Adult-FanFiction.org : Lord of the Rings

Prince in Training	By : Pippychick_TAFKAB Category: -Multi-Age > Slash - Male/Male Views: 24084 -:- Recommendations : 4 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: We do not own Tolkien's world, Middle Earth, Lord of the Rings or any of the characters. We make no money from this.

Chapter List
- 10
- 11
- 12
Authors' Note: Ok, we have something special to try out on you. What follows is a feverish dream of Legolas'... but it might be a special dream. This time, you get two chapters together... enjoy!

Chapter Eleven

Legolas found himself at home, dressing, aware he was late. Deja vu shivered him, and a momentary awareness he was dreaming – this was a morning he had lived; he chose clothing appropriate to diplomacy, and hurried to his father’s chamber, aware the negotiations awaited him, knowing he might be punished for his lateness. He could feel the sweet ache in his body, and knew his father had claimed him not long before; he sighed. He had not felt that way in far too long.

Trying to slip in quietly, he was aware of eyes following him: men of Gondor and of Laketown had come to the parley. There was even a dwarf, an ambassador from Erebor. All wished to know the result of the treaty, and how it would influence their own rights to hunt within the lands of the ElvenKing.

Legolas felt the heat in his father’s eyes and blushed; everyone watched him as he stepped in to take his place in the hard, straight chair that awaited his aching bottom. He took his seat, delicate and self-conscious, but unlike his memory, the eyes did not leave him; all watched him as if they knew what he had been doing only an hour before. His father smiled, a small mysterious expression, his eyes burning with lust.

Legolas expected the business of the meeting to begin, for his father to speak, and when he didn’t, Legolas looked to him.

“How is your seat?” Thranduil asked him, and Legolas felt the blush return to his cheeks. The question was completely unexpected. He fidgeted, as if he’d been told to, unable to help feeling the punishment he had taken from his father’s hand just hours before.

“It is fine, ada,” Legolas responded, aware of the attendees attention on them both.

“I can see it is not. Stand up a moment, Legolas. I will have a cushion brought for you.”

That wasn’t his intention, Legolas was certain. There was a diabolical gleam in Thranduil’s eyes, yet Legolas obeyed helplessly, his eyes breaking with his father to stare around the table.

“Look at me, ion nín,” he ordered, and Legolas did so, just as Thranduil’s hand moved away from the arm of his chair to squeeze at his bottom. Legolas gasped, but he did not dare to look away from his father’s eyes.

“Your lateness has distracted our guests.” Thranduil licked his lips, never moving his hand. “It is all too easy to see what has made you late, my son.” He looked away at last, gaze travelling about the table. Legolas followed it helplessly, and felt his face heat until he knew his skin was crimson. Every eye rested on him, and as he looked, one of the men adjusted himself for comfort, staring at him with open lust. Even the dwarf, a half-familiar one with a scar and a bushy red beard, did not avert his eyes.

Legolas felt his ada’s hand settle on him, at the collar of his tunic, pulling it apart. He stood very still, his heart pounding hard in his chest, as his father lifted it away, revealing marks he himself had left on Legolas’s skin. Boromir of Gondor stared, hot-eyed, at the bruises, and licked his lips in open want. He felt Thranduil stiffen behind him, responding to the challenge with aggression. Legolas felt his heart flutter; his ada could be unpredictable when he was angered.

Almost as if to prove his thoughts right, his ada suddenly opened the tunic fully, pulling it down and away from his nerveless arms. The audience around the table were silent, but their eyes widened. Legolas knew what they saw. More of the marks, over his chest, leading down further. His eyes flickered to the side, seeing his ada pass the tunic to Galion, and Legolas wanted Galion to look at him, to save him perhaps, but he did not.

When Thranduil stood behind him, his arms closing around Legolas’s waist, he shivered. For all that he wished they were alone, he could not resent his father’s touch, even as he fingered the bites and bruises he had decorated Legolas with earlier.

“Who gave you these?” his father questioned. “Who dares to leave marks of possession on you?”

Did his father expect him to answer? To tell them all of what they did? Legolas felt faint at the thought, as if he might fall, and he felt his father behind him, against his back, strong and unyielding. “Tell them,” he said, and Legolas knew he intended it. “Tell them all.”

“You, aran nín,” he said then, unable to get any volume behind the words, wishing himself away as he confessed the sin and the shame in front of them all. “You, ada.”

Perhaps he had been expecting praise or acknowledgement, but his father simply prepared to bare him to their gaze completely, palms sliding down under the waistband of his leggings. Legolas saw their lust, marked it in all of them, even the dwarf, and he closed his eyes to hide. “Please, ada,” he begged, hoping his father would not do it.

He trembled but Thranduil did not relent, pushing his leggings down so that he was fully displayed, and Legolas kept his eyes closed, finding it easier like this. His ada’s mouth moved over his ear, and now Legolas could not help his desire. He knew that his face had smoothed into a kind of rapture as his ada’s lips caressed him there. “Good,” Thranduil murmured, and Legolas’s heart jumped pleasantly. “Now bend over the table, ion nín.”

He obeyed, closing his eyes and shivering as the cool wood settled under his belly. No one spoke; not even Galion. They merely waited, eyes burning. He could feel their gazes heavy on him, even his father’s. He wondered what would happen. Would his ada take him? Would he offer him as a hospitality gift to each guest? He could picture it happening – each of them mounting him, one after another. Even the dwarf, and Thranduil last, pleased that his son had obeyed his will, showing them how much more pleasure Legolas would take in his ada than he had in any of them, in all of them, before allowing him to come at last.

A shiver thrilled down Legolas’s spine and he moaned aloud, spreading his thighs to invite whatever his father willed. “Please,” he whimpered, craving it now, and knew his father would hear the difference. “Please, ada!”

Thranduil responded with a caress, fingertips trailing leisurely along the inside of his thigh, making him shiver. He understood now his father would not share him; he could feel Thranduil’s possessive instinct in the very ease and assurance of his touch.

“Please what?” Thranduil prompted him, his voice low and silky.

Just the touch of his fingers and the sound of his voice could make Legolas forget all else. Suddenly it didn’t matter where they were, or who watched. In fact, Legolas began to feel a defiant need to express his desire. It was easy to answer.

“Please fuck me,” he said out loud. “Please. I need it. I need you!” And he did, even though it hadn’t been long since they were parted early in the morning, somehow that felt like an illusion, as though in reality they had been kept apart for much longer. It made his pleas heartfelt and terribly sincere.

Thranduil’s touch on him then was gentling, though still very intimate, his fingers dipping into the crease of his buttocks, gliding over Legolas’s entrance so that he pushed back, wanting it to begin.

“You would like me to do it even here, in front of all our guests?” Thranduil asked, expectant.

“Yes! What are mere emissaries, ada? I would have you fuck me in front of Ilúvatar himself, though it may mean our ruin forever.” He felt reckless, excited and almost wild with desire. His body trembled with want, and he noted Galion pass his father something, his hand leaving Legolas for a short moment.

Even Boromir made a gesture to protect against his blasphemy, and Legolas despised him for it, for his cowardice and craven, childish fear. Let him see courage, then! He tossed his head, moaning, as his father’s fingers began to anoint him, preparing him to be used. His heart thrilled to know his father felt no such fear – or if he did, he did not let it master him.

“Ion nín,” Thranduil chuckled, fond, as if reading his mind. “You are my fearless boy, my beautiful son, my loyal subject, my pleading lover. Why should I desire or need any other?” He removed his fingers and replaced them with his cock, driving to the hilt in one smooth stroke.

Legolas cried out for him, putting all his need in his wordless plea, triumphant and lustful. He crossed his wrists before him, accepting the symbolic binding of his father’s will, and squeezed his body tight to bring his father pleasure.

His father’s hard cock filled him again and again, that rush of keen sensation inside him, so intimate, shared with all of these onlookers in a way, but the thought only made his desire burn brighter. His own cock was hard, trapped between his body and the smooth, polished wood of the table. Every thrust his father gave him made his body move forward, providing friction.

Legolas moaned and mewled with abandon, studying each of their audience in turn. The men were all clearly aroused, and all of them wished to be in his father’s place, except for one, Legolas thought. One of them gazed beyond Legolas at Thranduil. Clearly he wished something else, and it made Legolas moan again, loudly, just to tease.

The dwarf was clearly trying not to look, though his mouth hung open and his hand was making suspicious rhythmic movements under the table. The man from Gondor was no longer Boromir. It was one of his aides sitting in his place now, a man named Edwen. He remained staring at Legolas throughout, still as a statue. Indeed, he looked almost baleful. Legolas ignored them then, and gave himself over to pleasing his ada, who fucked him long and hard and thoroughly, leaving no one in any doubt. There was no regret, only passion.

Legolas moaned luxuriantly for his father, enjoying the lustful eyes on him, enjoying their longing and their envy. Even the dwarf’s, his hot lustful eyes dark under the frowning brows… all wished for him, all wished to be him. He would trade with no one. Least of all would he trade his father for the scowling man of Gondor, within whose eyes mingled both lust and rage and vile contempt as they stared on Thranduil, as if planning to do him injury.

Legolas tensed, feeling pain burst in his thigh, combating the pleasure of his father’s touch and the friction of the table below his belly. He would warn his ada of the man’s treachery; he would… thought dissolved as his ada changed the angle and pleasure battered through Legolas with the last few thrusts, making him spill upon the table, gasping in helpless ecstasy – and yet conscious of that baleful regard, and of pain, and of his ada's hands and cock leaving him, like the loss of a limb, leaving him burning and empty at once, moaning for the return of his touch…

Authors' Note: Now read the next chapter for the dream from Thranduil's point of view! Exciting!
- 10
- 11
- 12
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Prince in Training