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. |
Author's Note: Yes, there really is an update. Please see the end of the chapter for further notes on future updates. I also just wanted to give a gentle reminder in light of a certain review we received. Heed the warnings, and please don't take it too seriously. This is a fantasy. It's a fantasy we hoped others would enjoy, to be sure, but a fantasy nevertheless. This work was never conceived to “enrage” anyone. Peace. :)
Chapter Twenty-four
After they had settled, Erestor took charge of proceedings and declared that they should all retire separately and bathe. Legolas spent his time in his own room in dreamy contemplation of his ada, and how much he had to look forward to. His mind strayed to all the things Thranduil had shown to him, and he imagined practising all of those things the other way around.
He lingered over cleansing himself of the previous night and the morning, and picked his clothing for the day with care. Would he even be wearing it for long? Legolas did not know what to expect. In the end he chose something simple and elegant… and easily removed.
When they all reconvened, much refreshed, Legolas was surprised by the day that followed. Since the palace was still home to many Silvans from the wood, the three of them studied battle plans for part of the morning.
While his father practised some moves with his sword, Legolas found Erestor to be an excellent strategist, and when Legolas realised the turn of Erestor's mind, he produced maps excitedly. Erestor had an idea that would draw spiders away from the woods near the palace, and Legolas was sure it would work.
He found himself shaking Erestor's hand, impressed by him, before advising his father with a cool smile that perhaps his services as a swordsman would not be required, after all. He gave instructions to Tauriel on how to position their forces, attacking a large nest some distance away, drawing spiders back to it, enabling them to slip around the other side and gain back a vast swathe of territory in one move.
When it was all done, a part of Legolas itched to be out there with them to see it done, but his services were not required for the plan’s success either. His attention turned fully to his father and Erestor as their lessons continued. Perhaps he had imagined more erotic adventures, but during the hours of daylight, Erestor instructed him in many ways of binding, with his father as a willing subject this time. They actually had fun together, and Legolas found himself laughing often as his father play acted at being helpless and forlorn.
Legolas learnt not just about ropes, but about chains, about other methods of restraint, including heavy iron cuffs, some of which were attached to long wicked bars which held Thranduil in lewd and humiliating positions. Erestor instructed him on how long the body could stand this or that before pain set in, how long before a position should be changed for safety’s sake. Legolas drank in the knowledge easily.
He could hardly wait now until Erestor departed for Imladris again so that he might be alone with his ada to try out the many things he had learned, and to see his father submit for him both willing and in rebellion. For he understood his ada did not truly mean to thwart him, only to assuage the wildness in himself, the part of him that required this taming.
But he understood the process could not be rushed; there was too much he did not yet know. And so he smiled at his ada, yet kept his hands to himself, deferring to Erestor yet. When the Noldo suggested they meet after lunch, he agreed eagerly.
“Not in our normal location, I think. He is ready to move on,” Erestor said, and Thranduil inclined his head in graceful deference.
“I will bring him.” His fingers rose to the high throat of his robe, and Legolas knew he touched the collar that lay concealed there. His eyes flashed toward Legolas, bright with lust and anticipation, and Legolas swallowed heavily, feeling desire course through him with electric eagerness.
They ate together, then Erestor went off to his own room, leaving Legolas and Thranduil alone together to prepare. They went to Legolas’s rooms first to refresh, and they lay together on the bed fully dressed, looking at each other.
“Are you all right?” Thranduil asked quietly, and this was his father here with him. Considerate, caring, loving. Legolas smiled.
“I am enjoying it so far,” he replied, and then bit his lip. “I imagine a great many things, with you.”
At that, his father seemed satisfied, and he released Legolas from his intense regard, turning to rest on his back with the slightest of winces.
“I know you do. We will explore them, ion nín, I promise. I imagine them too.” He took Legolas’s hand and pulled it so that Legolas’s arm was resting over his chest. “Hold me,” he said, and Legolas snuggled closer happily, resting against his father’s side for the hour or so they had for rest before going together down to the dungeons.
His father explained there was a room set aside for games, and once they had dozed together, as they made their way there to meet Erestor, Legolas became more and more curious.
“It is strange we come here. This is very near where we began all this,” he said to Thranduil quietly when they stopped before a set of thick wooden doors bound in fantastical swirls of iron. “But I have never been through these doors.”
“My private stores of wine are kept here; even Galion does not have this key.” Thranduil chuckled. “Only I… and Erestor. Now you.” He handed Legolas an elegant iron key on a silver chain.
Legolas smiled and set the key in the lock; it turned rustily.
“Before Erestor returned, I had not used this place for some time,” Thranduil confessed, leading Legolas down a short corridor and past a small wine cellar. The final door in the hallway stood half-open, warm lamplight spilling out over the floor. Erestor awaited inside.
“It was all rather dusty,” he commented. “Since servants should not be shown this place I have cleaned it myself, and expect to be well-obeyed for my reward.” He gestured toward the walls, and Legolas followed the motion, studying them with interest.
The first thing his eyes alighted on were the manacles. They hung from the wall empty, but Legolas could easily imagine his father in them, his wrists high above him, his head bowed in submission. He walked over to them slowly, then turned to survey the rest. There was an enormous contraption with cuffs and levers that spoke of some hidden mechanics. There was a movable piece of equipment that had thick leather attached to it, and it took him some moments to realise a person could be set to rest in it, hanging suspended in whatever position was required.
Several chests lined the walls, their contents mysterious for now. All of this was far beyond his wildest imaginings, and he looked to where Erestor and his father stood, uncertain.
“What will we do here?” he asked, and Erestor smiled.
“We will teach you about each of these methods of restraint. First, we will try them on you so that you know how they feel. Then, I will help you as you use them to restrain your father.”
He sounded so matter of fact about it. Legolas swallowed, and took in a deep breath. His eyes flickered to Thranduil, who stood there quite amused. Legolas shook his head and rolled his eyes, feeling a little foolish. He should have known. Yet he was not averse to learning this too, despite feeling apprehensive at some of the larger objects.
He walked and knelt before Erestor. “Where would you have me begin, Master?”
Erestor was still for a moment, then walked across the room. “In this,” he swung the sling easily. “The trick for the slave is knowing how to sit down in it-- and for the master, how to set the chains so the slave is at the desired height.”
Legolas watched as Thranduil unhooked and rehooked links of chain. “This is the height I like it best,” he purred, and set a hand in the leather seat. “Now, ion nín.”
After a few false starts Legolas lay back in the sling, still fully dressed, and settled himself until he was comfortable. He glanced aside and saw a black leather hood hanging from Erestor’s fingers, and swallowed. Would they use him now? He was still quite tender.
Thranduil reached to catch the chains and directed his swinging, keeping him rocking slightly, then stepped up so that Legolas just brushed his body each time he moved. “This is how it would work,” he purred, stroking the inside of Legolas’s thigh. “Or you could be on your belly. In any case, the master controls how far the slave swings, and how forcefully he is penetrated.”
Legolas nodded and attempted to get up, since he had not been attached to the cuffs, but Thranduil pushed him back down.
“Restrain him,” Erestor ordered, and his father efficiently went about attaching the different restraints to Legolas. There were two for his wrists, two more for his feet, and some which hooked under his knees, allowing for his legs to be drawn up and spread outwards.
They could not mean to, he thought, for he was still dressed, and yet that thought didn’t relax him when he saw that Erestor watched him like that, so closely. When his father was finished, Erestor walked up close and pushed him, so that he swung helplessly.
“Struggle, if you will,” he said, and Legolas was not imagining the enjoyment in his tone. Yet he followed the instruction, only to find that he was secured as well as if they had chained him to the wall. More so. He had no freedom to control his limbs, nor the motion of the swing. Erestor came to stand between his widespread legs, letting the momentum of the swing bring Legolas to him, at which point he caught Legolas’s thighs in his hands, stopping the motion. He leaned forward over Legolas’s body, as if to prove a point as Legolas continued to struggle.
Breathless and uncertain, Legolas almost panicked when the angle he was held at changed, but then realised it was his father, altering something so that his upper body was pointed down towards the floor slightly. Thranduil stood at his head, and Legolas understood this thing at last, imagining it easily. He swallowed.
“Both of us could have you now,” Thranduil purred. “You would swing back and forth between us, and we would use you as hard and as long as we liked.”
“You would not escape.” Erestor stroked his inner thighs slowly. “With the hood on, you could not cry for mercy. None would ever hear you if you did.”
Legolas swallowed hard and nodded, both aroused and a little frightened. “Is this place ever used to torture prisoners?”
“No,” Thranduil smiled at him, predatory. “Only willing victims.” He reached to one side and took up a whip-- long and black, with a single wicked thong. It cracked viciously when he swung, and Legolas stared up at his ada, willing himself not to panic, unable to keep from licking his lips, nervous.
Erestor clucked his tongue and took the whip, tossing it aside. “Much more of that, and I will have you in this thing, and give him leave to test it however he wishes.”
Thranduil suddenly looked quite put out, and Legolas could not help laughing, the tension broken somewhat. He could not see Erestor’s face, but he could hear the smile in his voice.
“Set him free. We shall show him the next.”
Slowly, his father obeyed, and Legolas was beyond relieved when his body was tilted back up. More so than when the cuffs were removed. The angle had changed his centre of gravity in an uncomfortable way and made him feel like he might fall, which was difficult to take for elves, who were gifted with balance.
But at last he was free, and he got to his feet, glad of the solid ground, only for Erestor to take his arm and lead him to the large stationary contraption with its strange pulleys. It was like being strapped to a hard wooden bed as they worked on him, making him helpless again. But at least he was at rest upon it.
Quite suddenly, Legolas thought he understood what it was, since he had studied, and he knew about instruments of torture, though he had not expected to find anything like this here. Stretching racks were something from the world of men. He cried out in alarm as his father began to wind something by the side of him, but to his surprise, the rack didn’t lengthen. Instead, it began to tilt, so that he ended secured to it in an upright position.
More levers were pulled and manipulated, and the rack split, forcing his legs and arms out to either side of him, leaving him ready for anything to be inflicted on him. Any kind of punishment.
“I do not like this one,” he said honestly. “It seems less for pleasure and more for hurting.” He squirmed, feeling how he could even bruise himself against its hard restraint.
“Your father knows this one well,” Erestor murmured. “He has spent time here with me of late, as I tested the depth of his commitment to you.”
Legolas’s eyes sought Thranduil, his heart half-breaking to think of his ada strapped down and beaten here. “Do you mean to test me also?” He held his ada’s eyes. “For his sake, I would pass any test you set, yet I hope he knows he need not set such a test for me.”
Thranduil stared at him. “I have a test for you. Though not one as extreme as mine.” He began lowering the rack back down, the whole thing gathering into itself so that Legolas’s body was somewhat straight again, then uncuffed his hands and feet, pulling him up.
Legolas enveloped his father in a loving embrace. “I will pass it,” he swore, his lips seeking his father’s as Erestor watched on. Thranduil kissed him lightly then broke away, leading him to the other side of the room by his hand.
“You will need to undress for this,” he said mysteriously as they approached something that was covered by a large sheet. Legolas could only make out the vague shape of it. Thranduil suddenly turned to him and caressed his face. “Usually, you would have done something displeasing to deserve this.”
Trembling at the tone in his father’s voice, Legolas found himself seeking out Erestor, as if he had the final say on what happened here. The Noldo smiled and nodded once. “Undress, Legolas,” he ordered. “Just as your father says.”
He did so, made shy by their eyes upon him, but did not attempt to cover himself, standing bare before them with his head bowed.
“Lie down on your belly, ion nín.” Thranduil instructed softly, pulling the cover from the device he meant to use.
Legolas hesitated, staring at it, trying to figure out how it would work. There were loops and bars and buckles, and he trembled, unable to picture it on him. Thranduil’s hand settled on the small of his back, reassuring. “You will not be left in it for long, Legolas. Lie down.”
He did, quivering, and they set the device between his thighs. A bar protruded between his legs, brushing at his bottom, and one set perpendicular to it rose several inches, ending in straps. Another bar jutted from that one, parallel to his body, with more straps and cuffs dangling from it. Thranduil gently folded his legs and put his ankles through the lowest set of straps, tightening them so that his feet were secured several inches above his lower back. The smooth, rounded bar at his bottom nudged at him, uncomfortable, and Erestor assisted Thranduil by spreading oil on the bar and then guiding it as it began to press into his body.
Legolas yelped and tried to twitch away; it was terribly cold. His father’s hand was heavy on his back then. “Stay still, Legolas,” he ordered, in a tone that made Legolas cease his struggles. The bar was pressing inside him, just breaching him, and it made him gasp, but he began to grow used to it.
When he was still, his father took his arms behind him, forcing them into restraints that held his forearms and wrists immobile and close together between his shoulder blades. The bar moved forward at the same time, and Legolas could not help his frantic breathing.
“Please, ada!” he cried out, unable to stop what was happening to him at all. He was fully restrained by the device. Or so he thought. He twisted his head around to try and catch sight of Erestor or his father, and then hands were holding his head straight and forward as the top of the device hooked onto his collar.
The bar inside him did not need to be guided any further. It was fully in him, and Legolas struggled a little as his body heat warmed it up, feeling his own movements jerk it this way and that.
“The more submissive you are, the easier it will be to bear,” remarked Erestor, and Legolas gulped, trying to become still, but the position of his body was such that he could not hold it without his muscles protesting.
“He is beautiful,” Thranduil said, his voice hushed with awe. “Look upon my son, Erestor!” He ran his hand along Legolas’s flank, making him quiver. Every motion, no matter how small, made the cold, unyielding bar inside him stir, and the angle of the device pushed it against his prostate. Legolas moaned, proud of his father’s regard but helplessly immobilised. If he were to struggle, he would drive himself mad against the unyielding thing that held him.
“Imagine yourself punished in this way, laid in your ada’s bed to wait the afternoon for him while he goes about his business,” Erestor said, his voice silky.
“I will be good!” Legolas pleaded. “Please, ada, I will be good!” The cold bar was very slow to warm, even with its length inside him-- it kept nudging at his prostate, and his cock was growing hard beneath his belly, uncomfortably restricted. He needed to roll to his side, but that would jolt the bar, hard, inside him. Legolas whimpered.
“Or,” continued Erestor, dropping low beside him, lowering his voice. “Imagine your ada held like this awaiting your mercy. Do you think he would beg for it?”
Those wicked words only made it worse, his arms and legs moving instinctively as he imagined his father, the proud King of this realm, held still and begging for relief. “He would,” Erestor said. “He has done so before, for me.”
Legolas heard the unspoken instruction, and responded to it as he must. “Please, Master,” he begged. “Please show mercy!” From the corner of his eye, he saw Erestor stand and move away, and he sobbed. “Please, Master!” he begged again.
“Ai, raun ernil, you are both beautiful! I could not choose between you. You match each other perfectly.” For a long moment there was silence in the chamber, apart from Legolas’s desperate moans and pleas. “Release him,” Erestor said with a sigh of enjoyment, and Thranduil did his bidding, freeing Legolas from the device gently and then holding him as he trembled.
His body was still cold, chilled by the steel rod that had been put inside him, and Legolas thought he might never be warm. “Please, ada, please, herdir. I am cold inside. Please warm me,” he moaned against Thranduil’s skin. “Drive the chill from me with your flesh!” He reached out, imploring, toward Erestor. “Have me, Masters?”
Thranduil uttered a low groan of need, and looked to Erestor for permission, his hands soothing Legolas, holding him close.
Erestor regarded them both, thoughtful. “He is still raw from our use. I will wait until he has recovered, but you may use him, if you so desire.”
Thranduil bit his lip and considered, nuzzling Legolas. “I will warm you with care, ion nín, since you beg so prettily.”
For a few moments, Legolas merely clung to his father as Erestor produced a thick fur rug from one of the chests and laid it out on the floor. It was soft and deep as he was encouraged to lie upon it, so luxurious compared to the cold stone, Legolas sighed and stretched out.
Almost immediately, he felt the warmth of his father’s body behind him. He had undone his clothes so Legolas could feel the heat of his skin, and it was so wonderful Legolas pressed back against him, wanting more, wanting Thranduil to assuage the cold the bar had left inside him like an ache.
He was lubricated and stretched enough, he knew, and so he only had to wait for his father to apply oil to himself before he felt the first heat of their joining. Legolas drew in a deep breath that was pain and relief mixed in equal measure. The cold of the bar had prevented him from remembering how sore he was, but now he knew.
Thranduil did not thrust after entering him, but wrapped him in the fur and held him there, filling his body, his breath warm on Legolas’s neck. “I am imagining having you,” he purred, his lips brushing Legolas’s ear. “Alone together in my bed, after you have waited the day for me, suffering the confinement of the bar.”
Legolas moaned, constricting around his father without willing it; Thranduil sighed in pleasure. Though his body quivered with restraint, he did not move, merely holding Legolas and whispering to him, painting a picture of their time together with words and warm brushes of his lips. Legolas’s own unwilling motions kept his ada hard inside him until he was warm again, warm and happy and loved, unable to keep the smile from his face, moving lazily despite the ache of his overtaxed flesh.
Erestor beheld them, attentive, his eyes pensive as he sat, drawing the length of a leather flogger through his hand, arranging the strips with his fingers.
“When I depart I will tell Galion to be silent and to leave the two of you to one another,” he said quietly. “There is no harm to be found in love such as this.” He rose. “Are you warmed, Thranduilion?”
With a deep sigh of contentment, Legolas looked to Erestor. “Yes, Master,” he said happily, as his father kissed the back of his neck. He considered the distance between them, and then dared to tease. “Are you warm enough?”
He opened his arms along with his words, and Erestor merely stared at him for a long moment. Then he laughed. “Very good!” he said. But he did not accept the invitation and instead stood up. “We should take a break, and when we return, Legolas, you will learn how to use all of these things on your father.”
“Yes, Master,” Legolas said, and then was startled, for his father had said the same thing at the same time. Erestor waited for them by the door. Gently, Thranduil moved away from Legolas and he quickly found his clothes, pulling them back on so they could leave together. He found himself gazing at his father, wondering what strange new things the afternoon would bring.
To be continued...
Author's Note: It's Pippychick here. There are still several chapters written that we have not yet posted. I will make updates until they are all used up because I love what we made together, and I think those chapters deserve to be put with the rest here.
Even if TAFKAB never returns, this story will be completed. It's much too important to me to remain unfinished, and really, there is so little left to go. Plus, we commissioned some wonderful artwork for this story from ElvesInMyHeart that deserves to be seen and enjoyed. That will appear soon, alongside the chapter that accompanies Legolas' fantasy of it.
But, those things aside, thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed this chapter!
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