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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 Thirteen
Startling awake, at first Legolas could barely see. He clutched mindlessly at the arms that held him before realising it was Tauriel he embraced, not his father. His leg burned with agony, and he gasped, falling back from sitting up after the dream soured to a nightmare.
How much had she heard? Legolas gazed at her helplessly as she soothed him and patted him, her kindly eyes full of concern. “Rest, Legolas,” she said. “You were dreaming, calling out for your father.”
Legolas relaxed a little, hearing no suspicion in her voice. How long had they been resting here? The night did not seem as deep, and Legolas knew they should move if they could, but he realised he could not even bend his leg without hissing in pain.
A movement nearby caught his eye, and he warned Tauriel instantly before he recognised the shape of the spider. Then too many things seemed to happen at once. Tauriel moved to engage the foe, and yet it screamed, one of its legs severed and flung towards the fire. There was the flashing of a silver sword, and a howl of outrage and fury.
For a moment Legolas believed himself dreaming; a great cool light burst upon the scene and his father descended from the trees amidst a billow of cloak and floating silver hair, his swords flashing as he spun, driving away spiders in a whirlwind of death that scattered limbs and web about the clearing.
He came with such speed and deadly grace even Tauriel froze in startlement, her blade in her hand, before she leaped forward to join the king’s dance of death. Other elves came too, dropping into the clearing; his father had outdistanced them in his wrath. The sound issuing from Thranduil’s throat filled the clearing: a roar of pure fury.
Then the spiders were all dead or fleeing, and silence fell.
“Legolas!”
“Ada?” He blinked. It was his father’s voice, his father’s form materialising out of the trees. The spiders were dead or had scuttled away, injured, before they could even get close to him. Immediately Thranduil knelt beside him and pulled him into a tight embrace.
“Ion nín! I knew before they even arrived.” He was upset, and his eyes drifted down to the arrow that was still sticking out of Legolas’s thigh, though Tauriel had managed to shorten the shaft.
“The man of Gondor was false,” Legolas whispered, feeling weakness surge through him as he allowed his guard to drop. Now that his father had come, he need not be strong. “The one called Edwen. There are pelts of deer…”
“I will cut his eyes from his head and his lying tongue from his mouth, and leave him with no hands to set to evil,” Thranduil rasped, and thrust his blades into the sheaths without pausing to clean them first. He knelt and lifted Legolas tenderly in his arms, examining his wounded leg without touching it. “Where are the healers?” His voice went sharp and cold. “My son is badly wounded. Bring him water and wine. Kindle a fire, that he will be warm!”
They built a tent around Legolas where he lay, Thranduil holding him tenderly as healers bathed his leg and spoke among themselves in mutters, deciding the arrow must be pushed through since it could not safely be withdrawn.
Thranduil himself held Legolas still as he moaned in agony while the operation was done, and when it was over, his father comforted him, bathing his face and giving him strong wine until he sank into healing sleep, safe in the knowledge that his ada held him and would let no evil thing near.
When Legolas awoke again, he was in his own bed, laid on his back. His leg throbbed with pain, but it was a healing pain. He blinked and looked around him in the muted light, and saw his father sitting by his bed, stretched out on the chair, sleeping with his head thrown back. He was sprawled out arrogantly, and yet Legolas could see the worry on his face even in reverie. He tried to sit up, and Thranduil jerked awake.
“Ion nín,” he said immediately. “How do you feel?” Legolas did not answer, but he wondered how long his father had sat beside his bed. He looked exhausted and careworn.
Legolas groaned deliberately, licking his lips. “Is there water?” he asked, and his father rushed to provide it for him. That too, felt almost strange. Legolas could not help himself.
“Must you always drug the wine, ada?” he asked, teasing. Thranduil blinked, surprised.
“It was to help you sleep,” he said in a quick defence, then shook his head slightly. “The healers did it!” Then he finally saw the twinkle in Legolas’s eyes and laughed, sitting down as Legolas drank deeply from his cup. The horrible taste in his mouth was leaving. The headache might take a little longer.
“Are we alone, ada? Is the door locked?” he asked, and Thranduil nodded.
Legolas sighed in relief. “You look tired,” he said, and moved as well as he could to one side of the bed, pulling the covers back. “Rest with me. I missed you.” He remembered then the long nights before the injury, and also the dream. The dream. Legolas stilled in a strange mixture of dread and arousal as little bits of the dream fell into place.
His father did not disrobe, but lay down beside him, one arm reaching to take the empty cup from his hand, then pulling him close. Legolas breathed in the scent of his father deeply, happily. “I dreamed of you,” he said at last, remembering the first part of it, and how glad he had felt to have others know of their union.
“And I of you,” Thranduil admitted, helping him settle in his pillows. “And of the day when the treaty was made. The dream revealed the treachery of the men, and when I awoke, I knew you were wounded.”
Legolas blinked at him. “Perhaps we shared a dream,” he suggested, feeling shy. “In my dreaming, you took me before all, spread out upon the conference table, to show your power over them and your ownership of me.” He felt a delightful shiver in his belly as he confessed. “I submitted before them all, willing and eager for you. I was proud you wanted me so! It was a pleasure to know we might be together without fear.”
“I too, dreamed of this,” Thranduil said, musing, but then his hand slid under the covers, down over Legolas’s stomach. “Being together without fear is a different thing to being watched,” he said, his voice turning molten and smooth. His hand curled around Legolas, a smile upon his lips as he caressed Legolas’s erection. “Did you find it arousing, to be humiliated so? To endure something so intimate in front of witnesses?”
“Yes!” Legolas gasped, arching up as far as he could, even though his thigh protested at the movement. “Because it was you, ada! I liked it that you displayed me in front of them.”
His father’s hand did not stop moving, his hot palm and his curling fingers felt so perfect Legolas trembled. “Very good, ion nín,” Thranduil whispered, and he sounded pleased. “You were so beautiful to me in the dream. I felt such pride as I fucked you there.”
“Ada!” Legolas cried out, his breaths becoming shorter. His father was relentless, every movement of his hand intentional, encouraging. Legolas turned onto his side, towards Thranduil, his hands resting on his father’s shoulders as if for mercy. “Please!”
Thranduil caressed him slowly, a small smile touching the corners of his mouth. “I missed you, my son. Perhaps it will please you to hear that the healers say you should remain abed for several days, and that you should not go out on patrol again for many days thereafter. You are to remain here until you are fully recovered, and be tended thoroughly for the time of your indisposition. I have volunteered today to see to your care with my own hands,” he illustrated with a deft squeeze and tug that made Legolas whimper with ecstasy.
“Though if I judge you over-exert yourself, I am afraid I must withdraw you from all activity.” His hand stilled, and his eyes devoured Legolas, hungry. “So you must be very still, ion nín, and do not aggravate your injury. If the healers hear you utter a sound of pain, they may come in to check on your progress.”
Just hearing the instruction made it harder to obey. It made him needier, harder, and Legolas bit his lip to stop the sound coming out. His body trembled more in response, and he let go of Thranduil’s shoulders, relaxing back onto the bed as his father’s hand started to move again. Legolas breathed deliberately, slowly, though he couldn’t help an occasional hitch of breath.
“That is better,” Thranduil said, stretching out beside him, leaning his head on his hand so he could watch Legolas’s face. “Quiet and still.”
Another hitch of breath escaped him at the words, at the way Thranduil looked at him. Legolas closed his eyes to escape it. The hand on his length continued, and it felt so perfect. Legolas shook his head from side to side. He wanted to plead, but for what? For more? For it to stop? No, not that.
He began to pay attention to the way his hands had clenched into fists, his nails digging into the palms. He willed himself to be unresponsive as his father touched him, except for where Thranduil touched him – that he could not help. He opened his eyes again, only to see that his father was enjoying watching him, enjoying watching him try to do this impossible thing. His hitches of breath were louder now, and the hand on him slowed. Thranduil looked as if he could continue this for a long time, as if he intended to.
“Please do not torment me, ada,” Legolas breathed, pleading in the only way he knew how. “I have missed your touch!” He could not help but press himself up into his father’s hand. “I have longed for you to take me, to claim me as your own, to let me have the joy and pride of knowing you still desire me!”
“Shhhh,” Thranduil insisted, but his eyes were soft, and his hand did not entirely stop. “The quieter you are, the sooner I will satisfy your lust.” He moved so slowly now that Legolas could have wept in need, and all he could do was bite his tongue and fall silent, struggling to make not a whisper of sound.
Thranduil rewarded him with a firmer stroke, faster, and Legolas very nearly whimpered, but caught it in time, struggling against himself as he ached to respond to every touch. Every time he let out a soft gasp, his father slowed again, lightening the caresses so he feared they might stop. He discovered he could move – at least a little; he did not want to re-injure his leg, but he could push up into Thranduil’s hand.
He could reach down and clutch that hand tight around him, and his father did nothing to stop it. But he resisted every attempt Legolas made to speed his strokes, and Legolas finally gave up, slumping back onto the mattress, his breath escaping him in a desperate sigh. He threw his arm across his mouth and tried to submit, knowing it was required, but it was so difficult when he could not make a sound, when he could not plead, when he could not allow his father to know how good it felt to be touched!
Moving his arm slightly, Legolas bit into the heel of his own hand to silence himself, and he stayed completely still. He began to understand, as the hand speeded up and the sensations built in him. He was feeling them, but that did not matter. He was his father’s toy in these moments, and he felt the way his father’s hand played with him, and he remained desperately still, swallowing his cries and moans before they could escape him. Every moment made it worse as he felt his climax coming closer.
Thranduil’s grip on him felt sensational, just so perfect, a little twist there. His body was making little trembling movements he could not stop. They were completely unconscious, and Thranduil seemed to understand, for his hand didn’t slow. Legolas did not dare to breathe at all, because he would not be able to hold back the sighs of pleasure.
His body seized when he came, and despite him not breathing, he grunted quietly behind his hand. His father did not stop, milking his cock until Legolas had given everything he could. He felt faint and dizzy as he opened his eyes, only to moan when he saw his father licking his fingers. It was a low, sensual sound that dragged long. He suspected he knew what was required now.
“Thank you for taking care of me, ada,” he said carefully, his voice sounding dreamy and lost.
“The Valar sent us warning in our dreams,” Thranduil said very softly, and arose to pour water for him to drink. “They have not forsaken us, ion nín. They watch over us both still.”
Legolas looked up at him, unable to speak for cautious joy, and took the cup. He lifted it to his father in toast, then drank. “Though I meant the words I spoke in our dreaming, I am glad.”
Though Legolas meant his words, he knew he was more glad that his father took this view of it, for Legolas could not imagine being forced to let him go now. If he was barred from Thranduil’s touch, forced to seek another for these things, these feelings that had been awoken in him…. Legolas was quite sure they would not satisfy, that even when physically sated he would still hunger for the darker games his father played. That would not be fair on him, nor on the lover he took.
Yet there was still something missing, even now. Something he had missed. “Will you use me, ada?” he asked, hopeful, prepared for the look of amusement Thranduil gave him. He blushed even so. It was the way he asked that amused his father, he knew that, but he could not help it.
“I could please you with my mouth,” he suggested, daring. “That would not hurt my leg at all!”
“You are insatiable, ion nín.” Thranduil could not help smiling. “Just like your ada.” He shook his head, though, decisive. “It is yet too early for you to try such a taxing activity, and I do not trust myself to keep up the proper restraint. I think instead I will allow you to watch while I pleasure myself.” He licked his lips, his eyes gleaming. “Perhaps you would enjoy it even more if I described the things I will do to you when you have recovered.”
Legolas found the very idea stole the breath from his lungs, and he could only nod his head eagerly, wanting very much to hear what his ada had in mind for them later. “Please, ada,” he whispered.
Thranduil drew up a chair and lounged in it, lazy, his thighs wide-spread. Legolas could not take his eyes from the sight of those long-fingered hands, lying elegant and at ease on his thighs, ready to begin – or the sight of his father growing hard inside his clothes just at the thought of Legolas watching him.
When he was sure he had Legolas’s full attention, Thranduil at last moved his hands, and Legolas watched as he unlaced his breeches, hardly daring to blink as his father freed his impressive length from his clothes to toy with. His right hand curled around it, and Legolas wished it were his own hand. As that hand travelled up slowly, Legolas licked his lips and swallowed.
“When you are well enough, I will have you serve me with your sweet mouth, as you just offered,” Thranduil said, and Legolas nodded quickly, taking an instant to look at his father’s face, and the lust he saw there made him want it even more. He longed for it. His body was tingling in want.
“I will push you under the sheets to do it, where you will be concealed but for the shape of your body, and the suggestive movements you will make as you take me deep.”
“Yes, Ada,” Legolas promised, and he did not know whether it excited him more to watch what his father was doing, or look into his eyes. Thranduil seemed to own him even now, without touching.
“Then, I will call for a servant,” he said, and Legolas felt a jolt of arousal at the thought of it. What his father described he imagined perfectly. His mouth and throat filled with his father’s cock, while Galion entered the room and saw what was happening beneath the sheets. His father chose the perfect moment to moan in pleasure as he touched himself.
“Will you be silent when I do?” Thranduil let his hand slide along his cock, slow and graceful.
“Yes, Ada!” Legolas moaned, longing to be touched, longing to be the one touching.
“Will you continue without stopping?”
“I will,” Legolas assured him. “I will serve you eagerly while he is there, and after.”
“What if he should disapprove?”
“That is not his place, to disapprove of his king,” Legolas whispered, his eyes fixed on Thranduil’s moving hand. “I would continue.”
“Then I would set my hand upon your head and force you to take me deep, and I would moan before him to show you please me well.”
Legolas felt his cock stir, hardening despite his recent climax. “I would be honoured to receive such a beautiful mark of your favour, ada.” He shifted, careful of his leg, and lay back upon his pillows, keeping his eyes fixed on his father, but spreading his legs, wishing for Thranduil’s body between them.
His father raised his leg to the bed frame beside him, pushing to rock the chair back as he looked on Legolas with half-closed eyes. His hand continued to move, and he groaned as Legolas lifted his lower body a little, begging with his movements. “How can the Valar forsake me,” he said to himself, “when you would tempt them too?”
Apparently coming to some kind of decision, Thranduil let the chair settle back on all of its feet and got up, moving to straddle Legolas’s prone body, one knee at either side of his waist. He began to caress himself with his hand again.
“You want to be fucked, don’t you?” he asked.
“Yes, ada, please!” Legolas answered, wondering why his father wouldn’t move further down the bed, wouldn’t settle on him and give him what he wanted.
“You want my cock inside you,” he said, and Legolas stared at that cock, full of lust, full of desire.
“Yes!”
Thranduil smiled coolly. “You can not have it,” he declared, merciless, and Legolas writhed and arched up, his body desperate. Thranduil’s hand moved faster now, and Legolas suddenly gasped, understanding what his father intended to do.
“Ada nín,” he breathed, tossing his head back. Thranduil groaned, a note of victory in it as he spilled over Legolas’s body, splashes of his essence landing hot on Legolas’s chest, his neck, on his face so that he opened his mouth as if to catch it. Some fell onto his hair, a drop on his ear, making him shiver.
Thranduil gathered the translucent fluid of one long stripe on his finger, then offered it to Legolas, painting his lower lip with soft pearl. Legolas put out his tongue eagerly to lick, then pulled his father’s finger inside his mouth, sucking it clean, moving lips and tongue and mouth over it as if it were his ada’s cock. He watched his father’s face soften with approval, lips growing slack, eyes gleaming with pleasure.
Yes, ada nín. My father. Mine. Legolas exulted in his conquest, seeing the strange and beautiful power his submission gave him over his father. He let the finger escape, moaning, offering his tongue for more – and received it, moaning with pleasure.
“Ion nín,” Thranduil breathed and nestled into bed with him, taking care not to jostle his injured leg. “So beautiful, my son.” He snuggled close, his open palm spreading the last of his seed over Legolas’s belly, painting him in slow, sensual strokes. Legolas took his hand and licked it clean, smiling.
Legolas was feeling very daring, having pleased his father, and slipped a hand under his tunic, palm over the muscles of his stomach. He remembered now what had happened before he left, and wondered how strong his leg would need to get before he could do that again.
Thranduil’s hand moved to rest loosely around the front of his neck, making Legolas stop what he was doing, frozen. He gulped. “I shall need to measure you,” Thranduil murmured, his hand moving away again. “The circumference of your collar should be exact. Just tight enough to remind you that you wear it.”
Suddenly Legolas could not breathe, even though his father’s hand was no longer at his throat. His body had stiffened, and he knew his father was aware of his reaction because he chuckled.
“Collar?” Legolas managed, feeling faint at the thought, imagining it. The meaning of it too, as if he was some kind of treasured pet. Legolas was surprised to feel that same dip of awareness, as if he wanted it. Was there nothing his father could not make him want?
“It will be very thin leather,” Thranduil explained, his fingers combing through Legolas’s hair, stroking. “It will not be seen if you wear high-necked tunics. You will wear it at all times, to remind you of whom you belong to.”
He couldn’t help but lean into the touch, his heart racing. “I will wear it,” he agreed softly, hoping his voice didn’t betray his arousal at the prospect. “Will it be decorative only?”
Thranduil laughed, low and sweet. “Of course not, ion nín. I will use it as it was meant to be used. There will be a ring affixed in front so that you may wear my leash.” His hand trailed along Legolas’s skin, caressing. “I thought you might like to spend a day leashed under my desk, lying at my feet while others go in and out. You would, of course, service me upon my command.” That caressing hand strayed to his chest, fingers flicking at his nipple. “Even if someone entered while you were at work, you would not stop.”
“No,” Legolas agreed, dizzy with a strange combination of lust and amazement that he could agree so easily to such a thing, that he could want it so much. “I would continue.”
“And that night…” Thranduil sighed. “I hardly see how either of us will wait in patience for that time, my son. But that night, if you please me well, I will show you a special reward: a new pleasure for you to crave.”
Immediately Legolas wondered what it would be. “Will you tell me what it is?” Legolas asked, without much hope that his father would assuage his curiosity. He began to understand his ada kept things back from him on purpose, wanted him curious and wondering. He could not help that it worked on him, and he anticipated without even knowing what was to come.
“I will not,” Thranduil said, just as Legolas had expected. Still, he couldn’t keep in a disappointed sigh, and his father chuckled.
“Will you stay in my bed with me?” Legolas asked then, and felt it was a much more pertinent question. He didn’t want any space between them, and he didn’t want his father to return to the chair. His father laid an arm over him, gathering him close.
“Of course, ion nín,” he said, love in his voice that Legolas could hear. A father’s love. There were a couple of loud thuds as Thranduil toed off his boots so they fell on the floor beside the bed, but otherwise he made no move to undress. “I will sleep with you in my arms, and you will rest too.”
“Yes, ada,” replied Legolas automatically, then belatedly realising he was beginning to offer his obedience like this, voiced clearly. When had he begun doing so? Legolas couldn’t remember, but he was safe and – mostly – well in his father’s arms. There wasn’t any other place in Arda he wished to be. He drifted back into reverie easily.

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Prince in Training