In Legolas's veins it was the blood of the Sindar that flowed, yet ever was it ignited into blazing flame by the wild nature of the Silvans. Like them, he was quick of temper, and like them, instincts were oft given heed before all else. Instincts were true and real, they were more genuine than anything else, even if they could also get one in great trouble. Like right now, how they shared something as intimate as a kiss right where they sat, among the many others present and able to see. Yet all it did, the brief moments when those thoughts surfaced in Legolas's mind, was add to the general excitement.

That, and knowing how terribly his father would disapprove. It was not why he did this, but the knowledge, strangely, had his blood run even hotter.

His breath was shaky, his body trembling, as he squirmed and sought more in the kiss, ever more, more sensations, more pleasure and joy and more of that thrill that his body so enjoyed. He took that invitation without needing to be told, though those little noises meant for his ears only made for delightful encouragement, and he was as eager to take as to give, the slide of his tongue unpractised but making up for it with sheer enthusiasm.

And before long, they were sharing a seat, Legolas having quite effectively and, more importantly, quietly managed to slide himself into Celebrimbor's lap.