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Prince in Training	By : Pippychick_TAFKAB Category: -Multi-Age > Slash - Male/Male Views: 24084 -:- Recommendations : 4 -:- Currently Reading : 2
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Chapter Four

When he awoke, it was dark. The candle had been extinguished and there was nothing to see, but his father rested beside him on the bed. Legolas reached out, pressing close to him, registering the warmth of his body with some relief.

“I did save you,” he said, almost to himself. The dark made him recall all of the terrible emotions he had felt when he had been sure they would perish together. His father’s arms closed around him, and it felt safe, but also newly exciting. Legolas sighed.

“Ada?” He said softly, wondering if Thranduil was awake, or if he clung to Legolas in his sleep.

Thranduil stirred against him. “Yes, ion.” His palm smoothed Legolas’s hair. “I’m here.” He slipped out of Legolas’s arms gently and rose, going to light one of the lamps. Low golden light filled the room, showing him still wearing his robes from the feasting, a little rumpled now, his silver hair mussed. His face looked careworn, preoccupied with grief and guilt, but he turned back to Legolas, resolute, and came to him, sitting again on the edge of the bed.

“Do you feel better now?” He stroked back a strand of Legolas’s hair. It was unlike him to make small talk, and Legolas could perceive his discomfort, his worry – his anguish. “Should I order food? Will you return to sleep? …Or perhaps you would rather leave.”

Legolas found he liked the light. When he had awoken in the darkness it had confused him a little, he knew. But that would soon pass. His father, though… Legolas looked away. He wanted nothing more than to stay here, but not like this, not when his father seemed so grieved.

Something else occurred to Legolas, and he could not help his own insecurity, for he had no previous experience. He had no clue to what was good or ill in matters such as sex and romantic love. He knew Thranduil felt guilty because they were father and son. But the devilish little voice in his head would not let him be.

“Why do you sit beside me, Ada? Why do you remained clothed? Did my body not please you before?” There. It was said, and Legolas squeezed his eyes closed momentarily, terribly humiliated and afraid, but he knew he could not rest again without knowing the answer. The way his father had been with him since made him insecure, and he could not help it.

Thranduil closed his eyes and ran his palm over his face, hiding his mouth as he stared into the shadows of the high ceiling. “My son,” his voice turned rough, thick with some emotion Legolas could not name. “How can you ask such, when I would throw away all reason, all sense, all custom and moral, to take you again? When I have done you such injury just to know the taste of you on my lips? When I would take what you offer and drag you with me into depravity and the condemnation of all?” He shook his head, fierce. “Can you not think of yourself, of how I damage you?”

He arose, pacing with violent energy. “Already I harm you more with every word I speak; I should cast you out from my bed now and return to what we were – or I should go far from here

and let you take up this rule, and accept the just consequences of my evil. But…” he stopped, choked, his hand clenching to a fist. “I have tried to warn you, to turn you away, to frighten you back into your place… And yet you do not go!”

Legolas got up from the bed and stood, walking to stand before Thranduil.

“I do not go,” he said quietly. “I said I would dare your touch, and I still would. I saved your life, and you gave it back to me when I was sure that we must die together. I am here. I share whatever condemnation is due us.”

He thought for a moment. “Can you show me how this would be if we were not father and son? Or would you try to frighten me then, too?”

For a moment, Thranduil did nothing, then he suddenly smiled. “I might. And you might tremble before my desire, just like you did back there in the dark. Is that what you want? Think carefully, ion nín.”

Legolas could not help but smile, still a little fragile, yet feeling his heart strengthen inside him. “As you have already seen, I do not frighten easily. Only at the thought that I might lose my ada, who is more dear to me than any other being in Arda.” He stepped forward. “And yet might be more dear to me still,” he said, low and husky. “If I tremble before your desire, it is from wanting, not from fear.”

Greatly daring, he set his fingertips upon the first fastening of Thranduil’s robe and flicked it open, meeting his father’s eyes. “If this be depravity, then it is not all your doing. For I have noticed your beauty, too, father. And like all your subjects, my king, I stand in humble wonder before it, and think I could not possibly hope to claim it for myself.” He let his fingertips brush the hollow of Thranduil’s throat, feeling his pulse pound swiftly there. “But you have let your secret slip, and I will show no mercy.”

Thranduil laughed darkly. “So you will show no mercy? Well, I suppose that is your prerogative, as the prince of this realm. But you are still innocent, Legolas. I shall make you beg for mine before this night is through!”

So saying, he undid the fastenings on his robe and threw it from his shoulders carelessly, moving forward at the same time so that Legolas had no option but to step back. Legolas felt a rush of excitement, his palms pressed flat against Thranduil’s chest.

“The door is locked, and you have tempted me beyond reason. I will have you again, and you will not scream or draw attention to your plight as I have you this time. Else I shall have to ensure you remain silent.” As he spoke, he continued to make Legolas back away, until Legolas felt the edge of the bed behind his calves.

Legolas gave answer by turning his head aside to bare the length of his throat, and stood his ground, breathing hard, awaiting his father’s desire. “If it is my silence you desire, you shall have it,” he vowed. “By whatever means must be.” He trembled with the desire to be had – to see his father claiming him, to see his face and know every shiver of desire in Thranduil’s look, every heated glance from his eyes.

He ran his fingers along his father’s chest, down along his belly to his navel, feeling the thunder of his heart, the tautness of his muscles, and the shallow dip of his navel. Thranduil drew a harsh, hissing breath, and caught his hand before it could reach his goal, then jerked Legolas against him and fastened his lips upon his willing throat.

Legolas leaned in close as Thranduil sucked at his neck, then nipped with his teeth. He tried to stay silent, keeping his lips tightly shut, but a kind of needful humming escaped him when his father pushed him onto the bed, crawling over him, never ceasing to torment him. His skin remembered the passion of earlier.

Thranduil appeared to notice too, breaking off to murmur against his neck. “I like you with my marks of desire all over you, but I must ask. Do you intend to keep up that humming noise?”

“No, Ada!” Legolas gasped, and then Thranduil bit him, and it was too late to stop the moan that forced its way out of his throat.

“I will have to keep you quiet,” Thranduil noted, some kind of smirk on his face as he pulled back that made Legolas worry a little. Would his father gag him?

Thranduil rose from him, withdrawing his touch, and Legolas very nearly whimpered again before he could stop himself, but his father did not reach for anything, or leave the bed – he merely lay back on his side, taking his member in his hand and stroking it lazily, drawing Legolas’s attention there.

“Let us see how much noise you can make with your mouth full,” he whispered, sultry and silken. “Serve me, ion. I greatly desire to see your lips around me.”

Of course he knew of it, but he had never done it, nor had it done to him. Legolas moved down the bed eagerly and he heard Thranduil laugh, but he did not care. Reverently, he reached out to take his father’s erection into his hand. It was not like handling his own, and he let his fingers traced the proud veins that stood up on the skin before kissing over that same path.

Then, he opened his mouth and stretched his lips around the head, feeling that his mouth had to open very wide. But then he found he wasn’t sure what to do next, and he would have backed away to ask if he hadn’t felt Thranduil’s hand on the back of his head, encouraging him to take more.

The hand was merciless, heavy on the back of his neck, not allowing him to retreat; Legolas sank down slowly, feeling his father stretch his jaw open wide. The silky skin of him was thin over the solid core, and Legolas feared to bite him, his tongue and teeth feeling large and clumsy.

“Tilt your head… like this,” Thranduil whispered, that hand manipulating him with relentless skill, and more of his father’s cock slid in, nudging at the back of his throat. He struggled slightly, but Thranduil did not relent, pressing until Legolas held all of him, feeling his heart race – he could not breathe around his father’s girth, mouth and throat filled. He could not even whimper.

“Stay still,” Thranduil whispered. “You are doing well.” Then he withdrew, a long sleek glide that let Legolas gasp for air, filling his lungs before his father thrust forward once more, pushing all the way in. “Do not move,” Thranduil caressed his jaw briefly, then knotted his hands to fists in Legolas’s hair, and his hips began to move in measured thrusts, fucking his mouth with slow, driving precision.

“Beautiful, ion nín… So very beautiful, so helpless,” Thranduil crooned, a gasp in his voice. “Shall I use you this way, fill your mouth with my seed?”

Legolas could not answer, though he wished to. He tried to speak, instinctively, and his throat tightened around his father’s cock.

“You are silent now. Shall I choose for you?” Thranduil asked wickedly, pulling back out slightly to allow Legolas to exchange one breath for another. But he moved back before Legolas could cough, smiling a little.

Sighing, Thranduil shook his head. “But then, I would be stopped from feeling the sweet clench of your body around me, squeezing and shaking.” At those words, Legolas wished to moan, and again his throat fluttered.

Thranduil sighed, luxuriant. “Perhaps I will delay and see what you can take,” he purred, and speeded his thrusts, his hands hard on Legolas’s head, refusing to let him move.

Legolas struggled to keep his mouth stretched open wide, half-choking, saliva escaping from the corner of his mouth. His throat spasmed, making Thranduil purr and quicken his strokes again, until Legolas’s head was swimming, and his hands fluttered desperately against his father’s thighs.

“Very good, ion nín,” Thranduil sighed, pulling back to let him gasp for breath – still careful not to close his teeth on the velvet-sheathed hardness that invaded him. “A little more now, meleth. Your mouth is very sweet.”

Thranduil thrust back in shallowly, and the pressure against the back of his throat was much less this time, letting him appreciate the taste and weight of the cock between his lips. He moved his tongue, tentative, trying to give his father pleasure. “Very good indeed,” Thranduil gasped, then pulled away, leaving him mewling with loss.

Legolas put a hand to his own throat wonderingly, swallowing as Thranduil turned away and began searching in a drawer by the bed.

“Ada,” he said, and his voice sounded all wrong, low and gravelly. His throat felt a little sore too. But now Thranduil was back, and he pulled Legolas up into a sitting position, some bits of cloth held in his hands.

“Open your mouth,” Thranduil instructed, and Legolas did so, obediently, giving a muffled sound of surprise when his father filled his mouth with material, then bound some kind of sash around his head. “There. Now you will be quiet, ion nín, while I show you what I expect you to learn.”

His father bodily manipulated him so that he was laid on his back on the bed, then slid down his body, thumbs pressing at the juncture of his thighs so that he opened his legs wide. Thranduil seemed to know exactly how to touch to get any reaction he wanted, and Legolas would have thought on that, but then he felt his father’s lips around his own erection, and all further thought fled from him.

This was a master at work, Legolas knew – taking him in effortlessly and letting him slide smoothly until his full length was lodged in his ada’s throat. Thranduil swallowed, milking his shaft with consummate skill, then withdrew, lashing his tongue skillfully around the head, teasing all the spots where Legolas was most sensitive.

“Do not come until I say you may,” Thranduil pulled off long enough to warn, then pressed a kiss to the tip and slid down again, sucking so hard Legolas cried out and struggled against the gag, bliss surging through him, such pleasure as he had never dreamed.

These were all the things he was supposed to know to do, but Legolas could barely begin the count of the techniques that Thranduil was showing to him. Sucking, yes, and some kind of teasing, rubbing and massaging with the tongue. But there was also so much more.

It continued, and Legolas knew he was going to disobey his father’s instruction – he just could not help it. Behind the gag he was making regular muffled noises. His hands, which had been resting uselessly on his father’s head, grabbed his hair to make him stop, to warn him. Yet instead of Thranduil stopping, he merely took Legolas’s wrists and pressed them to the bed, allowing him to continue just the way he liked.

Legolas felt his hips lifting up from the bed again and again, matching the rhythm of his father as he… what was the word? Was there one? Legolas did not know, but it felt like he was being taken. He was helpless, the pleasure seemed beyond anything he’d experienced before. He felt himself coming to a resolution, and there was no way to warn his father.

Thranduil ignored his throttled shrieks, working him with expert precision; there was no way Thranduil could not know, and yet he continued. Legolas could not sink his nails in his flesh to distract himself, could not even bite his own tongue; he could only arch and buck and try not, try not – his body seizing, struggling – failing; pleasure exploding through him and surging out of him as he spent in glorious, shameful bliss.

Thranduil drew back at last, letting Legolas fill his mouth, his hands releasing Legolas to stroke along his flanks as he swallowed, purring. He milked Legolas’s shaft as he spasmed in aftermath, licking once along the tip, rough-tongued, making Legolas shudder… then gave him a truly wicked smirk, licking his lips, capturing a stray droplet of pearl.

“Oh, ion nín.” Thranduil gave a low, satisfied rumble in his chest, like nothing more than a savage hunting cat surveying the helpless mouse it had entrapped. “That was very, very naughty of you, my son. I think I shall have to discipline you for this wilful disobedience.”

Instantly the warm, lazy feeling of pleasure that still lined his veins was mixed with terrible dismay, and he made nonsensical noises behind the gag. Thranduil only smirked as he looked down on him.

“Do you wish to say something? Apologise, perhaps?” Thranduil sighed and let his weight down, holding Legolas in his arms for a moment. “Of course, there is always the chance you wish to beg for my mercy. I suppose, after all, I should not be ignorant of that, even if it will not stop me.”

His skin was hot against Legolas’s own, and his mind would not stop reminding him how it had been in the cave, in the dark, his father on top of him. He blinked over and over until Thranduil laughed and loosened the gag, pulling the length of material from between his lips.

“Mercy,” Legolas whispered, and watched his father’s eyes darken, and knew it somehow for the only weapon he had: his beauty, his innocence. “Mercy,” he said again, lifting his chin, letting his lashes sink half-shut. “I beg you, have mercy upon me, father!” He lifted his body, arching. “Mercy!” He turned his face aside, letting his shame speak in the angle of his jaw, the vulnerability of his throat, then turned his face up again, catching his father’s gaze with his own.

“Mercy,” he breathed, meaning ‘fuck me,’ and lifted his head, lips open, as if to kiss.

“You are begging for it, ion nín,” Thranduil purred dangerously. “Be sure, for I will not listen to a later refusal. You will not tease me here at the beginning of things,” he said, echoing almost the same sentiment as in the cave. Legolas shook his head.

“That is not fair, Ada,” he replied rebelliously, as Thranduil fished a bottle of oil out of the drawer. “When may I tease you, then?”

“Never!” Thranduil replied with a victorious laugh, opening the oil to coat his fingers. Legolas obligingly spread his thighs, but was still not prepared for the feel of the penetration. Again, it seemed too much, and he almost protested. But at one look from Thranduil, he bit his lip, knowing that he would be gagged again.

“Of course, I may tease you whenever I wish,” Thranduil noted, and Legolas knew by the way his fingers moved that he intended to make Legolas take the gag again.

Thranduil found the spot that felt best and centered his caresses there – two fingers circled and pressed on just that spot, relentless, until Legolas began to squirm frantically, biting his lips, urgently struggling not to make a sound, but already aware he was failing: tiny whimpers escaped the pit of his throat, growing more and more frantic. His body was sluggish, trying and failing to respond by drawing erect, but he had spent too recently, so all he could do was struggle – until he became aware that Thranduil had gone still, and was watching him fuck himself on those fingers, all but shrieking through closed lips.

“Ada, please,” he moaned. “Pl–” but Thranduil only laughed and pulled out his fingers, forcing the rags into Legolas’s mouth once more and holding them there with the heel of his hand as he thrust his cock deep inside.

Legolas was glad of the gag then, because the cry he gave when he felt his father inside him again might well have brought servants running. Though he was spent, the sensation was similar to the caverns, and yet this time Legolas had the advantage of watching his father as they fucked.

Remembering what had happened before, Legolas raised his knees of his own volition, feeling his father get deeper still. Thranduil was sharp eyed, exquisite in his beauty, his hair following his back and forth movements in more gentle waves around his face. Strands of it drifted over Legolas's chest and shoulders, tickling him there.

His body was moving in tandem with his father’s, raising up to meet his thrusts, submissive to his will. Legolas watched all that he could, but then his eyes closed for a second or two. The oil was different to the salve, more slippery, and it seemed to make the penetration easier. The sensation was amazing. Legolas moaned helplessly behind the makeshift gag.

“You are a vision,” Thranduil gasped between clenched teeth, his eyes blazing. “Your eyes… I can see your soul through them, every thought, every sensation…” He closed his own eyes for several hard thrusts, dragging air into his lungs, then opened them again.

“Have you thought of me?” His voice grew dark and sinful, and he held Legolas’s gaze with his own. “Have you touched yourself and thought of me? I see you have. What have you wished? I will give you all you dared dream and more.” He shifted, driving deeper. “I will know every inch of you; I will make you tell me your dreams. And I will give them to you – and tell you my own, and give them to you as well, my son. Which of them will be the sweeter, do you think?”

Legolas could not speak, but he was sure his eyes spoke for him, and his body. Every word his father spoke made his body tighten in arousal, and he moaned although he was spent. Just the thought of having this time after time, feeling the pleasure Thranduil was introducing him to bit by bit. Legolas knew there was more, so much more, and his father would show it all to him. It made his heart expand in happiness.

His father was close, Legolas could feel it. His thrusts became less regular, and he felt harder, bigger, so absolute inside him. Then, suddenly, Thranduil stilled, then back and in again, holding it. Legolas could feel the warmth of his father’s release, and he made a noise behind Thranduil’s hand. His face was still beautiful even now, smoothed of any lines, eyes closed, lips slightly parted. Legolas shivered at the sight before him, drinking it in, wanting to keep it in his mind forever.

At last it was over, and Thranduil pulled out of him, at last moved his hand and freed Legolas from the material in his mouth. Legolas moved his jaw and would have spoken but then his father kissed him, dominating even in this until Legolas was making breathless little noises of lust.

“Ion nín, my beautiful son…” Thranduil kissed him deeply. “The things I will do with you, to you…” He moved away, surveying Legolas lying collapsed upon the bed. “Beautiful, debauched, my come in you… surely I dream.” He ran his hands up Legolas’s thighs, feeling him. “I like you like this, slick and fucked open, wet with oil and my seed.” His eyes burned even now that he was sated, hot and wild.

“I think I will find reason to keep you from the patrols until I have my fill of you,” Thranduil whispered, biting sharp kisses against his skin. “And I shall fuck you morning, noon, and night until you forget what it was ever like not to have my cock buried in you, until you cannot sleep for wanting it, until you learn to suck me so beautifully even I cannot keep from spending on your tongue…!” He stopped, swallowing hard. “Ah, my ion, did you ever guess the monster in me, the one that looked on you with such lust?” He laid his hand tenderly on Legolas’s cheek.

“Ai, Ada,” Legolas responded, finally able to speak, finding himself longing for the images his father conjured up with his words. “Will you keep me tied to your bed then, ready for your use?” He did not know where those words came from, some sinful desirous part of him that had been awoken over the last day or so. He did not regret them. He reached out for his father, pulled him close, for no other reason than he wanted Thranduil to lie next to him, their skin touching, their hearts in agreement.

It felt nice to be surrounded by his father’s embrace and they were silent for a while, as sweat dried on their bodies, so warm and close.

“Do not speak so of a monster in you,” Legolas said at last, soberly. “If it is in you, it is surely in me too, because I want you. Let us be truthful about how we came to be here. We were both afraid we faced our end. What is done, cannot be undone, and we cannot close the door we opened.” He raised himself a little. “What of my dreams, the ones you saw in my eyes? I assure you they are real, and I have had them long. Since I intruded once and saw you with your lover… I often imagined myself in his place, bent over your writing table with my breeches around my ankles and ink-stain fingerprints all over my skin….” Legolas swallowed hard. “While I moaned for you, ‘my king… my king…’ and you took your pleasure of my body, rutting in me until I wept.”

Legolas ran his palm covetously over his father’s chest. “Do you call yourself a monster when often I dreamed of hiding my face in a mask at the midsummer festival and offering myself unknown, or hiding in your bed with lanterns out when you expected another and stealing what I could of you, then creeping away in the gray light of dawn and taking my secret with me to keep!” He stared his father straight in the eye, very grave.

“We are in this together, Ada, and I am willing.” He felt his heart soften. “And I will keep your secret always. This is ours to have; for your protection, I will never confess it to another.”

After his long speech, Thranduil regarded him thoughtfully, caressing his face with one hand and laying innocent kisses over his face. His forehead, his eyelids, his cheeks. “You are wiser than your years, ion nín, but these are heavy things, and we are both tired. Let us sleep.” He pulled Legolas close, his arms like a prison, allowing no escape.

“In the morning, I will want you again before you sneak away from here. If you will dream, then dream on that,” he finished wickedly.

“Yes, Ada,” Legolas said, snuggling close, certain he would dream of it. Perhaps he would never dream of anything else. At last, he had what he had wanted since the moment when they first heard their rescuers. He was safe, loved, wanted, and above all satisfied. Legolas drifted into reverie listening to Thranduil’s slow, steady heartbeat, and his relaxed deep breathing.

To be continued...

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Prince in Training