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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 Twenty-one
Later that day, in the evening, Legolas made his way to his father’s room. He felt excited and overjoyed after what Erestor had told him. They would be alone together, just like they had always been. It had been a long day full of sweet anticipation. Legolas could barely keep the smile from his face as he knocked on the door then opened it, slipping inside like a thought.
His ada was sat on the bed, awaiting him. Legolas bit his lip, feeling so playful he could barely keep it in. His muscles seemed to be filled with sparkling wine instead of blood, and he almost danced. “Should I…?” he asked, and Thranduil nodded in silence.
As he undressed by the door, pausing to lock it so they would not be disturbed, it occurred to Legolas how much he’d missed this little ritual over the past couple of nights. With a gladness that felt as light as air, he threw his clothes aside and glided swiftly over to the bed, lying down upon it for his ada’s inspection, dressed in nothing now but his collar.
Thranduil surveyed him with care, but did not touch, instead sitting down at his side. “Legolas,” he said, with some difficulty. “I have something I must tell you, and I am ashamed of it.”
Legolas sat up, anxious. “What is it, ada?”
“Erestor and I had a misunderstanding. That is not the part I am ashamed of,” he said hastily. “But he believed you were merely innocent of the game when I took you to me… not of physical pleasure entirely. He was not pleased with me for taking you to my bed as a virgin. But he was even less pleased by this.” Thranduil swallowed heavily. “Legolas, you have been of age for many years, and yet you had not taken a lover until I took your innocence. The lack is my doing. I… did not find any of the candidates suitable.” He bowed his head, staring down at his hands in his lap. “I have discouraged them from pursuing you, or from allowing themselves to be pursued. They feared me, and they obeyed.”
Legolas listened, tilting his head. “Because you wished me for yourself?”
“No.” Thranduil sighed. “They were not good enough for you, my son. I would not see you hurt, or tied to one below your station, or matched unwisely with one who was poorly suited to your temperament. There was always a reason.”
Legolas considered that. “But I have you now. I am content.”
Thranduil blinked, then sighed. “Do you not hear me? You might have found happiness with any of them, if not for my intervention.” Legolas shook his head, as if to shake the words away.
“And I would have missed this. Missed you,” he said, then sighed and grasped his father’s wrist. “Touch me, ada, please! We have this night; be with me.”
Thranduil flattened his palm on Legolas’s chest, pressing him down. He narrowed his eyes slightly, and inhaled a breath. Something about that hand didn’t feel right. It was hot, and the sensation of it was all wrong. His father laughed under his breath.
“He was quite right,” Thranduil mused as he looked down on Legolas, as if to himself. “I do indeed know when I touch you.” He shook his head, wry. “Legolas – listen to me,” he pleaded, refusing to let his son inspect his hand. “When the time comes, my son, and another enters your life whom you love, you should turn to that one with all your heart, and I will not come between you.”
“It will not happen,” Legolas denied. “Now give me your hand!”
Thranduil did, with a sigh, and Legolas touched it. It was hot and swollen, the palm red, as though Thranduil had soaked in very hot water or touched sun-warmed metal and held his hands there too long. But this heat did not fade.
“Ada…!”
“Yes, it is my punishment for hurting you by keeping away your lovers, and for shaming my master with poorly thought out words that nearly led to his failure with you.” Thranduil stared at Legolas’s fingers on his hand, his pupils black, dilated wide. His voice shook as though he had increasing difficulty forming words.
“Legolas, ai!” He gasped, as Legolas kneaded tentatively at the fleshy mound below his thumb. He clutched at Legolas with his free hand and cried out again, but did not let go.
“He said I would have to learn to hurt you. Is this my first lesson?” Legolas whispered, and let his fingers drift across his father’s palm again, marking the way Thranduil’s lips trembled to feel his touch.
“No, Legolas,” Thranduil replied, allowing the touch to continue, clearly enjoying it in some strange way. “This lesson was given to me.”
Although his father’s reaction was intriguing, Legolas began to feel as if he had been betrayed somehow. “He says I have this night with you, then he hurts you so that you cannot touch me. I would say this is a lesson for me, too,” Legolas said, feeling cheated of something he had longed for all day.
Something sparked in Thranduil’s eyes, and he suddenly grinned, reminding Legolas of their nights of games. The rewards and punishments. “Cannot? Oh, I wouldn’t say that, ion nín.” He sounded dangerous, and predatory, and as if to prove his point his hands seemed to be everywhere all at once, roving over Legolas’s body possessively.
“A few stripes laid over my palms will not stop me from claiming what is mine,” he said wickedly. “Did you bathe and clean yourself before coming here as I expect of you, or have you stored up a punishment already before we begin?”
For a moment, Legolas could scarcely breathe. Thranduil was still dressed, and yet he moved to sit astride Legolas, and his presence was such that Legolas’s heart jolted, his ada’s hands seeking sensation even though it was painful to him. “Yes, ada,” Legolas said at last. “I am ready for your use.”
He watched as his father leisurely removed his robes and undershirt, throwing them carelessly to the floor at the side of the bed. “Did you apply oil to yourself?” he questioned, and Legolas blushed, still so easily humiliated by the admission.
“Yes, ada.”
Thranduil gave him a pleased grin, then leaned down for a kiss that was deep, and made Legolas think of what else they would be doing in mere moments. Thranduil’s chest was bare now, his his skin was hot against Legolas’s own.
At last, he moved from the bed and kicked off his breeches, pausing to apply oil to himself while Legolas watched, feeling almost hungry. His body anticipated the act as well as his mind, quickening with lust, the blood rushing down in him, only encouraged when Thranduil rejoined him on the bed, his weight pressing Legolas down into the mattress while his oiled hand stroked Legolas’s hardness, teasing him.
He gasped in pleasure, throwing his head back, the heat of Thranduil’s palm added an additional sensation to his touch that was somehow beautiful. “Have you also been used today?” he asked, breathless.
Thranduil glanced at him with surprise, then chuckled, low and rich, resuming the movement of his hand. “Very forcefully used, yes.” A hot, lazy light dawned in his eyes at the memory.
“Will I like it when your master takes me?” Legolas felt himself tremble.
“Yes, you will,” Thranduil promised him, letting Legolas’s erection go and sliding his beaten hands along Legolas’s skin. He encouraged Legolas to turn over, then parted his thighs and slid between them, his cock seeking. “I will love watching him fuck you, my son, and you will love being fucked.”
“I will dress you in the finest silks, worthy of a favoured courtesan, and take you on the end of a chain to present you to him,” Thranduil murmured. “Then you will kneel at his feet and beg to please him. You will serve him well, to do credit to my training.”
As he spoke, Thranduil rubbed the head of his erection over Legolas’s entrance, until his body almost seemed to dance with anticipation.
Legolas moaned, picturing it. “Must I beg him?”
Legolas cried out as his ada slid inside, opening him with a smooth stroke.
“Yes, you must beg, and submit, and give him all he asks.”
Though he listened to his father’s words, Legolas found himself more concerned with adjusting to his father inside him. As well as bathing and cleaning himself, Legolas had applied oil with his fingers so as to be ready, but Thranduil was big, and it hurt a little to be taken so suddenly. Thranduil was still, having opened his body, and his length and girth felt hot inside Legolas. Hot and very hard.
“I kissed him!” Legolas said suddenly, before his father could begin to move and he would forget to tell. “He asked me to, and so I did it,” he babbled, gulping, his eyes closed, not daring to see how Thranduil looked at him. “I am sorry, ada.”
Then there was a thrust, and Legolas cried out again, it was so unexpected. “Why are you sorry, ion nín?” he asked, his voice dark. “I am sure you looked beautiful together. You will reenact it for me when we are all together.”
“I wished to stay faithful to you,” Legolas confessed, his cheeks burning with embarrassment. “None other has kissed or touched me until you, these past days.”
“Faith lies in love, not in self-denial.” Thranduil moved again, claiming him deeply. “And we will always love one another, ion nín. No matter what may come.” He pressed a kiss against the nape of Legolas’s neck, then sank his teeth there lightly, just enough to leave the faintest or marks. “Or who.” A silvery thread of laughter resounded in his voice, but then it was lost as he sighed and began to move steadily.
“If I could openly claim you as my slave and lover, I would invite guests and command you to serve them, I think; I would ease your mind in that way. I would watch as each took you, knowing you mine in heart and mind. They would seek and fail to possess you. They would use you with great greed, but none of it would matter.”
Legolas could not help responding strongly to the voiced fantasies of his father, each one more wicked that the one before. He could not help responding to the slow deep love-making that drove him almost out of his mind. It was a while before his father granted him release, and by then he was barely aware of what it meant, but he clung to his father as he came, swearing fealty, loyalty, his heart, the use of his body for any purpose Thranduil wished.
After being claimed thoroughly in the morning, Legolas found himself back in his room. He refused Tauriel’s summons and decided not to work that day, not even when she knocked and strode in, uninvited. Instead, he hung around nervously, until a knock on his door revealed Erestor.
“Your father has sent these,” he explained, holding up an array of silk outfits. “He sent them with poor Galion, who of course came directly to me.” Erestor shook his head, though whether at the silliness of Galion or his father Legolas could not tell. Perhaps it was both of them. “He says to wear whichever you wish for this evening.”
Legolas nodded as Erestor laid out the clothing on his bed. He considered them, blushing as Erestor watched him. At last he drew in a breath. “Which do you prefer?” he asked, his voice barely more than a whisper. Erestor smiled.
“Your skin,” he said lightly, but stepped forward to examine the silks nonetheless. “But it will not suffice tonight – at first. This blue would look well upon you, but it is too modest for my taste. The gold reveals too much for public wear. Wear the green of your namesake. When this leaf falls, then will come a new season for you, ernil ned avad.”
Legolas trembled, half-surprised to feel himself burning with arousal, keenly aware of Erestor standing close behind him. He fancied he could feel the other elf’s heat, though Erestor did not touch his body.
“It will be as you wish,” Legolas bowed his head, setting his fingertips upon the green.
When he turned from his resigned study of the green silk garment, Erestor had not stepped back, and the other elf’s hands rose to his face, warm fingertips sliding through his hair, the pads of his thumbs at play on Legolas’s ears. He sighed as his head was gently angled back, his lips parting in unconscious permission.
“Another kiss, Legolas,” Erestor said, his words warm in tone as well as sensation, the puff of them on Legolas’s lips as his father’s master took what he wanted. Legolas felt the connection between them in full force then. My father’s master. Suddenly, Erestor felt so dangerous to him that he trembled, and an alarmed sound passed his lips.
The bed was behind him, and Erestor pushed him onto it. Legolas was on his back with Erestor above him before he could even think about how it happened. One hand reached down inside his leggings, pumping his cock slowly, the feel of that hand different from his father but so skilled Legolas found that his body was lifting up into that sinful touch without asking him.
The kiss was over now, and Erestor’s other hand was in his hair, keeping his head still so as to look deeply into his eyes as he continued with that coaxing touch. “Pleasure for you, Legolas,” he promised, his eyes still searching, and as Legolas came, he knew what Erestor watched for: his surrender.
“Erestor!” he gasped, helpless to stop it as his body gave the other elf his release in little doses.
“When I have done with you tonight, Legolas, you will have learned to address me as ‘master’ too.” Erestor sounded certain, and, still in the midst of yielding, Legolas did not doubt him. Erestor lifted his palm to caress his cheek, and Legolas laid his face aside to oblige him, but he did not turn far, not wanting to escape, and his lips opened, brushing against the hand that touched him. Erestor’s fingertips touched his closed eyelids, stroking tenderly, and Legolas kissed at the edge of his palm again, helpless not to.
“How shall I leave you until tonight, when you fawn for me so beautifully now?” Erestor breathed. He rose, adjusting himself in his breeches as he gazed down on Legolas, who lay sprawled helpless over the silks. He laid his hand over the ridge in his breeches. “This will wait until you are mine to claim; I will not go to your father for release or seek it alone.” He dropped his hand and ran his fingertips along Legolas’s arm. “Your father will bring you to me at sunset.”
Legolas nodded, unable to speak.
Erestor turned and let himself out, unhurried, leaving Legolas to count the moments until the sun might sink in the west.
When he could move again, he got up and removed his soiled leggings, washing himself carefully as he thought about later on. It was all he could think about, and instead of getting dressed in his usual clothes, Legolas put on the green silk, examining himself in the mirror.
The shorts were tight, in a dark green, and the hooded robe was designed to worn loose and unfastened to show the chest and stomach. It was as sheer as flower petals. Legolas fingered it thoughtfully, and picked up the coronet he had chosen. It needed something else.
Legolas dressed more normally and went out into the wood for a short while, before coming back and twining living leaves of beech and ivy around the silver of the headdress. Satisfied, he put it aside, only to be startled by a knock on his door. It was Galion, who neither spoke nor met his gaze but thrust a small package into his hands before walking away.
“Galion?” he called, mystified, but the servant did not pause to explain.
“From your father,” he called back over his shoulder, and hurried away.
A small wooden box lay within the cloth wrappings, and when he opened it, he discovered small compartments of cochineal and coal, with delicate fur brushes in a slot at the base. He had seen such things used, but had never ventured them himself, and had no idea of how to begin.
Perhaps the afternoon might be put to good use in learning.
By evening he was satisfied with his efforts: his lips shaded in subtle hues of red, the rims of his eyes darkened, his lashes painted to make them seem long and striking. A stranger looked out of his mirror, sensual and alluring, with sultry eyes that simmered, inviting, and full, perfect lips that begged to be crushed in a kiss.
He put on his silks again, transforming himself, and breath came short in his chest as he surveyed the results in the mirror, his fingers rising to stroke his collar.
A tap at the door heralded Thranduil’s arrival, and his father stepped inside, only to halt staring at him, speaking no word, his eyes fixed on Legolas before him, dark and hot with lust.
Legolas dropped his eyes, and saw his leash in Thranduil’s hand. Swallowing nervously, he padded across the floor to his father. He was barefoot. True slaves did not wear slippers or boots, and so he was completely silent as he knelt before Thranduil, tilting his head away to give access to his neck and thereby accept the clip of the leash.
“Ion nín,” he father said at last, reverent. “You are a more beautiful sight than I have seen for many centuries!” Legolas looked up, alarmed by the passion in his father’s voice, but then smiled.
“I know you will give me away,” he said, becoming nervous thinking of it, of Erestor. “But I will be with you afterwards, will I not?” He leaned in close on his knees, letting his upper body sway forward, resting his cheek against Thranduil’s hip.
“That is your leash,” he whispered. “Not his. Put it on me, ada.” Thranduil did not move his hand, only groaned in want. Legolas looked up. “Please,” he said, and that at last prompted his father into action.
“I will when we arrive at our destination.” Thranduil laid his hand on Legolas’s cheek, careful not to muss the kohl. “It would be unwise to lead you forth with it, I am warned.” He smiled with regret, then reached to draw Legolas’s hood over his head.
He led Legolas to the guest wing, a special set of apartments in the side of the hill, where windows opened into the forest and let the last light of the day warm the rooms, and would now be shimmering through the leaves of beech and oak to cast dancing patterns upon the walls.
They paused outside the door of Erestor’s lodging, and Thranduil turned to him, drawing the coiled leash from his pocket.
Legolas lifted his chin, closing his eyes, and shivered as his ada clipped the leash to the collar, tugging lightly to let him know it was upon him. He leaned in and kissed Legolas’s cheek, soft and possessive.
“You will make me proud, I know, my son.”
He tapped and the door opened. Thranduil drew him inside, then closed the door, holding the leash short, forcing Legolas to tilt his head toward him.
“I have brought him, my master, as you commanded.” Thranduil went to his knees, offering the leash on his outstretched hands, and Legolas stepped forward into the sunlight and put back his hood, daring to raise his eyes to find the elf who awaited them.

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Prince in Training