It was all almost like a game, a game where they both won all there was to win, and Legolas played along happily. His hips shifted under the attention, in small, controlled rolls down and forward, and his resounding gasps and little moans were muffled by the kiss. A nibble was rewarded with a nibble, or with sharp teeth raking most delicately over tender flesh, to tease and to entice. It all lasted a while, a very pleasant while, until Legolas put a crack on the aura of eroticism with an airy... giggle.

It tickled him a little, what Celebrimbor did, and he couldn't quite help the reaction. And that, much to Legolas's embarrassment, finally earned them a glance and the elf sitting beside Celebrimbor cleared his throat in the most pointed manner that he could only muster, which was still plenty.

Legolas, lips red and swollen, cheeks flushed pink, looked horrified as his gaze met the elf's. As quick and graceful as he straddled Celebrimbor's lap, he fled his grasp to return to his own seat as if nothing had happened at all, as if he was not flushed and flustered and very much aroused by a mere kiss. Oh were his father to find out— and it was not himself he was afraid for, but Celebrimbor instead. Once well respected, renown among the elves and dwarves alike, now distrusted by many, though Legolas's presence beside him tended to smooth over many tempers that could lead to trouble.

But this now, this was different.