorn took a moment to take in the delightful view the action offered up, no one was around to know.
Unless Smaug and Tragu were watching.
In which case they had just caught him ogling Legolas’s rear.
The thought alone was a boner killer.
A really good boner killer, might he add.
“How can anyone live like this?” he heard coming from his right and turned around to take in the sight of his sister and her fiancée stumbling over roots holding each other’s hands tightly.
Proudly, Aragorn thought that Legolas would never stumble over a root like that. If he didn’t trust the ground, he would take to the branches; swing around in them like an acrobat, long limbs stretching, and muscles rolling sinuously.
He would dive through branches and leaves; stand on his hands, fingers gripping the bark, toes brushing the highest leaves. His knees would hook over a higher branch, he fling himself over, drop, plummet to the floor and catch himself on another branch with a soft hand, swing himself up and land on next branch in a perfect crouch.
Aragorn remembered how sullen Legolas was when he couldn’t go into the trees whenever he wished when he had hurt his ankle. The blonde would look up longingly at them, would lose sleep because of it.
“By living,” Aragorn responded in kind, ignoring the fact the question had been rhetorical.
Eomer’s eyes snapped up at the sound of his voice, face guarded, but there was a bit of amusement in his eyes that eased Aragorn’s slowly returning nerves.
He caught sight of a foot dangling behind Arwen’s head and doubled over whilst choking on air at the foot disappeared back up amongst the leaves. Coughing, he felt his lips involuntarily twitch as he caught Smaug poking her head out of the leaves, throwing him a saucy smirk and wink before disappearing once more.
Mentally he wondered what Legolas had told them.
It wasn’t possible that they knew exactly the moments when to appear, just as his nerves were rising.
In the end, Legolas had been right.
It had gone fine.
Elladan and Elrohir were in love with the place.
Elrond wasn’t overjoyed, but the sight of it seemed to ease any concerns he had for Aragorn’s financial status.
Arwen and Eomer were still a bit off with the whole thing after having nearly fallen more than five times, but as they were leaving, Eomer had said the place was nice.
As they gathered by the elevator, Aragorn called for Legolas and Smaug and Tragu to come down and they did, the three of them dropping from the branches and landing on either side of Aragorn. He barely suppressed a laugh because it seemed almost like a superhero thing.
“Have a nice day,” Legolas had said, placing his right hand over his left breast and bowing slightly, eyes dancing in delight. Smaug and Tragu mimicked him and Aragorn grinned before copying, taking in his family’s expressions as the elevator doors closed.
“Okay—everyone, go get ready,” Legolas instructed, placing gentle hands on the twins shoulders and ushering them to the stairs, giving the two a smile—Aragorn felt his heart melt a bit at the sight. “Aragorn,” Legolas called back and the brunette straightened immediately, putting on an innocent expression even though he hadn’t been doing anything wrong, “go shave. You two, get dressed. We have half an hour to get ready.”
“Alright!”
“And put on something nice,” Legolas yelled after them, sighing softly as he watched them run up the stairs.
Aragorn sauntered closer, his arm slipping around Legolas’s waist naturally, a familiar weight.
“This is nice,” he whispered, turning his head to the side and running his nose along Legolas’s temple, breathing in the scent of shampoo in the soft locks and the underlying scent of Legolas, sweet and familiar.
The blonde hummed leaning into him, letting Aragorn turn him around so that they were facing each other, letting Aragorn press their mouths together.
They didn’t need to talk about it.
And that alone was pretty damn nice.
“So, Aragorn’s got himself a family,” Boromir said as he lay sprawled out on Merry and Pippin’s couch, looking at the ceiling with a slightly unfocused gaze. The two male’s jerked up at the statement, eyes wide and surprised as they promptly ditched whatever they had been working on at the table, walking over.
“What?”
“Really?”
“Our Aragorn?”
Boromir smiled lazily, lifting his head to nod at them before lying back amongst the cushions, eyes slipping shut, smile never fading.
“If I gave you my heart, what would you do with it?”
Legolas shifted where he was lying, turning to face Aragorn, propping himself up on his elbow. Aragorn turned his head to look at him, took in how the lights on the ceiling made Legolas’s hair shine like a halo around his face and his skin look even softer than usual and how his eyes seemed to twinkle.
“I’d do my best to take care of it and keep it safe for when you want it back.”
The brunette grinned, small and teasing as he lifted himself up slightly so that their faces were just that much closer.
“And if I didn’t want it back?”
Legolas leaned in, just a hair more, lashes lowering into a hooded gaze, eyes boring deep into Aragorn’s own.
“I’d still do my best to take care of it because it would kill me to hurt you.”
Aragorn’s smile turned full-fledged and he leapt up, wrapping his arms around the blonde and rolling through the grass with him, listening to the musical laughter than slipped past those sweet pink lips.
Lying on top of Legolas, in between his spread legs, gazing down at those brilliant cerulean eyes and the silver gold tresses that fanned around a pale face, Aragorn didn’t feel as scared as he thought he would.
Love still seemed terrible, still seemed painful and excruciating and a game of chance that he would rather not play because he was gambling with his feeling and he didn’t want to get hurt, but when he looked down at Legolas—looked down at the man who had lived on the streets, who had put his life on the line, had risked everything, to get a job, to get his stuff together, he couldn’t look away.
He couldn’t avoid it. It was inevitable, the two of them.
As cliché as it sounded, even in his head, it was true—and Aragorn was a writer. Cliché was half of the job description.
“What if I told you that I want to make that hypothetical situation less hypothetical?”
Legolas’s arms looped around his neck, toying with the brown locks, letting them slide through his fingers, nails scratching at his scalp pleasantly, and sending shivers down his spine.
“Are you certain?”
Leaning down, he placed a chaste kiss on the side of the blonde’s neck; let his nose trail a line up the pale column.
“You’ve proven to be a man of your word.”
Legolas smiled a bit, but he looked worried now, leaning up a bit, propping himself on a bent arm. “Aragorn, don’t feel like you have to—”
“I want to,” Aragorn whispered, dragging his nose over a soft cheek before pulling back to gaze down at those expressive pools of blue that he fell in love with.
Ha.
Love.
He would have never thought.
“Take it.”
Legolas tilted his head to the side, leaned a bit closer. They were both moving closer, hesitant, yet happy all at once.
“You do realize I most likely will never want to give it back, right?”
Aragorn grinned, wolfish and happy, happier than he had felt in years.
“Good.”
And he once more kissed his artist.