Prince in Training | By : Pippychick_TAFKAB Category: -Multi-Age > Slash - Male/Male Views: 24086 -:- Recommendations : 4 -:- Currently Reading : 2 |
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Chapter Fifteen
When he had finished, Legolas did not know what to think. He was not the vengeful kind, but his father was and he knew that. He should have suspected something like this earlier.
“Is he healing?” Legolas asked, knowing that the man would be in pain for far longer than he himself had been. Men – they healed so slowly.
“Of course. I have had healers check upon him regularly. I am not a monster.” Thranduil obviously intended that to be his last word on the matter, and slipped out of bed after kissing him to wash at his dressing table.
“Come here, Legolas,” he said, and when his movements were too slow, Thranduil merely picked up the lead where it trailed on the floor and pulled on it slightly. Suddenly the man Edwen was entirely forgotten. Legolas gasped at the insistent tug on his neck, and he was by his father’s side almost instantly.
“Ada,” he said, his voice a mere exhalation of breath, since the way Thranduil had used the lead had made him him hard and aroused. His face burned in humiliation, but his father did not seem inclined to pursue his reaction.
Thranduil poured a little more water into the washing bowl from his jug and handed it to Legolas. “Wash me,” he ordered, without giving away any more of his plans, and Legolas knew what he meant.
He knelt, placing the bowl of water on the floor, and wet his hands along with the flannel, reaching up to take his ada’s soft cock into his hands. Legolas licked his lips, and he noted that his father’s cock began to fill with hot blood, even though the water was cold. It was his touch, he realised. His touch was enough.
Patiently, with care and devotion, Legolas cleaned his father as well as if he had been bathing, wiping over every inch of him, pulling back the foreskin and washing within too. Thranduil submitted to his attention in silence, looking down regally at Legolas on his knees. He toyed idly with the leash, making the chain links rustle.
“That will suffice. Return to my bed and await my pleasure,” he directed, and unclipped the leash from the collar, pointing lazily with one long-fingered hand.
Legolas went as directed, quivering with anticipation, hot-faced, his breath shallow in his lungs. He curled himself up, graceful and inviting, hoping to entice his ada to hurry back to bed with him.
For a moment he believed he had succeeded; Thranduil rose and approached him, looking down, austere except for the small smile that curled the corners of his lips. He reached for the coverlet and spread it over Legolas, covering him thoroughly, and then went to the wall, tugging upon the bell to summon servants.
“Bring bathing tubs and food for two.” He instructed Galion as Legolas lay still, his heart pounding with a frantic surge of adrenaline.
When Galion had gone, Thranduil returned to the bed and pulled back the coverlet, revealing Legolas there. He sat down and leaned against the headboard, propping himself on pillows.
“Pleasure me, my lovely one,” he whispered.
Legolas moved quickly down the bed to obey, licking his lips, and even though he knew the servants would return, it didn’t occur to him what his father had planned until he felt the sheet pulled over him again, hiding him. Legolas gulped before he could begin.
“Now, Legolas,” commanded his father, and Legolas obeyed immediately. Not that he feared a punishment. In fact, lately he had come to crave the punishments his father bestowed upon him. Rather he did not want to disappoint his father, and so he stretched his lips around the hardness in front of him, legs drawn up to stay completely under the cover of the sheet.
It was easy to lose himself in his task, because it was a pleasure for him too, and he savoured Thranduil’s cock in his mouth, having learnt many ways to pleasure him so that his father would moan and lose himself.
But then, there was a sharp rap at the door, and Legolas almost stopped before he remembered that he had sworn he would continue when they had spoken of this fantasy.
“Enter!” Thranduil called, and then Thranduil’s hand was on the back of his head, pushing him down as the door opened so that his throat was filled with his father’s cock as he heard the baths being put into place, and the splashing of water as the servants began to fill them.
How many? How many of the servants saw what was happening? Legolas imagined them in a perfect line, filing past one after the other with jugs of water, enough to fill two baths, while on the bed his father’s hands moved his head up and down, moaning in deliberate pleasure.
He spread his legs slightly, moving so he might be seen, his heart thrilling with lust and a hot, forbidden desire to be known. He moved his head faster, eager, and his father made a long, low moan; Legolas could picture him with his head thrown back, his mouth open, his hands cradled around Legolas’s own hidden head.
He heard a quiet word as Galion directed one of the water-bearers, and an answer – there were several here, pouring; he could hear the soft, subdued noises they made: feet and bodies, the clank of jugs and pouring water. And more: he could hear dishes, a table being set.
Thranduil’s hands tightened, and Legolas nearly moaned, opening his throat to let his ada slide deep.
“That is good,” Thranduil purred, and Legolas knew he did not mean the servants even before he spoke again. “Take me deeply, meleth. Do not hesitate. You are mine to command.”
Legolas heard the muffled noise he made in response to his father, and knew the servants must hear it too. He allowed his father to direct him, and then his father reached below the cotton sheet that covered him and reattached the lead.
“There, perhaps that will convince you, melui nín,” he said, and Legolas felt that same spacing out, as if all of this were beyond his control, beyond his ability to agree or refuse. His father continued to use him, and he heard one of the servants gasp. They understood the leash.
When he thought they had all left, he relaxed somewhat, allowing the strange feeling to suffuse him. It wasn’t until some minutes had passed that his father spoke again.
“That will be all, Galion,” he said. Legolas whimpered helplessly, imagining Galion watching all that, but then at last the door was shut, and the cover was withdrawn. Thranduil pulled him away via the collar, and Legolas’s lips felt puffy and used. His throat too.
“I will claim you as usual now, my pet. Lie down!” Legolas did not move immediately, but raised a hand to wipe the spittle from his lips, eyes locked with Thranduil’s, who jerked on the leash, making him utter a cry of surprise.
“Hurry and obey me, or I shall make you eat from the floor as punishment if you cannot respond to simple commands. I have trained you better than this!”
Thoroughly chastened, Legolas scrambled to comply, feeling like a disobedient animal now, spreading his legs quickly when his father clicked his tongue. Thranduil surveyed him, his breathing hoarse, betraying his lust. “Accept my collar, then hesitate before my command, ion nín? This poor compliance will not suffice to sate me.” He rose abruptly and went to a cabinet, where he reached inside, selecting something Legolas could not see.
He arose with a thing in his hand that made Legolas blink: a long object with ridges, the approximate length and shape of a cock, only with a long tail of leather strips hanging from its end.
“You will wear this while you eat,” Thranduil held it up so he might see, then drizzled oil upon it, spreading it slowly with his fingers before bringing the thing to where Legolas lay frozen, staring, his breath short with shameful anticipation.
“Present yourself to take it,” Thranduil commanded, and Legolas raised himself on shaking thighs.
“Open your body with your hands.” His father’s voice was sharp and merciless.
Legolas reached with both hands, his cheeks stained crimson with heat, and opened his body as commanded.
Thranduil pushed the heavy wooden cock inside him, firm and steady, ignoring the spasms of his body as it was breached and the plug settled into place. The leather strips tickled against the insides of Legolas’s thighs, and he whimpered.
“You will not speak or stand on two feet until you earn the right to be an elf again,” Thranduil commanded. His hand slid over Legolas’s body, a possessive caress. “Now follow me to the table.” He stepped away and filled a plate, setting it on the floor beside his feet.
Legolas swallowed, humiliated beyond all reason, but decided that hesitation would not improve his father’s mood any now. He almost crept to the floor, keeping low, then crawled to the plate on his hands and knees, feeling the tail of the cock brush against the back of his thighs.
Staring down at his plate, he wondered where to start. He’d never felt less like eating in his life, even though they hadn’t eaten the night before.
“Do not use your hands,” Thranduil commanded, and Legolas looked up in mute appeal, but his father was sat at the table and did not pay any attention to him whatsoever. As his gaze lowered, Legolas caught sight of his father’s cock, still hard, and he sighed. Then, it seemed Thranduil had been watching him after all.
“If that is what you want, you will have it,” he said. “Once you have eaten your breakfast. I shall have to find some other way of punishing you for making me wait like this. I should be enjoying you now.”
He swallowed and nodded, not daring to look up again and see disappointment. Instead he decided to try and eat. He surveyed the plate, uncaring, and picked up a piece of sliced apple with his front teeth. He used his tongue to take it in and chewed it, then swallowed. He nearly jumped when a dish was put down too, this full of milk. Legolas felt his face burning again, but turned to this new challenge, trying to lap at it even though it seemed to splash against his nose.
After giving up on the milk, he licked at some honey drizzled over a small amount of nuts and berries, and he knew then he was making a mess. Something tumbled from his plate onto the floor, and he looked up then in alarm.
“Leave no mess,” Thranduil said, silky threat inherent in the soft words.
Legolas bent his head, reluctant, and tried to lick the nuts up off the floor without touching his tongue to its surface.
“If the floor is sticky when you finish, I will pour the remains of this pot of honey over it and you will clean it all without benefit of hands,” Thranduil said, his voice calm steel.
Legolas clenched his fists and licked the floor, forcing himself to be thorough.
“Good pet,” Thranduil reached down, sliding one hand into his hair at the nape of his neck, caressing there. “Wag your tail for me.”
Legolas swallowed hard and shifted his hips, moving his bottom. The leather swished once against his thighs.
“More,” Thranduil said, his hand firm on Legolas’s neck.
Legolas swallowed and obeyed, wiggling so that the tail swayed back and forth.
“Very good,” Thranduil said, stroking along his spine and rubbing just above the tail, as if scratching a pet. Legolas kept wriggling, realising that the motion stirred the plug inside him, making it rub against his prostate. It felt incredible, tantalising him to keep going despite his humiliation.
“You like being my pet,” Thranduil exulted. “Though I too like you on your knees, I would have you finish your food. I grow weary with waiting.”
Legolas tried, but in his haste he pushed more off the plate and onto the floor – and again was required to clean up the mess, his father’s hand moving the plug inside him as he licked the rough stone flags until they were clean. By the time the plate was empty he was whimpering, lifting his arse into the air, begging.
“Very good, pet,” Thranduil said, standing up. Legolas looked up without saying a word. “Do not spoil yourself now,” he warned. “Pets do not speak. But I didn’t even have to gag you. For that, I will allow you on my bed while I use you. Crawl to it,” he commanded, nodding his head in that direction.
Whimpering again, Legolas did as he was bidden, aware that his father had picked up the end of the lead, and was watching him crawl, walking slowly behind him. He moved onto the bed, again keeping low, ending on his knees with his face pressed into the pillows; a position he had learnt Thranduil liked.
He gasped when the toy was pulled out of him, and his father’s familiar form was behind him then, entering Legolas suddenly without any further preamble.
“Ada!” he cried out, and his father did not stop, though Legolas wished his thoughtless cry back. Hadn’t his father just praised him for his silence? And yet… he sobbed, because this taking hurt a little. Even though the plug had opened him up, and even though his father had covered himself in oil, it felt like there was something missing, and Legolas realised how much he enjoyed being touched. A simple thing, but there it was.
“Legolas,” Thranduil said, his voice deep with lust, his hands stroking along Legolas’s back. “Relax now. It is good. You have done well.” It was almost as if his father knew what he needed from moment to moment, and Legolas found he could not help doing as his father suggested, his body giving way before those deep forceful thrusts.
“You should have seen Galion’s face,” Thranduil whispered, and Legolas felt his cock jolt with arousal, leaving a smear of precome to cool on his belly.
“Sometimes I think he would like to take your place in my bed, and yet I think he would not know what to do with himself if he had it,” Thranduil whispered, his hips pumping fiercely. “His servitude is already complete, and I could not improve on it. But you… Oh, but you.” His voice roughened, and he ran his hands along Legolas’s belly, scraping his nails over his nipples. “The way you look on your knees, your tongue licking the floor… I could ravish you a thousand times and never have enough. I see you abased and yet it makes you all the nobler; I violate you and yet your fëa is ever more beautiful in its purity.”
He pushed Legolas down into the pillows, and he struggled for breath, his head swimming with pleasure. “You will stay with me today, my pet, and because you have spoken without permission, I will keep you leashed, and you will crawl with me wherever I go,” Thranduil hissed, his voice taut with restraint. “You will wear your tail except when I use you. You will have no clothing; you will take your food from my hand. When we sleep tonight you will curl at the foot of my bed.”
Legolas heard himself moaning into the pillows, his cock so hard he thought he might go mad. He thrust helplessly against the air, needing to be touched, then shoved back upon his ada’s cock.
The king took pity on him, taking him in hand, and only a few tight strokes brought him to climax; he came so hard he collapsed, but Thranduil held him upright and rode him without mercy, fucking him until he too found his pleasure, thrusting in hard and jerking against Legolas’s back, gasping.
“Clean my hand,” he told Legolas when he stilled at last, and Legolas did, his eyes closing, his tongue curling around his father’s fingers, lapping submissively at his palm.
Then his ada withdrew and the plug filled him again, hard and unyielding, the leather a teasing swish against the over-sensitised skin of his thighs.
“Ahhh,” Thranduil sighed, sounding content. He stood, and the leash went taut at Legolas’s throat, dragging him along. He slithered off the bed and struggled to keep up on hands and knees as Thranduil strode to the baths that had been set out for them. Once there, he freed Legolas from the leash and collar, and the humiliating plug.
“Bathe,” he said, “and be sure to clean yourself thoroughly.” Legolas nodded, and slipped into the hot water with a great deal of satisfaction. He obeyed the instructions, and finally got out, though the water felt so good he could have stayed there all morning. When he had dried himself, his father had finished bathing too, and he replaced the collar along with its lead, and the horrible freshly oiled wooden cock. He pulled Legolas along to his closet where he dressed, before finally leading him to his writing desk.
Legolas curled up around his ada’s feet, pressing his lips to one delicately boned arch, grateful when Thranduil made a murmur of pleasure.
For a while he lay still, curled around his father’s ankles, remaining frozen and breathless when servants returned to remove the baths and their breakfast things. When they had gone he relaxed a little, but it was difficult stuck in the one position. And so, after a period of time, he began to fidget. His arms and legs longed to stretch out, but that was when Legolas realised how small his world had suddenly become. The desk pressed down upon him, and the sides and back of it which concealed him made it seem like a prison, with his father guarding the only way out.
He could not sit properly with the plug of the tail buried in him. He could only stay where he was, curled on his side, or else try to rest low on his hands and knees with his arse pushed up in the air like an animal. And yet, that position seemed to torment him too. The plug jostled in him at each of his movements, making him catch his breath, making jolts of sensation travel through him until he was hard again and desperate for touch.
Turning to his father, he rubbed his face against Thranduil’s shins, reaching up to rest his hands on his father’s knees, not daring to speak, but making nonsense sounds of desire and pleasure.
“Paws!” Thranduil chastised, and Legolas dropped his hands, looking at them accusingly. He continued to nuzzle, however, growing bolder when that did not result in being told to get down. When he was nudging at Thranduil’s knees, they parted before him and Thranduil pushed his chair back, just a little, just enough so that Legolas soon found his face buried in his ada’s crotch.
“Is that what you want?” his father asked with an overly fond sigh, one large hand coming down to ruffle his hair. Legolas leaned, unable to voice what was wrong, or to ask in any other way for respite. His father unlaced his breeches and drew out his cock, pressing it to Legolas’ lips for him to suck. He obliged helplessly, moving his lips down over it with a sound of resigned frustration. But then something else.
Legolas had to remember what he was doing as he felt one of his father’s feet rubbing against him. His leg had raised, and Legolas helpfully leaned to the side to allow it as he continued moving up and down Thranduil’s length. But that foot rubbed against his own erection, slowly, carefully. He flicked his eyes up, but Thranduil was not even looking, busy reading through something on the desk. And then, as Legolas watched, he rang for a servant.
Legolas made a frantic little cry around his father’s cock, trying to push against the foot that teased him; the plug shifted in him, maddening, half pain and half pleasure. His brain presented him with a mental picture: himself flung on his back over his ada’s desk, being fucked within an inch of his life, while Galion came in and his father calmly transacted business, still thrusting inside his body as if nothing were out of the ordinary!
He cried out again, hearing footsteps on the floor – two sets, one steady and firm but very quiet, the other Galion’s deferential shuffle.
“Ah. Galion. Take these despatches for delivery. Tauriel, what do you require?” Thranduil’s voice was satin-smooth.
“M-my king.” Tauriel sounded mortified, and Legolas could picture her, cheeks nearly as red as her hair. “I wished to consult Prince Legolas regarding an urgent matter, but he cannot be found.”
“Ah.” Thranduil sounded bored. Legolas froze where he was, horrified, gazing up at his father as best he could. Thranduil blinked at Tauriel with lazy indifference. “I am sure he is nearby. What do you wish of him?”
“He has always run point on our patrols. But as we go out to escort the people to these halls, I do not know who would be best to entrust with that position. I spend so much time as your personal guard, I am not as familiar with the others and their skills as he.”
Thranduil stretched lazily, opening his thighs wider; his hand pushed Legolas down on his cock and Legolas gave a helpless, low moan. Thranduil paused, one hand in his hair, moving him up and down. Legolas knew Tauriel was aware of what must be happening beneath the desk; he could hear her disapproval in the frosty silence that stretched as she waited, unspeaking.
“Captain, I am sure Prince Legolas may be found,” Galion spoke suddenly and out of place. “If you will return to the troops, I will make inquiries and have him sent to you as soon as I may.”
Thranduil moved his hand, and Legolas flinched, realising his father was moving his hair, which had fallen forward to trail over his hip. Had he been seen?
He heard the sound of Tauriel walking away, but Galion remained. His father’s hand was still in his hair, and Legolas was still sucking rhythmically at his cock. Galion cleared his throat.
“What you are about to say, Galion,” Thranduil said, his voice as cold as the northern mountains. “Do not speak it. I advise you, because I am your King, and I value your service, and would like to keep it. Say. Nothing.”
There was silence that stretched out over long moments. The tension was unbearable. Then, thankfully, Galion seemed to back down.
“Yes, Sire,” he said quietly. “I shall see to these,” he paused, and Legolas knew he was looking for a clue. Knew that Galion at least had seen his hair. “I will see to these despatches, and then find Prince Legolas.”
Legolas could almost hear the smile in his ada’s voice. “Very good, Galion. Dismissed.”
When the door was once again shut, Thranduil pushed his chair back with a sigh, and Legolas strove to shuffle forward with it. He pulled Legolas away via the grip on his hair and stood up. He smiled, and to Legolas it seemed as if his father was able to ignore everything that had just happened. Legolas could not!
“You have made me ready. Lean over the desk, pet,” he ordered, and Legolas stood and turned to obey, seeing his father’s work spread over it. He really had been working. Somehow that made Legolas feel faint. He could not help crying out when the plug was pulled from him, even gently the way Thranduil did it. Legolas breathed heavily in relief, his voice catching on each one as if he would speak, but he did not.
Then, under the sound of that, he heard a wet, slick sound and he knew what it portended. He shook his head desperately, but it did not change anything about his situation, and he cried out again as he felt Thranduil slide inside him. His father was hotter than the toy, and he feared his legs might give way as he was fucked over the desk, sheets of parchment sliding around under his chest, the smell of ink and wine all around him.
Never had he felt his ada so intensely – the life and motion of him against almost unbearably sensitive flesh, the strength of his hands. His fantasy enacted, his dream come true at last, but at what cost?
Legolas could only take it, overwhelming, punishing sensation, pain and pleasure and need and fulfillment mingling in an impossible tide within him. Only Thranduil’s hands kept him from losing himself to a shrieking madness of response – firm, certain: one on his waist, the other between his shoulderblades, strong and steady, anchoring him, reassuring him. All would be well. Thranduil would prevail, and with him, Legolas would be safe.
He wept to greet the gush of Thranduil’s seed deep inside him, and moaned at the brush of his ada’s lips on the back of his neck.
“You were very good, my pet, but now we need the elf again. Are you able?” Thranduil drew out gently, helping him over to the bed, putting both tender hands on the sides of his face and seeking his gaze. “Do not fear Galion, ion nín. He has served my family since my father was young; he will not move against me now. He has no proof of what he may suspect. You are not the only blond elf I have had service me… though I confess there are few of them now whom I might choose.”
Legolas swallowed hard and nodded, finding assurance in his ada’s eyes. He could speak if he wished, yet now, he had no words. Actions would do as well, he supposed, and grasped Thranduil’s hand, forcing it down touch him. He narrowed his eyes, and his father did not say anything, did not rebuke him, but wrapped his fingers around that hardness and moved.
Legolas took a sudden deep breath that was like coming back to himself. He half turned as Thranduil sat beside him on the bed, hand still pumping him slowly. They stared into each other’s eyes.
“Faster, ada,” Legolas demanded on a breath, and he half smiled when he got what he wanted. Legolas curled his own fingers around Thranduil’s forearm, as if afraid he would stop, and bit his lip.
To move from being one thing to another required more. He could not take it all, but he could have some of it. Legolas drew in a breath through his teeth, and he felt his body tightening. He made no sound, but gritted his teeth as he came, while Thranduil watched him. His body trembled not with need, but with control, and he lifted Thranduil’s hand, pressed it to his father’s lips.
“Clean your hand,” he said, stunned when his father did it, licking away his essence obediently. He watched until it was done, then he took another deep breath, giving in and leaning against Thranduil. He felt tired, but he knew there would be no rest. He had other duties now.
“Better now?” Thranduil stroked his lips, the tender father once more, his hands gentle.
“Yes, Ada.” Legolas still felt too shaky to stand, though, and Thranduil sat with him, calming him and stroking him until he felt himself again.
“Now go and wander through the halls. You have been reading tucked away in a dark corner of the library, have you not? Yes. You rarely go there; they will not have checked. Let them find you with a book in your hand.” Thranduil produced one and he took it. “Have you an answer for Tauriel? Of course.” He gave Legolas a soft, lingering kiss and dismissed him. “Return to me tonight,” he whispered as the door closed between them.
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