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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 Five

Legolas awoke to his father’s cock sliding smoothly into his body, and gave a loud, quavering moan, half-torn between sleeping and waking. He was sore enough that it hurt – but the hand on his hard cock transmuted the pain into a strange sort of pleasure, the two sensations feeding off one another, intensifying into a delirious overwhelm of feeling. Thranduil bit the lobe of his ear, intensifying the sensations again, and Legolas began to squirm, clenching and whimpering.

“That’s it, very good, yes…” Thranduil’s voice was throaty with sleep and pleasure. “Enjoy this while you may, my son; tonight your lessons will begin in earnest, should you choose to come and claim them.”

They were laid side by side, his father behind him, naked skin warm against his back. It felt so good. The thought that Thranduil had prepared his body for this while he was sleeping made him want to moan.

“I will, Ada, I promise,” Legolas managed, though he was trapped between his father’s hand and his cock, so that whichever way he moved, there was pleasure, and it made his thoughts difficult, as if he could not put one thought in front of the other. “Will you take me like this again?”

Thranduil chuckled in his ear. “Why do you ask? Do you not like it?” He asked, and angled his next thrust so that Legolas cried out. His breath was difficult to catch, but he tried to answer.

“My body feels sore and used,” he admitted, but that just seemed to amuse Thranduil even more. “Do not laugh,” he pleaded, helpless. “I tell the truth!”

“I am sure you do.” Thranduil rolled Legolas’s nipple between his fingers. “I will keep you like this. I like knowing you will feel me each time you sit. I like the way you moan when I push inside. I will tend you well, so you are not harmed, but I will use you often and hard, sometimes many times a day. And I will use your mouth, as well, and make dark bruises upon your perfect body with my lips and teeth, so you will never look upon yourself without knowing you are mine.”

His fingers tightened, nails digging into Legolas’s nipple, and Legolas wailed, his cock jerking against his belly, leaving a stripe of wetness that swiftly cooled.

“When I wake you like this in the morning, with your first words you will plead for more or beg for release.” Legolas moaned again at that, and Thranduil pushed his upper body forward so he was bent in the middle, then curled hands around his pelvis and fucked him hard, with abandon, the heavy thudding slap of their bodies when they met at the end of each movement caused pleasurable jolts inside him.

Sore he may be, but Legolas began to realise he liked to be fucked hard like this. It made his body open up somehow, and the oil, he realised he preferred that to the salve of before, the slippery sensation of his ada's cock inside him was perfect. He could feel each coil of his own internal muscle as Thranduil moved in and out, his father's deep sliding cock almost seemed like a caress. Every now and again – by design or accident, Legolas could not tell – Thranduil hit against something inside him that made his eyes roll back in his head, and he heard himself beg for more, just as his father had told him he would.

Thranduil pulled him up onto his knees and fucked him smoothly, long and hard – but never quite giving him enough, only striking that perfect spot at irregular intervals. Legolas’s cock ached, so hard he hurt, his legs shaking, his hair wet with sweat. He could not imagine how his ada could last so impossibly long…! But he did, making occasional low moans in his throat, dragging Legolas onto his cock over and over. Sweat soaked Legolas’s hair, dripping off his body, stinging in his eyes. He pushed up onto his wrists, trying to drive himself onto his father’s cock at a better angle, but Thranduil smacked his buttocks sharply and pushed him back down, then slapped his hand away when he reached for his cock.

“As I will,” Thranduil hissed to correct him, speeding the pace, and now he did not touch that place at all, and Legolas could have wept for need, his neglected cock dripping pre-come onto the coverlet. It felt so good, annihilating reason – yet it was not enough, not quite enough to make him come. Wild cries and pleas tumbled from his lips, imploring his father with every promise he could think of. But Thranduil was merciless, and when his hips finally hitched forward and he spent, spilling into Legolas with a low purring cry, Legolas was still unsatisfied, hard and hurting, tears of desperate need on his cheeks.

Legolas collapsed onto the bed as his father pulled out of him, his hands reaching down automatically to relieve the desperate ache in him, but his father’s hands were there first, fingers curled around his wrist, dragging his hands away.

“You will not touch,” Thranduil told him, tucking in behind him once more and placing tickling kisses to the back of his neck, to his ears and shoulders as Legolas shivered in need, sweat gleaming on his skin like anointing oil.

It was impossible! He tried to turn around in Thranduil’s grip, but found he could not, forced to lie still, aching desperately until the need in him subsided somewhat, and his father chuckled into his ear. “You must get dressed and leave soon,” he confided wickedly, making Legolas groan in frustrated dismay. “Tonight, if you remain so desperate, I will ease you.”

“Ada…!” Legolas moaned, but his father only kissed his ear, caressing his chest with great tenderness.

“Tonight,” he promised softly, and kissed him again. “Now go, before anyone arises to see you leave.”

In short order, Legolas found himself wiped off and dressed and standing outside his father’s door on trembling legs, barely able to walk thanks to the stiff, angry cock he had forced into his breeches. At least the formal robe covered the bulge in his clothing, though anyone who saw him staggering off toward his own rooms would believe he was near blind drunk.

Of course, the first thing Legolas did once he was safely behind his own door was unlace his breeches and take himself in hand, pumping steadily while remembering how deeply Thranduil had owned him just mere minutes ago. He came quickly, then slid down the door to rest sat against it, breathless, legs stretched out crazily. Is this what life would be like with Thranduil as his lover? His mind was still clouded with lust!

Legolas eventually shook himself and bathed, choosing his clothes for the day as if walking in a dream. When he appeared for breakfast his father only acknowledged his presence with a curt nod. Legolas ate what was put in front of him, though he tasted little, and he fled from the table early to his room, to touch himself again.

The day seemed to calm after that, and Legolas wandered through the day thinking only of the evening, and the night. It was all he could think about. It was all he wanted to think about. His mouth seemed constantly dry, and he drank, but the cool clear water did not seem to slake his thirst.

At last, the appointed hour arrived. He had seen his father throughout the day, but there had been no words between them. Words were the last thing Legolas wanted anyway. He stood before the door. Should he knock? He should do something, before he was seen.

He should behave normally. Drawing himself upright, he tapped at the door, keeping his bearing straight and formal. His father opened the door, expression very austere, revealing nothing.

“My king,” Legolas bowed, stiff and correct. “Progress has begun on sealing off the unsafe caverns. I have brought reports on the plans.”

“Enter.” Thranduil might have yawned, his voice was so dismissive.

Legolas obeyed, and the door clicked shut behind him – and he was flung against it, the parchments from his hands fluttering everywhere as he dropped them in his shock.

Immediately his father’s hands were on his face, angling him to receive a devastating kiss, his lips crushed and mouth opened, his father’s tongue delving inside to taste him. Legolas slipped his hands down to Thranduil’s waist to pull him closer, even if it were not possible, being as his father already pinned him to the door.

When those possessive lips retreated to trail a line of hungry kisses over his jaw and throat, Legolas could not keep it in: he laughed in delighted pleasure, the tension of the day fleeing away from him, leaving him full of anticipation of the night to come.

“Ada,” he began, but did not get far before Thranduil silenced him again, this time leaving him addled and lustful. He could feel his father’s desire for him, pressing against his hip, hot even through their layers of clothing.

Thranduil pulled at his clothes in a demanding fashion, breaking the kiss at last. “These, you will leave at the door. Then you will arrange yourself on the bed for my use.” Legolas nodded, swallowing, wide-eyed at the instruction, already undoing the buttons of his tunic. “Did you touch yourself today, ion nín?” he demanded to know. “How often? When? What did you do? Did you allow another to touch you? Did you tempt them with your body, then withhold your favour? I would know all.”

Legolas hardly knew where to begin answering the torrent of questions.

“I did touch myself, Ada,” he confessed – and felt strangely as if he had failed his father, as if it were a transgression. “After I left you, in my room. I reached inside my clothing and gave myself release – thinking of you, craving you! I touched no other and let none touch me; there are none I would tempt, save you.” He let his tunic fall, aware of his father’s eyes hot upon his skin, turning away, and put his fingers inside his breeches, looking over his shoulder to see how he had affected Thranduil. “But only once… though I often wished to, throughout the day, when I looked on you,” his voice fell to a whisper, uncertain.

Thranduil said nothing, only leaned against his dressing table, arms folded, waiting, watching. With haste Legolas finished removing his clothing, kicking off his slippers to the side of the door, and then hurriedly went to lie face down on the bed.

“Once,” Thranduil said at last, again waiting, sounding dangerously calm. Legolas thought for a moment.

“I mean, not once,” he babbled, his words coming out all wrong. “After breakfast when I saw you I had to go back to my room.” He knew Thranduil was walking over to the bed, could hear his footsteps on the stone floor, but he did not dare turn his head to look. His ada was fully dressed; he even had on those boots he seemed to love. “I could not help it, Ada,” he said. “I wanted you so much!”

“And when you left here this morning,” Thranduil drawled, his voice too sweet. “Did I tell you to take pleasure into your own hands, or did I not say I would ease your desperation tonight?”

“But Ada…!” Legolas began, turning over, then seeing the note of menace in Thranduil’s eyes, he stopped his protests and began to plead. “I am sorry, I did not know, I did not mean to disappoint you, father, I will not again, please, let me show you, give me a chance!” He lifted his hands to his father, trying to use his beauty to move him to mercy. “I wanted you so much, craved you… each time I dreamed you were inside me. I looked at no one else!”

“Must I gag you again, ion nín?” Thranduil purred. “Be silent now – another command you have yet failed to obey, and I will have that from you, too, before we have finished. You may rest assured of it.” He glided near to Legolas, looking down at him, eyes glittering with almost unholy delight. “Look at you. Hard already, yet I have not commanded you to ready yourself for me. You are flushed; you gleam with sweat. You think you are desperate now, but you have no notion what awaits you. For your punishment, my beautiful child, perhaps I should withhold your climax for many hours – did you think of that? Though I might show you pleasures that you have not yet dreamed.”

“Please, don’t, Ada,” Legolas said immediately, feeling put upon and petulant, but he could not help it! “Something else,” he begged.

“We will not begin until you have calmed yourself.” He smirked and waited, folding his legs with every evidence of boredom.

Long moments passed, and Legolas’s desire did not lessen. Just being close to his father had an effect on his body that he could not possibly be expected to control, but he managed to check his begging, becoming quiet. And then, at last, his father appeared to show mercy.

“Very well, Legolas,” he said with a sigh. “Come here, over my lap.” He patted his knees, and Legolas obeyed instantly, draping his long legs over Thranduil’s own where he was sat on the side of the bed, facing him, daring to look up into his eyes, which softened suddenly in amusement.

“Not that way,” he said, smirking, and leaned down slightly. “Turn over.”

It felt as though the bottom had fallen out of his heart, for Legolas knew then what his father intended to do to him, and he gulped. But he obeyed, hardly able to believe he was doing it. Never had Thranduil punished him this way, even when he had been very naughty as a mere child.

Slowly, his whole body tingling with shame and dread – and a dark, electric excitement – Legolas turned himself over and lay across his father’s lap with his bottom exposed. His cock lay across one of Thranduil’s thighs, the tip angled down into the space between them. He felt horribly exposed, trying to carry some of his weight on his knees, but the satiny fabric of the sheets kept making him slip.

Thranduil’s hand came up, caressing between his thighs, over his bottom, along the cleft – everywhere, making him whimper. “Tomorrow I have an audience with an embassy from Gondor,” he whispered. “You will attend me and sit at my right hand side. I will have a hard chair ready for you, and I will watch to see if you squirm.” The hand withdrew, then returned – a soft caress, where Legolas had expected a stinging slap. He bent forward toward Legolas’s ear. “And you will squirm.” He drew back his hand, letting it hang heavy in the air for a long moment, until Legolas was all but ready to shriek, to plead for him to end the waiting.

When the hand finally fell, the crack resounded in the chamber, breaking the expectant silence. Legolas gasped, though it was not truly painful, delivered heavy to the lower curve of his bottom. Then it fell again, and again, beginning to sting. Legolas bit his lip, determined that he would not need to be gagged for this. For pleasure, maybe. He could handle pain. Was he not a fighter in his father’s patrols?

Again and again his father’s hand fell, always in the same exact spot, until Legolas began to squirm already, before tomorrow had even arrived. His skin felt unbearably hot between the harsh slaps, and every time they hit, his buttocks just there were beginning to signal a deeper hurt, as if he was becoming bruised. At the next, Legolas let go of a low, pained grunt.

“You are undisciplined, ion nín,” Thranduil said, his voice soft where his hand was not. Legolas drew in a breath to answer, and the hand fell again, making the words he had planned flee as he whimpered helplessly. The heat gathering in his buttocks was also beginning to fog his brain; he could feel each slap in his balls and the shaft of his cock where they lay over his father’s thigh and hung down. Each stroke rocked him forward, but there was nothing for his cock to rock against.

Legolas shifted, struggling to find something to thrust again; his father paused to watch him, running hot fingers over the crack of his arse, caressing the entrance to his body. Legolas whimpered and writhed, wanting them inside him, but Thranduil withdrew with a dark, exultant laugh.

“You are well-warmed. Now the spanking can truly begin,” Thranduil purred. “I give you permission to weep and cry. Thank me, my son.”

Legolas closed his eyes, mortified, yet he spoke: “Thank you, Ada,” and his words made Thranduil begin again. At least his hand adjusted his aim, striking the top of his buttocks this time, though each slap seemed to send a vibration through the lower half of his body that he felt in his cock. It made him writhe and move about on his father’s knee, wanting friction.

When the skin there became sore, Legolas felt tears on his cheeks, and though he had remained silent, he dared to plead between strokes. “Ada!” Thranduil paused, hand held high.

“What do you say?” he asked darkly. Legolas slumped in defeat and resignation, beginning at last to understand the rules of this game.

“Thank you,” he replied, and the hand fell, making him hiss and his hands squeezed Thranduil’s thigh tightly.

“Very good,” Thranduil said softly, and reached beneath to lay his burning palm over Legolas’s cock for a long moment. Legolas jerked with surprise, thrusting against it, and keened to feel that heated skin against him.

Then Thranduil withdrew and began again, striking the centre of his buttocks; he would be red and bruised over his whole bottom when this was done. Legolas bit his lip and struggled, helpless not to – it was just painful enough to make his eyes leak, but aside from the occasional grunt when Thranduil struck the edges of the previous zones, he thought he was doing quite well.

Thranduil paused, surveying him, having finished laying a map of red marks all over his bottom. “Clasp the bedstead,” he commanded softly.

“Ada?”

“Now.” Thranduil watched as he did so, linking his fingers loosely around a carved branch. “Tighter. Hold fast,” he advised, and Legolas could hear something breathlessly dark in his voice, a hot anticipation.

When the next stroke fell Legolas was startled into a yelping wail; it was hard and fierce and felt like fire searing across his arse, and he jerked so hard he nearly fell from Thranduil’s lap. Thranduil hauled him back, his breath harsh in his chest.

“Say it,” Thranduil hissed between his teeth.

“Th-thank you,” Legolas half gasped, half moaned, and then winced when Thranduil hit him again. The pain soon followed, and though Legolas remained quiet, giving no more than a hiss, his shoulders shook in a sob.

Thranduil reached beneath him and curled fingers around his erection, pulling on him once, then twice before removing his hand. He waited, poised.

“Thank –” The next strike landed before he could finish, and Legolas yelped again.

Thranduil put his hands under Legolas, shifting him, letting his cock lie over his thigh. “Almost finished, ion,” he said softly. “You weep very beautifully, and your cries are sweetest music.” He stroked his hand over Legolas’s bottom, squeezing and kneading; Legolas bit his lip, stifling a moan. “Such beauty, a white rose kissed with crimson, shining with dew,” Thranduil whispered, reverent, and withdrew his hand once more.

This time when his hand fell, licking like flame, it thrust Legolas hard against his thigh; Legolas screamed through clenched teeth, alight with fiery pain and sweet pleasure, unable to tell one from the other. He shook, his knuckles white as he clenched them about the bedpost. Thranduil continued, white-hot blows falling hard and fast until Legolas could not control his cries, begging and pleading, half-screaming. “Ada, Ada, thank you, Ada, please, Ada!” When they stopped, he continued jerking, thrusting helplessly in a delirium of need, but Thranduil lifted him and laid him across the bed, then pulled him to his knees again so he could not thrust against the coverlet. Legolas could not seem to stop moaning, whimpered syllables of thanks and entreaty still falling from his lips, his whole body quivering with the sensitive heat centered at the core of him, stinging and flaming, feeling every slight brush of the air or cloth both in back and in front.

“Beautiful,” Thranduil whispered, his voice husky and hoarse, and he bent to kiss and lick the abused flesh, tender and worshipful. “Oh, my son, such a gift you give to me!” He nipped his way along the crease, making Legolas whimper and moan. His thumbs sank and he opened Legolas, surveying him for a moment, then bent forward and pressed a lingering kiss there, his tongue darting out to tease and stroke.

Legolas gave a silent cry, just a whisper of breath escaping his lips as his father kissed him, licked him – there – and it felt so good Legolas blinked as fresh tears sprang to his eyes. Thranduil’s tongue resolved itself into a stiff point and licked up, catching on the tight pucker of skin that surrounded his entrance, dipping back to delve inside him briefly. Then it withdrew, but Thranduil did not move away.

“You bathed before you came here,” Thranduil said, his voice deep, every vibration of it hitting him right there in a way that made his hands fist in the bed sheets. “And you had a finger inside yourself,” his father noted. Legolas’s face was burning so fiercely now, it felt as hot as the abused skin of his bottom. He had done that very thing, cleaning himself inside as well as out, knowing his father would touch him there, but somehow it was so humiliating to be found out he whimpered.

“Yes, Ada,” he said in a shamed whisper, wondering what the punishment would be for touching himself in such a way.

“Such behaviour deserves a reward,” Thranduil murmured, his lips moving where Legolas could feel them, making him mewl quietly. “Something just like this.”

The tongue again, this time moving in a slow, lingering circle around him, wet and warm and so welcome. Legolas was so hard he was sure his cock was leaking onto the bed below him. Then the tongue entered him again, this time deeper, so malleable it didn’t feel like penetration, didn’t even feel like pressure. Legolas moaned, this time loudly, as the tongue in him spiralled, going deep, caressing his inner walls along its length. Then it slowly pulled back, leaving him only far enough to flicker beautifully around the ring of skin.

His father’s tongue dipped back inside him, and this time Thranduil laughed, open mouthed, as Legolas felt his body constrict in a fast series of tiny spasms: an unconscious plea for more. The warm puff of his father’s breath was an additional sensation that made Legolas forget all the pain, all the shame, and right there he resolved to repeat his new bathing ritual every morning and night if it pleased Thranduil enough to show him this.

“I am almost forgetting,” Thranduil gave him a last soft kiss and drew away, making him moan with disappointment – but then he returned with a pot of salve that smelled of clean herbs, and began to smooth it over Legolas’s reddened skin. “You are so perfect, I could lose myself in you,” he whispered, and every pass of his hands eased the stinging. “I will teach you to cleanse yourself and prepare your body for me, so you may do it properly before you come to my rooms.

“But you must know, your pleasure is mine to give. Your orgasms are mine to grant or to withhold. Should you choose to indulge yourself in secret, I will know, and the punishment I have just given will be repeated far more harshly. I will not break your skin, I will not mar your perfection,” Thranduil rubbed the soothing gel into Legolas’s skin to ease the threat of his words. “But I can make you hurt very much indeed without damaging you. You are here because you have chosen to submit yourself to me. I think you will not force me to such a thing again.” Legolas could hear his smile. “Until you begin to crave your punishments, of course.”

Legolas drew a sharp breath, shaking his head, but Thranduil only chuckled. “Not tonight, ion nín. Another time.” He brought his slick hand around and closed it around his cock. “Let me show you how sweet it can be to await your pleasure.”

Thranduil gave Legolas a few sensational squeezes and pulls that made him thrust into the grip of his father’s hand, then withdrew his touch, leaving Legolas longing for more.

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Prince in Training