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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.

Chapter List
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Chapter Sixteen
Legolas’s afternoon stretched long and tedious; Tauriel was in a disgruntled mood after her encounter with Thranduil, and Legolas himself felt weary and out of sorts, but he did his duties and managed to remain pleasant despite his longing to be away, stealing an afternoon nap.
When he could finally slip away, he felt relief, lingering in a dark corridor away from the eyes of others and letting himself sigh, leaning against the wall for a moment, feeling the pleasant aches in his body as the tension drained away. He was under orders to present himself, but he hoped his ada did not have another intense session of submission planned. He rather thought he had earned a reward.
Instead of entering and stripping himself, Legolas tapped and waited for permission to enter, then went in and stood by the door in the manner of a guard waiting for orders – not quite submitted, but not unyielding, either.
“Ion nín, welcome,” Thranduil said softly. “I have ordered your favorite supper. Tonight I thought we might sit together at the table and eat, and then,” He smiled a little, without his usual hard veneer in place. “Perhaps you may wish to talk for a time, the two of us lying together in peace.”
Legolas blinked; there was something almost vulnerable about his ada, and he thought of how he had taken Thranduil’s hand and turned it to his pleasure, and his father had not resisted. But that would wait; for now, the plan at hand seemed a thing of bliss.
Yes. It sounded wonderful to have no expectations on him, and yet as Legolas made his way across the floor to the table and pulled out his chair, he eyed Thranduil warily, as if expecting at any moment the fragile peace would end and he would find himself pushed over somewhere, threatened with punishment for not having stripped as usual.
Yet there was nothing. Legolas studied Thranduil. “It has been a long day for me,” he said at last, experimentally. “How has your day been, ada?”
Thranduil sat back and regarded him from behind lowered eyelashes. It was impossible to tell what he was thinking. “Probably not as demanding as yours, ion nín,” he said with some amusement, and Legolas looked away, actually blushing, remembering some of the events of that morning.
Legolas felt confused at that, and almost hurt; he was so dreadfully tired the emotions rose up in him too easily. “Is this some new game we are playing?” he asked with a sigh. Thranduil shook his head. “Only, if so,” he said, undoing some of his buttons to bare his neck, and hence, the collar. “You may as well put that lead on me that you like so much. It makes me forget myself.”
“I am sorry, ion nín,” said his father, genuinely concerned, and Legolas looked back at him, seeing him be forthright, and he was not used to it of late. “I did not mean to make you feel vulnerable. I love what you give to me. I do not make light of you.” He poured some wine into a glass and slid it across the table. “Please,” he said.
Slightly mollified, Legolas regarded the wine in silence. Then he regarded his father.
“I have done nothing to it,” Thranduil reassured him. Legolas was not sure if he believed it.
“So,” Legolas said. “If I drink it, I shall not turn into an insatiable wreck?” he questioned, with the tiniest of secret smiles. “Or else fall deeply asleep and wake up to find myself tethered to the bed?”
Thranduil sighed and reached for the cup, withdrawing it; then he went to the rack in the corner and drew out a full bottle, still corked and sealed. He brought it to the table and set it in the center and took the cup for himself, tipping it back and drinking deeply until it was empty.
“Help yourself,” he invited, as polite and steady as if the Dorwinion were no stronger than water. Legolas thought him sad though, less relaxed than when he had entered. “And serve yourself from the table, if you will. I will eat something of anything you wish, should you wish to see that it is safe.” He sat back, the fall of his silver hair falling over his face, hiding his expression. He poured himself another cup from the open bottle. “If you wish a game, I will give you one, but I had thought you might be weary this evening and enjoy a time of rest with me.” He rose and took his cup, crossing to the shelf that held his books.
“But perhaps you would rather go and spend time with your friends among the guard. I should not have commanded you to present yourself.” He touched the spine of one book with his fingers. “I have earned your mistrust, and I regret it.” He took down the book and opened it, gazing at the words he revealed. “I have made myself too many things to you, and neither of us now knows who to be.”
Legolas pushed out his chair and crossed the room to his father. His father who was always so dramatic in every little thing he did. Suddenly he felt such a strong affection for his ada it surprised him. He stole the book from Thranduil’s hands and put it back, then took his hand to lead him back to the table.
It was somewhat of a revelation to find his father didn’t always know exactly what to do. “Sit, ada,” he instructed. “What foolishness would have you believe I do not trust you? I could not play these games of ours with you if I did not.”
Legolas pulled his own chair close as his father sat down, and poured himself a drink from the open bottle, sipping at it purposefully. “Of course a part of me still hopes to find unnatural lust in this bottle, despite my exhaustion,” he said dryly.
Thranduil laughed, and Legolas smirked. “If you are too many things to me, then I am too many things to you, and I do not suppose that to be the case.” Thranduil shook his head quickly, and Legolas nodded with relief
“I am in a strange mood this evening, ada, that is the truth. The guard have wearied me with their petty talk all day, when all I wanted was to be here with you.”
Legolas crossed his arms on the table and rested his head upon them. After a moment or two, he felt his ada’s hand on his hair, moving lower, caressing the collar he wore. It made a kind of tingle run through him, but no more than that.
“Would you have my company then?” Thranduil asked quietly. “Would you have us be father and son this night? I desire it very much.”
“Yes, ada,” Legolas replied, relieved, though he could not say why. He turned his head to look at his father, and smiled, seeing the elf who had raised him, who had comforted him as a child, who had taught him so much. “I would like that too.”
Thranduil gave him a small smile – again showing an unfamiliar, almost uncertain part of himself. “Galion has found suitable lodgings for a dozen families, but there may be more to come. When do you think the first groups will arrive?”
Legolas began to relax, giving him thoughtful answers, and soon the conversation eased as the wine flowed.
When they had tired of talking of others, they looked at each other with love. Eventually, Legolas put down his glass and stood, taking his father’s hand to pull him to his feet too.
“Come to bed, ada,” he said softly, already pulling off his tunic as if it annoyed him. At last, it occurred to him that Thranduil hesitated, and he turned with a question in his eyes and on his lips.
“Ion nín,” he said, a shadow of the same pain in him as there was when they began all of this. Legolas embraced him.
“Do you think I have forgotten just who you are to me?” he asked simply. “We may hide from the world, but we will not hide from each other, and not behind the games you teach. I want you – my ada – to talk to, to learn from and to lie with. And you… you want the same.”
“Yes,” Thranduil said, resting his head on Legolas’s shoulder.
“Then come to bed,” Legolas repeated. “Come to bed naked, so that I may enjoy the feel of your warm skin next to mine. I need it tonight.”
For once the kiss was not a battle, not a surrender to his father’s dominance, but an exploration, tongues touching, sliding in and retreating, exploring with care. Legolas wrapped his arms around his ada, savouring it, and helped Thranduil remove his robes, carelessly tossing them to the floor. They slid down to the bed together, hands still seeking and pressing, bodies warm.
Legolas sighed with happiness, finally allowed to explore and touch and kiss to his heart’s content, his father allowing it, not turning him over to devour and ravish. Thranduil’s breath came fast, and Legolas wondered at the expression of almost fearful tenderness in his ada’s eyes; did he fear the feeling, or fear having it known?
He gathered their cocks in one hand, stroking slowly, drinking in that expression on his father’s face, meeting his eyes without fear. Thranduil swallowed hard, pushing gently into his grip.
“Ion nín,” his father groaned quietly, and held Legolas’s face in his hands, angling his head to kiss again. This kiss was sweet but desirous, and Legolas was swept away by it, feeling the love his father had for him everywhere that they touched. The strange mood he had been in dissipated, leaving him sensitive and quiet.
Their touches were slow and lingering, worshipful, and Legolas remembered again how much he admired his father. His body was like a work of art, so perfect, and he was so beautiful. He moaned when he found himself on his back, his father’s hips grinding against him. The friction was so nice, and he was captivated by the way Thranduil looked at him then.
Belatedly, Legolas realised he had spread his legs so that his father could rest between them, as if his body knew what he wanted before his mind did. “Will you accept me like this, my son, with no games between us, no trappings?” He seemed pensive, and Legolas licked his lips.
“I want you in all ways, ada,” he said, because it was true, and the smile his father gave him was not of victory, but of joy. He let his weight down gently, and his arms wrapped around Legolas. It felt safe here in his father’s arms. Legolas found he could no longer feel the line between Thranduil as his father, and Thranduil as his lover. It had blurred so much it might not even exist.
When he felt the first oiled finger teasing at his opening, he hissed anyway, his body sore from the things they had done earlier that day. “I am sorry!” Thranduil whispered in shock. “How careless of me to want this. I should have remembered, ion nín.”
Smiling faintly, Legolas grabbed his wrist to keep his hand there. “It is all right,” he said, reassuring, “but go slowly.”
The soreness was not eased much by the oil, despite his father’s gentle touch, and yet Legolas did not say anything about it. His whimpers were sometimes of pain, and he was sure Thranduil knew, yet he did not become hesitant, and for that Legolas was glad.
When that part of it was over, and Legolas found himself on his back, his legs over Thranduil’s shoulders, his father poised to claim him, then he found he had to speak again.
“This will hurt you,” Thranduil observed, his face troubled, as if even now he would stop.
“Yes,” Legolas said, “but I do not care.” Legolas wondered how the line between son and lover fared for his father. Was it gone for him too? “I want my father,” Legolas said. “Give him to me. Or would you make me beg, even now?”
“I am here, Legolas,” Thranduil said, his grey eyes dark and intense, then thrust inside, making Legolas cry out and his body tensed and arched, but there was no way out, no escape. “I would not make you beg for me now, when all that lies between us is love.”
Thranduil’s hands were on his face, lips on his forehead, shushing him even as his father’s cock moved in and out. Hurting. Legolas felt tears in his eyes.
“Gi melin, ada,” he said, his voice taut with those same tears. And yet they were not sad tears. “I would bear any pain to know you like this. You give me everything I ever dreamed.”
“Legolas,” his father moaned. “My son… my lover...” And he moved one of his hands down, stroking Legolas’s cock, and then Legolas knew the line no longer existed for him either, and it was such a perfect moment. The pain must still be there, but it faded away in the face of these silent revelations between them. This was right. It was beautiful. It was meant. The dream told them that.
His father’s movements, so loving, so gentle. And his hand, so hot and encouraging. Legolas felt enveloped by his father’s love, cherished above all else. Thranduil had always made him feel that way. How wonderful it was to find that same feeling here and now.
“Úthaes nín,” Thranduil said as he came, and Legolas gripped his father’s shoulders as his body climaxed in response, held safe in his father’s arms.
His ada held him until he grew drowsy, then rose and cleaned them both. Legolas watched without moving, letting himself be cared for, loving how the candlelight caught in his father’s long silver hair, the golden glow worshipping the quiet planes of his face and body. Thranduil finished, setting aside the basin and cloth, then looked down upon Legolas, setting one hand below the fresh scar that marred his thigh. His expression turned from tenderness to disquiet as he examined the mark, and lifted Legolas’s thigh to inspect the matching scar where the healers had been forced to push the arrow through to extract it.
“Ion nín, I do not know what I would do if I lost you,” Thranduil said softly. “It would be more than I could bear.”
Legolas let his body be touched, though his leg was still tender, moved by the look on his father’s face. “It heals, ada.” He laid his hand over his father’s. “I will be well soon.”
Thranduil reached to caress his cheek with the backs of his fingers, then returned to the bed, curling his tall body behind Legolas and drawing him close. “To heal, you need rest. Rest now with me, my son – and have no fear I will be changed in the morning. I am sorry. We will play again when you are ready, not before.”

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Prince in Training