The Thurber Hypothesis

 

Or

 

A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to Imladris

 

 

 

By Capella

 

 

 

Ten

 

 

Somebody had stuck his eyelids together with superglue during the night, and his mouth felt as if he’d swallowed a bucket of dirty sand.  It couldn’t possibly be morning.  He was lying on his side, one arm scrunched uncomfortably beneath him and the other flung forward.  The bed felt very warm and something seemed to be pinning him down across his waist…

 

Giles ripped his eyes open, a wave of excitement passing through him as he recalled the details of the night.  It was followed almost at once by an overwhelming sadness as he realised what today was.  He stared at the wall, grey in the early light, trying to get his thoughts in order.

 

“Mmm, Rupert, you are awake at last.”  He shivered despite the heat as Legolas nuzzled into his neck.

 

“Have I been asleep for long?”  His voice sounded nearly as rough as he felt.

 

“Some two hours only.  Long enough, by my estimation.”  He could practically hear the elf’s smile.

 

“How late is it?”

 

“Not far beyond dawn.  We still have a little time.”  Legolas shifted the arm that had been lying protectively across Giles’s middle, brought his hand up to the man’s chest.  The elf’s fingers danced deliberately from one nipple to the other and Giles gasped at the electrifying touch.  He was to be allowed no morning-after doubts, then.

 

In spite of his weariness and the unprecedented events of the past twelve hours, Giles could feel his heart thumping as the elf’s teeth teased along his ear.  He was painfully hard within moments.  Rolling back on his hip to press against Legolas’s body he discovered that he was not the only one in such a state.  The elf had stamina, it had to be said.  In his own case, it would be more accurate to say that he simply didn’t stand a chance.  Legolas could do whatever he wanted with him; he’d be quite unable to resist.

 

He’d been very relieved last night when the elf had made clear to him the limitations on their activity.  Anal sex had never struck him as a pleasant prospect, and he considered himself far too old to be trying it for the first time.  But as he rocked against Legolas now, feeling the long, smooth penis nestling tantalisingly between his buttocks, he realised that should Legolas desire it, he’d agree without protest.  Part of him even craved to know what it would feel like to be so thoroughly possessed by the elf.  He went weak at the thought, and cried out when Legolas, no doubt sensing his lust, ceased stroking his chest and moved his attentions somewhat lower.

 

There the elf’s hand worked unerringly, drawing from Giles a response that was astonishing in its speed and intensity.  The bizarre thought crossed the man’s mind that if there were more elves in this world, Viagra would soon become redundant.  He leaned into the warmth behind him as he rapidly approached his orgasm, unable to do much in return for the elf’s skill but groan his pleasure loudly.

 

Suddenly Legolas stopped moving and the warm breath in Giles’s ear returned.  “No, not like this.  I wish rather to taste you again.”

 

Giles shuddered, very near to coming at the sound of the words themselves.  He heard Legolas slide across the bed and felt the elf’s fingers on his hip, rolling him over onto his back. 

 

“Good morning, lover,” Legolas said softly, pushing Giles’s thighs apart with firm hands.

 

Giles watched mesmerised as Legolas, kneeling between his parted legs, tucked the golden hair behind his ears before dipping his head. Every bit as beautiful as this erotic sight was the sensation of the elf’s mouth slowly engulfing him.  It astonished him that Legolas seemed able to take his whole length in without hesitation, but what amazed him more was the way the elf kept him hovering on the brink for an eternity by some devilish combination of fingerwork and timing.  It was the most extreme, unbearable pleasure he’d ever known, and by the time he was finally allowed to come his screams must have woken the neighbours.  He was certainly begging at the end, but there could be no telling what language he was trying to speak.

 

Legolas licked his lips slowly as he sat back on his heels.  Unbelievably, Giles felt his penis twitch in response, exhausted and spent as he was. 

 

“Get over here,” he rasped, “and let me touch you.”

 

The elf grinned at him but did not move.  “Our exertions have left me somewhat less than fresh.  It occurs to me that I should take a shower,” he said.  “Would it please you to join me?”

 

Giles had been tormented by fantasies of the long, lean body exposed to the powerful water jets, ever since Legolas had expressed his enthusiasm after taking his first shower.  He’d tried hard not to picture elegant hands lathering soap over supple skin while the rivulets found their way into every crease and crevice.  Unsurprisingly, he had not been entirely successful.

 

“Let’s go,” he said, rolling off the bed and onto his feet.

 

Legolas liked the water hot, the jets set to maximum pressure.  Giles held the shower head and ran the stream across his lover’s back, fascinated by the ripple of muscle and sinew as the elf wriggled his shoulders and sighed delightedly. 

 

“Ah, that is good.” 

 

“Yes,” Giles agreed fervently.  He reached around the elf and hooked the shower head back into its fitting, adjusting it to send a finer, more diffuse spray onto Legolas’s chest.  His hands freed, he picked up the soap and began to work up a rich lather. 

 

The elf’s skin was still flawless even up close in the confines of the shower stall; smoothly resilient under his slippery fingers, it appeared almost luminescent in the bright surroundings.  He ran his palms flat up and down the elf’s back a few times, feeling the lithe body flex and twist under his touch, then brought them lower to cup and knead the perfectly sculpted buttocks.

 

Legolas murmured his appreciation as he stood with arms braced against the wall on either side of the shower fitting, trickles of water flowing down his long back.  Giles moved closer as he replenished the soap between his hands, letting the elf’s rump rub against his re-awakening erection as he stroked down the front of the strong thighs and up over prominent hip bones and taut belly to the elf’s chest. 

 

As Giles crossed his arms around the elf and brought his hands up to play with the tightened nipples, Legolas became increasingly vocal.  There was water everywhere; Giles, pressed up snugly against his lover, his face half buried in sodden blond hair, had to turn his head to avoid inhaling it, but he had no intention of letting go.  The long musical moans coming from the elf were just too erotic, and the feel of Legolas’s warm wet body against his, sliding and slipping in his embrace, was acutely enjoyable. 

 

“Turn around, like this,” Giles said, easing back after a while.  “I want to see your face.”

 

 They manoeuvred round carefully in the limited space until Legolas stood side-on to the shower, the water cascading over one shoulder and running provocatively down both front and back.  Giles stood on the other side, feet braced apart, one hand circling on the elf’s buttocks, the other on his belly.  He shifted a bit closer and squirmed a little for the sheer pleasure of rubbing himself against the elf’s hip, before getting on with the matter in hand. 

 

He had none of Legolas’s skill in prolonging the process, but then that wasn’t really his aim.  He wanted to see the elf letting go, dropping the mask and showing only the wild, sensual delight.  The faster it happened, the more powerfully exciting it was. 

 

Legolas didn’t disappoint.  Before long he had his head thrown back, water streaming off his glistening skin as he pushed first back against the firm hand at his rear then forward into the fingers teasing and stroking him. 

 

“Ai, Rupert, you undo me,” he cried out, adding something in Sindarin that Giles couldn’t translate.  The general meaning was clear enough, however.  The next cry was a wordless expression of bliss as the elf came spectacularly, his face contorted, his body arched and frozen in its tension as the spasms passed through him.

 

“That is beyond doubt the most beautiful thing I will ever see,” Giles said, taking Legolas in his arms as the magnificent body relaxed. 

 

The elf turned to kiss him, laughing at the water trickling into their mouths as their tongues met.  Giles became aware that the hands which had met loosely around his waist were now stroking him with a more definite purpose.  Soon after he found himself held firmly with his back against the damp tiled wall.  The deep blue eyes, with their fringes of thick, dark lashes, were gazing into his own at close range and the elf’s face held an expression of pure mischief that made his stomach turn over. 

 

Legolas ran his knuckles down the man’s chest.  “Now I think it is time for me to wash you, as thoroughly as you have washed me,” he said slyly.

 

Giles groaned and shut his eyes as the agile fingers began their work.

 

 

********************

 

While he was cooking breakfast the sexual reverberations subsided sufficiently for the melancholy to catch up with him.  He stared into the pan, listlessly pushing the bacon and mushrooms around with a spatula as he tried to get a grip on himself.  They’d all be here this morning; he couldn’t afford to let himself fall apart.

 

Legolas walked into the kitchen, dressed in his elven garb, a neat pile of laundry in his arms.  He smiled at Giles as he crossed the room to place the clothes on top of the washing machine.  The finality of it brought tears to Giles’s eyes and he turned back to the stove.

 

Silently the elf came to stand behind him, bringing his arms around the man’s middle and resting his chin on a shoulder.

 

“Ah, mushrooms.  You spoil me,” Legolas said gently.

 

No; I love you.  It would be easy enough to say the words, but what could it possibly accomplish at this stage?  He swallowed hard and took a deep breath.

 

“Well, the least I can do is send you off with a good meal inside you.”  He sounded like his mother, for God’s sake.

 

“You are sending me off with far more than that.”  The elf kissed his neck very softly before drawing away and moving to lean against the counter so he could look Giles in the eye.

 

“They will know… that something has happened,” Giles said suddenly, and for no apparent reason.

 

One eyebrow raised in a steep arch.  “This presents a problem for you?”

 

“Well, actually…” he thought for a moment.  “No, I suppose it doesn’t matter.  What about you?”

 

“Me?”  Legolas laughed.  “I care not.  I am proud to have known you, my friend.  Let others think what they will; I can only thank you.”

 

“Thank me?” repeated Giles incredulously.

 

“Yes, Rupert, I thank you.  For helping me to remember that the sharing of pleasure in the spirit of love is a good thing, a means of celebrating the miracle of creation.  I have… I had lost my way a little in recent times, and you have helped me to regain my path.  I cannot believe that some small corner of my soul will not hold on to the memory.”  The elf’s smile was serious and his eyes betrayed the depth of his sentiment.

 

Giles stood speechless, the tears welling in his eyes again.  Somewhere in the intensity of the moment he reached a decision, and after pushing the pan off the heat he moved closer to Legolas, placed a hand on his arm.

 

“I love you, Legolas.  I want you to know that,” he said simply. 

 

The elf nodded, his face sad.  “You are such a fine man, Rupert.  I am so sorry that I must leave just as we begin to know each other.  I hope you understand that if it was my fate to stay in your world, this would not be a single night of pleasure for us.”

 

Giles had no answer, so he brought his other hand to Legolas’s neck and drew him close for a long, sensuous kiss.  It was deep and thorough but somehow chaste; the last kiss they would share.  He had to close his eyes as they pulled apart, afraid that he’d go to pieces if he saw sorrow in the elf’s eyes.

 

“I’d better get on with the breakfast,” he said at last, his voice unsteady.  “or the bacon will be ruined.” 

 

“I shall prepare the table,” Legolas answered gently.  “Shall I set a third place?  I sense that Miranda is soon to join us.”

 

 

********************

 

 

By ten thirty the whole gang had assembled, but there was little of the laughter and silliness of their usual meetings.  Legolas sat and talked quietly with the youngsters while Giles helped Miranda.  Under her careful guidance he prepared the symbols, mixed the powders and lit the flame.  They were checking over their handiwork for the final time when the noise came at the door.  Giles knew at once what it would be.

 

“Spike!  What on earth do you think you are doing here?”  He marched to the door, ready to kick the vampire out once and for all.  It really was time to remake the spell that would deny Spike entry to the house.

 

“Came to see the show, didn’t I?” said Spike defiantly.  “Wanted to make sure old Blondie here is genuinely going home.” 

 

Giles was about to ask how the hell the vampire knew what was due to happen this morning, when he felt Legolas’s hand on his arm.

 

“If you would not mind, Rupert, it seems fitting that he should stay,” the elf said calmly.

 

He failed to see why, but he wasn’t about to argue with Legolas.  “Alright, you can stay, but I warn you - if you try anything…”

 

“He won’t,” said Miranda cheerfully,  “Or he’ll have me to deal with.”

Spike stared at the elderly witch and raised his eyebrows.  His defiance seemed to evaporate in the warmth of her smile.  “Right you are,” he said, and edged around to lean on the kitchen doorframe, not too close to the others. 

 

“Now, Legolas, I think it’s time you said your farewells.  We need to do the ritual soon or the Powers will start to wane.”  Miranda took her place at the edge of the large chalked circle.

 

Everyone stood up and moved to the end of the room, the youngsters looking at each other as if unsure what to do next.  Legolas, with his usual air of calm certainty, approached Xander first.

 

“Farewell, Xander, my friend,” he said, placing a hand on the young man’s shoulder.  “I am happy to have met you.  I once complained to Rupert that you were no warrior to be fighting at Buffy’s side; I know now that I was wrong.  You have an exceptional spirit, and she is lucky to have you as a comrade.”

 

“Aw, Legolas.”  Xander appeared to be blushing.  “You’ve already saved my life twice, now you’re trying to make me cry?  Enough, man.”  He stepped forward and the two of them hugged briefly.

 

Legolas turned to Anya.

 

“Farewell, Ancient One,” he said, with a smile.  “Perhaps it is time that you let go of your anxieties.  To be a human amongst companions such as these is not a curse, but a blessing.”

 

Anya stared at him, then smiled in return.  “I know, Legolas, and thank you,” she said with uncharacteristic grace.  “I wish you well in your own world.”  The elf bent his head and she kissed his cheek  briefly.

 

Willow was nervously shifting from foot to foot as Legolas moved on to her.  “I’m still sorry for all this,” she said, flushing, “but really I’m not.  It has been so wonderful meeting you and I’ll be honest, I wish you didn’t have to go back.” 

 

“I know, Willow, and part of me wishes it too,” the elf said gravely.  “Although it was a dangerous game that brought me here, I cannot but thank you for it.  These two weeks have been precious, and I thank you also for all you have taught me.”  He raised a hand to her cheek and then allowed himself a small grin.  “And for the pleasure of dancing with you,” he added.

 

Willow’s face was scarlet.  “Namárië, Legolas,” she said shyly. 

 

“Namárië Tathar, mellon-nîn,” Legolas replied softly, and bent to kiss her forehead.

 

When Legolas stood before Buffy and the two exchanged a long serious look, Giles felt a shiver run down his spine.  For a moment the Slayer’s supernatural powers were quite apparent, and she and the elf seemed like two of a kind. 

 

“Farewell then, Slayer,” Legolas said, placing a hand over his heart and bowing his head briefly.  “I am honoured to have fought by your side.  Yours is a terrible calling and you have naught but my admiration.  If my fate did not call me home, it would be my privilege to remain here and aid you in your endeavours.”

 

“I wish you could, really, Legolas.”  This time it was Buffy who raised a hand to the other warrior’s shoulder.  “It would be so cool to fight with you.  But you have to go with your heart, always, and that means home, doesn’t it?”   They stared at each other again, and Giles had to look away from the elf’s expression to avoid losing his composure.

 

Spike was next.  Legolas went to stand before him in the doorway and regarded him for a long while.  This time there was no distaste on his face; in fact Giles was fairly sure that he was working hard to stop one corner of his mouth turning upwards.  For once Spike had dropped his insouciant smirk and was staring back intently.

 

“I have nothing to say to you, Spike, for fear of your murderous response,” said the elf levelly, raising an eyebrow almost imperceptibly.  “Yet I think you know the words in my mind.”

 

“Yeah, well, I could say the same to you.”  Spike produced a grin that for once seemed to hold no malice. 

 

The two immortals gazed at each other again, and Giles felt a frown creasing his face.  What in heaven’s name was going on? 

 

“Now bugger off, will you?” said the vampire at last, his voice decidedly gruff.  “You’ve got things you need to get on with back there.”

 

“So I have,” said Legolas.  To Giles’s astonishment he gave Spike a genuine smile before turning away.

 

“Miranda, My Lady, I thank you,” the elf said, approaching the sorceress.

 

“Oh, come here, Honey,” she said, and enveloped him in a hug.  Apparently they didn’t need any further words.

 

At last Legolas stood before Giles, his feelings for once showing clearly on his face.  Giles wondered if he could bear it for much longer.

 

“Rupert, dear friend,” Legolas said softly, “I could never thank you enough, so I shall simply wish you joy and love in your life; you have known enough of pain and sorrow.” 

 

The elf stepped closer and raised both hands.  He held Giles’s face gently as he leaned in to place a brief, sweet kiss on his lips.  It was heartbreaking, and perfect, and Giles didn’t care that all the others were watching.  His eyes filled with tears and he reached for the elf’s arm as Legolas moved to whisper close to his ear,  “Remember for both of us.”

 

He choked back a sob.  “You know I will.”

 

“It’s time, Honey,” said Miranda gently. 

 

Legolas pressed his cheek to the man’s, then turned and stepped into the circle.  He looked round the room once, finally bringing his gaze back to Giles, who stood biting his lip in an attempt to retain some self control.

 

“Rupert, dear,” Miranda prompted him.  He nodded and picked up the book of spells.

 

“Now, Legolas, you need to concentrate on home,” the sorceress said. 

 

Legolas inclined his head.  “Farewell, friends,” he said, then closed his eyes and clasped his hands in front of him.

 

Giles began the chant as Miranda also shut her eyes, stretching her arms out to the sides.

 

The tension in the room grew, the weird sensation of magical energy rippling through the air and prickling on the skin.  Giles continued chanting, trying not to look up at Legolas; he must get the spell right.  As he reached the last line, the words of Power, he felt the sudden shift in the atmosphere.  His part in the proceedings complete, he looked up and closed the book.

 

Miranda was transported, it was clear to see, while Legolas stood exactly as he had done at the beginning, relaxed and introspective.  As Giles watched, the flame sprang into life, and the wind started.  The powders began to rise from the clay containers at the edge of the circle, and swirled in the air in a rapidly expanding cloud around the elf. 

 

The sorceress began to speak, words of the old language, in a voice that was not her own.  The cloud was thick and bright now, dense enough to obscure the solitary figure at its centre.  Giles felt all his body hairs standing on end and heard the ringing in his ears as Miranda reached the climax of the spell. 

 

All at once the glow in the circle became unbearably bright, and, almost as suddenly, vanished.  The wind died away, the strange energy dissipated, and the powders fell back to the ground, scattered in heaps and drifts around the place where Legolas had stood.

 

The room was deadly quiet for a moment, until Buffy said anxiously, “Giles, Miranda -”

 

Giles rushed to the sorceress’s side and got an arm around her waist to support her, then half-dragged her across to a chair.  Her arms had fallen to her sides but her eyes were still closed.  She was clearly far away as yet. 

 

“Somebody put a kettle on, please,” Giles said.  “She’ll be back shortly, but it’s strange at first and a cup of strong sweet tea always helps.”

 

It was actually a good five minutes before Miranda came round.  Just as Giles was beginning to worry in earnest, she opened her eyes and gave him a weak, bleary smile. 

 

“Rupert, my dear,” she said.

 

Willow couldn’t see the sorceress’s expression, so she had to ask,  “Did it work?”

 

“Yes, dear, it worked,” Miranda replied, taking the tea from Giles.  She took a long drink and sighed contentedly.

 

“He’s home?” asked Xander.  “How can you be sure?”

 

“Oh yes, he’s home.  And I’m sure, because I could feel him.  It’s strange; the connection lasted a lot longer than it usually does, but then Legolas is hardly ordinary.”  She looked around the room, smiling at them all reassuringly.

 

“So Legolas is back in Middle Earth.”  Giles finally allowed himself to face the reality. 

 

“Yes, dear.”  Miranda took another sip of tea.  “And he’s happy.  He was… singing.”  She looked up at Giles and he saw that her eyes were glistening with moisture.  “He has such a beautiful voice.”

 

For some reason this information was just too much for Giles, the final straw for his fragile emotional balance. 

 

“You’ll have to excuse me,” he muttered, heading for the stairs.  He could hear Miranda speaking soothingly to the others, telling them to leave him be, but he didn’t turn around.  He had to get to his room, had to be alone. 

 

All morning he had held it in, and it had been no easy task.  Now it was time to let the tears fall.

 

 

 

Epilogue

 

 

 

Back to Capella’s Fiction                                          Contact Capella