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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.

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Chapter Twelve

Legolas was late to the meeting. Thranduil sat at ease, surveying the delegates from Gondor. He did not like the way Boromir watched his son; the man aspired to ideas above his station. So the blood of Numenor had mingled once with an elf – that gave them no right to hope for such again! Yes, the steward’s son was an impudent one. Thranduil had half a mind to teach him a lesson he would not soon forget – and give instruction to his lovely, delinquent son in the process.

He could teach them all of his power, if he chose. His absolute power over his people, his realm… and his son, and over them, as well. He smiled, considering, and was pleased when Legolas bustled in, trying to look at ease and failing.

The lad looked as though he had come straight from a lover’s bed, which of course he had. His hair was still mussed, and though he had bathed and dressed, he moved as if he had been freshly fucked, sensual and indolent, his hips loose and his eyes half-lidded, lazy. There was a pink flush to his lips, and they were yet swollen, kiss-crushed. He glided like a dancer: a living challenge to any being with a pulse; it would be impossible to look on him without lust.

He sat and shifted delicately, drawing a breath through those swollen pink lips, settling with obvious care that drew attention to his debauched condition, then looked up – at Boromir, an unconscious tease. Thranduil smiled, temptation overwhelming his better sense. Oh, ion nín, the things you drive me to do!

“How is your seat?” he asked deliberately, observing the blush on Legolas’s cheeks with some amusement, knowing he must be remembering what made him uncomfortable. The others at the meeting did not know, though they were curious. They soon would.

“It is fine, ada,” Legolas responded quietly.

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

He watched as Legolas drew himself to his feet, still moving in that sinuous way, probably completely unaware of it. Of how he swayed on his feet, so expressive of longing. He was looking at the delegates seated around the table, his gaze settling on each of them one by one.

“Look at me, ion nín,” Thranduil commanded, gratified when Legolas did just that. Let them see what he could command. It would be a pleasure to show them. He lifted his hand from his chair, and rested his palm over Legolas’s bottom, applying a little pressure so that his son gasped.

“Your lateness has distracted our guests.” Thranduil watched Legolas gulp, swallowing hard, pupils growing dark as his ion responded to his touch. “It is all too easy to see what has made you late, my son.”

He gazed around at his guests, challenging them with a glare – especially the man, the steward’s son. That one would have Legolas, if he could. But he would not. Thranduil glared at him, returning insolence with malice. He lifted his hand to his son’s collar and teased at it, opening the fastener that held it closed at the throat. He could hear Legolas drawing breath with surprise, but his son did not flinch as he peeled back the collar to display the marks of his own teeth, then to bare Legolas’s milk-white shoulder.

The man was bold, staring without shame, even licking his lips, as if to mock Thranduil. Did he think the others would believe it was he, Boromir, who had left the young prince in such a state? Perhaps he did. But they would not think so for long.

In one fluid move, Thranduil removed the garment completely, and handed it off carelessly to the side to be taken away by a servant. He was not ignorant of Legolas’s humiliation, but be that as it may, there was a lesson to be given here. For a change it was not a lesson for Legolas, though no doubt this would be a test of his obedience.

Thranduil stood up, drawing himself to his full height, noting how all looked up to him. That pleased him, even from the insolent man of Gondor. Moving to stand behind his son, he fingered the marks that were all over him, that had been exposed. Legolas shivered in his arms.

“Who gave you these?” Thranduil asked him. “Who dares to leave marks of possession on you?” Legolas swayed suddenly, leaning back. Thranduil let him. “Tell them. Tell them all,” he urged.

“You, aran nín,” he said, his voice barely a whisper, but it carried in the silence as loudly as a shout. “You, ada.” Thranduil ignored those assembled, and smiled, his chin resting on Legolas’s head as he slipped his fingers into the waistband of his leggings, now the only garment that hid him from their eyes. “Please, ada,” Legolas said on a breath, but he should know better.

Thranduil eased the leggings down over his hips while he trembled, pushing them down just far enough. He tilted his head to the side, almost caressing as he moved his lips to Legolas’s ear. “Good. Now bend over the table, ion nín.”

Legolas obeyed him with gratifying speed, spreading himself out with wanton grace despite his obvious reluctance – and the act of doing so seemed to soften him; as he lay there, one cheek against the smooth wood, his tension flowed out of him and he spread his thighs wide, submitting himself willingly to whatever was to come. “Please,” Legolas whispered. “Please, ada!”

Thranduil gazed down at him with fierce affection, accepting the submission as his due, glorying that all present saw it and none dared challenge his power, his claim over Legolas. His rule was absolute.

He ran his hand along the inside of Legolas’s thigh, watching him quiver, pleased to display his son’s helpless erotic response to his touch. “Please what?” He knew Legolas would not disappoint him.

Indeed, Legolas barely even hesitated. “Please fuck me,” he begged. “Please. I need it. I need you!”

Thranduil’s pride swelled in his heart, and he knew that he did not merely desire. He loved, and he let his fingers touch where he willed. It seemed to him then that he must have been denied the pleasure of Legolas’s body for longer than a few hours. The weight of the centuries before they were trapped together felt less than the length of time since he had known the clutch of Legolas’s body heat around him.

“You would like me to do it even here, in front of all our guests?” he asked, knowing the answer but wanting to hear Legolas’s say it nevertheless. His cock was hard, ready, willing, and he flashed a meaningful look at Galion, who immediately turned away to get the oil.

“Yes! What are mere emissaries, ada? I would have you fuck me in front of Ilúvatar himself, though it may mean our ruin forever.” Thranduil was stirred by those words. He felt them too, in every fibre of his being, and he reached out to take the bottle of oil Galion provided. Though it may mean our ruin forever, he thought, their audience forgotten in this moment. Yes.

Boromir stared in fear, his hands folding in a gesture to ward away evil, but he did not withdraw his gaze, and Thranduil laughed inside himself. The blood of Numenor was thin as water, if they dared no more than this. My son makes ten of you. A hundred. A thousand. You could not touch him were you the king of all men.

“Ion nín,” Thranduil exulted in the words, stroking Legolas with two fingers now; he was already stretched open and willing. “You are my fearless boy, my beautiful son, my loyal subject, my pleading lover. Why should I desire or need any other?” He freed his cock, stroking oil once along its length, then drove inside Legolas with force, feeling his son welcome him in, clasping him tightly, the lad crying out in blissful abandon, heedless of those who watched.

Legolas held himself as though bound; he needed no bonds, so compliant was he to Thranduil’s will, so willing to give himself for his king’s pleasure.

As always, he felt so good! As good as the first time when they’d been alone in the dark. Now, they were in full view, seen, observed, as Legolas cried out again and again, every vocalisation urging him on, every sweet spasm of his body.

Thranduil had to tear his gaze away from the sight of Legolas’s submission to look at the rest of them gathered around the table. They all stared at Legolas, wanting him, lustful. Except for one. One of the men caught Thranduil’s eye, and he almost laughed. Really? As if he couldn’t see how perfect Legolas was. Who could want for another? Thranduil was exactly where he wanted to be.

His eyes passed quickly over the dwarf. How had he received an invite? But then Thranduil saw the man from Gondor, staring at Legolas. It was not Boromir at all! How could he have thought that? But then they all looked the same. This one had been with the Steward’s son. He seemed not as taken, not as entranced. There was a kind of petty malevolence about him. A distaste. Thranduil ignored him and concentrated on Legolas again, his strokes firmer, more resolute as Legolas’s body opened up to take it, everything he could give.

Legolas melted under his fierce assault, giving himself in pure, yielding perfection, but Thranduil could not make the man of Gondor look away, could not break the insolence of his gaze, and his heart warned him that this one was a danger both to him and to his precious prize, his beloved son.

Thranduil snarled a warning, baring his teeth at the man, who smiled with bitter contempt and folded his arms. He felt Legolas tense in orgasm, and it brought him over the edge, but he knew as he spent that there was a note of pain in his son’s cries, and that he had not caused it.

The man, Edwen, seemed to laugh, his hot eyes filling with triumph.

Thranduil shook himself awake, warm seed cooling on his belly and cold dread solidifying in his heart.

Something was terribly wrong. Thranduil could not have said how he knew it, but he rose quickly, pulling on his clothing and leaving his chamber. It was so early as still to be night. Then, as he walked abroad, he heard a commotion. He followed the noise of it, to find one of Legolas’s patrol – the swiftest of runners – breathless and giving instructions to one of the guards for healers and a litter and horses. Legolas was injured!

“Where?” Thranduil demanded immediately, and before much more time had passed, Thranduil was riding out to find his son. His heart felt half broken, and he came upon the rest of the patrol and their prisoners quite soon, stopping only to take direction from them, his eyes passing coldly over the men from Gondor and the poachers. The man, Edwen, was among them, glaring just as he had in the dream. Thranduil hurried.

It seemed to take too long to reach Legolas and Tauriel, who had stayed behind. But eventually his keen eyes saw the flame of a small fire, and a spider in the trees nearby, preparing to attack. Thranduil dismounted and drew his sword. The spider did not stand a chance.

To be continued...

Authors' Note: Well, we hope you enjoyed these chapters. They are quite experimental. Remember to leave a comment, let us know how you found them. Thank you! :)
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Prince in Training