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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.

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Chapter Six

“Let us get comfortable for this lesson,” Thranduil announced, though Legolas rather suspected he meant he would get comfortable. But Legolas allowed himself to be dragged onto the bed properly to rest on his side, while Thranduil lay beside him, looking into his eyes. Now he must begin again! Legolas managed to resist the temptation to make his father touch him, though it was difficult.

“Wait,” said his father, as if he knew of Legolas’s struggle, and he could not help sighing.

“But I have waited,” he protested. “All day! And you said you would touch me and ease me.”

“You did not wait, ion nín,” Thranduil replied, amused, though he let a fingertip travel the length of Legolas’s cock so that he shivered... “As soon as you were out of my sight, you were taking your pleasure for yourself. Can you deny it?”

“I did not deny it,” Legolas answered, trying to contain his irritation, unsure how it would be greeted. “I am no liar, father! I would not lie to avoid the consequences of what I have done, even if I was not given rule or fair warning beforehand.”

It was all he dared, but Thranduil did not seem angry, smiling on him with true amusement in his eyes. “No, it was not fair, ion nín. I have given no promise to be fair. But I will not alter a rule once I have set it. Not without warning.” He lifted his chin to kiss Legolas, and Legolas nearly balked, remembering where those lips and tongue had been… but then he succumbed to the kiss, for he suspected his father might well take it in mind to teach him a lesson in accepting what he was given, and he could think of other things Thranduil could easily arrange that he might be even less pleased to take inside his mouth.

Yet. A dark flicker thrilled through his belly. In the end, would he refuse anything his ada asked? He thought he would not, not even the darkest of his imaginings. He moaned softly around Thranduil’s tongue, melting for him, a shiver coursing through his body.

“You begin to understand,” Thranduil whispered, exultant. “I can see it in you, ion nín. I will not ask more than you can bear – but you will learn that you can bear very much indeed.”

Such as a lengthy wait before he could come? Of a sudden even that seemed an unreasonable demand. Why should they not enjoy one another at once?

Again, those elegant fingers curled around him, moving too slowly for Legolas’s liking. He sighed in frustration, moving into that grip, trying to make his father touch him properly, but it was not forthcoming. After a few moments, Legolas reached between them to grip his father’s wrist, maybe to force him into it. All that gained him was the loss of the touch, and Legolas swore while Thranduil smiled in languid amusement.

Suddenly he was not satisfied to wait for his father to grant him this, or that, and to beg for every single thing. Legolas huffed and took himself in hand, only to have his hand knocked away before he could begin. That was enough! Thranduil may be slightly taller, but he, Legolas, was young and athletic. He had the strength of an archer in his shoulders. Without thinking too clearly, only desperate for resolution, he rolled over to trap his father beneath him, hands on either side of Thranduil’s face, holding his head down to the bed.

“Give me what I want!” He demanded, and Thranduil stared up at him for a long moment, silent, but then burst into gales of laughter that didn’t lighten Legolas’ mood in the slightest.

“Every word you speak hardens my resolve, pretty one. And your own, I am sure,” he laughed. “But your strength is not enough.” He moved, striking with the speed of a snake, turning Legolas underneath him. “Do you wish to be bound? It seems you do. Obey me, or I will bind you and tease you until the dawn comes before deciding whether to give you ease or leave you waiting once more. Either would be my supreme pleasure. I can use you as much as I will without allowing your climax.” He stroked Legolas’s lip. “You will not come if I fuck your mouth, ion nín.” He laughed softly. “Or perhaps I should turn you to your belly and fuck you slowly and softly until you are out of your mind with need, then come inside you and give you my cock to clean with your tongue in exchange for your pleasure – just as you feared I might when you blushed at me so prettily before and let me kiss you.”

Legolas flushed with a combination of rage and humiliation, twisting his wrists in his father’s hands.

He thought back to the previous night he had spent here, when he’d convinced his father to take him again, accepting responsibility along with him for whatever consequences might come of their joining together. That coupling had been much like their first, and it had made him so happy to think of coming here each night, to give and receive pleasure in Thranduil’s arms.

“Why do you do this?” he demanded, sullen, ignoring the threats Thranduil layered upon him like bindings for his mind, the same way he threatened to bind him physically. “Why do you refuse me pleasure that I give to you? I do not understand it!”

Legolas sighed as his body shook terribly with need, his blood burning in his veins, concentrated on one thing, one thing his father seemed determined to deny him. “I will take your punishments and your threats. You may even tie me to your bed if you will. I will beg if I must. But do not deny me satisfaction. I will be fit for nothing else but painful desperation in your arms each night. And I do not want the bitterness it would lead to. Why would you?”

Thranduil considered him for a long moment, then released him and arose. For a moment Legolas was baffled, then he realized his father had gone to fetch two glasses and pour them full of wine. He very rarely served anyone other than himself, and Legolas was conscious of the honour in the second glass, prepared for him by his father’s hands.

He watched the familiar ritual, trying to calm himself, knowing his father intended exactly that. At last Thranduil returned and handed him a glass.

“You imagine I have never been where you are, I think,” he mused – somewhere between the fire of the lover and the ice of the king, this was a reflective, clear-eyed elf Legolas barely knew. “But I have. It is a great responsibility, to claim ownership of another, as I warned you, and it is impossible to understand from where you lie.”

Legolas lay back, defeated, remembering all the words that had passed between them in passion. Talk of ownership. Is this what it meant? “I should have remembered how that felt; I should have warned with more care. Yet I was careless, for you are my son, and you have ever been capable of anything I or any other set before you. Perhaps I should have sent you away long since, to some place where you could find equals who might suit you. But I have been selfish and kept you by my side. And even more selfish yet than that, of late.” He drank, then paused to gather words, staring into the wine, and Legolas would have reassured him if he wasn't still so restless for his father's touch.

“What I try to teach you is a game. Perhaps you imagine I play to win and mean for you to lose. That is not my intention at all. Played well, this is a game both players win. Yet I am not the best instructor in it, I suspect, particularly for you. I am your father. It is not natural for us to seek such pleasures from one another. And yet….” He met Legolas’s gaze quietly. “Trust in me. I do not seek to lessen you, or to cause you bitterness. Trust in my sincere love for you. I promise your pleasure will be all the greater for the earning of it.” He drank again, drawing his leg up beneath himself; Legolas had often seen him slouch with insolent, arrogant grace, but this was not like that. It was something quite different; there was no pose, no calculation in it.

He considered Thranduil's words. Was he really the kind of person who wanted something, only to retreat when it was offered, when it was real? No. He, Legolas, did not retreat from anything.

“There is that in you… You are beautiful, and submit with a grace and delicacy that inflames me.” He swirled the dregs of his wine in his glass. “And yet there is a fire in you, my son – for you are my son and therefore my worthy equal – that tells me,” he hesitated, and Legolas saw him swallow hard, with apparent reluctance to continue. “That one day you might learn this game so well I could...” Thranduil did not speak his thoughts further, but Legolas understood. He felt a sudden hunger for what his father hinted. Yes! And he saw the truth in all of his father's words. He must learn this then. And who better to learn it from?

Legolas considered the wine in his own glass, served to him by his father, and suddenly threw it back in one. He made a decision, put the goblet down, and lay back deliberately, his body still frustrated and burning with hunger for release, aware that he might well feel tortured beyond endurance by morning, dependent on Thranduil's mercy throughout the night. “I accept,” he said. “Begin, Ada. I may still fight you, but you have my consent in this. Whatever you wish.”

He was aware that Thranduil stood again, and walked over to the bed. He reached into the drawer for something, and still Legolas did not look. But resignation was not in him either, and he sat up, disturbing Thranduil long enough from his task to claim a kiss. He had hoped it would be as of equals, but his father had too much skill and technique, leaning forward until Legolas was on his back again, caught up in the erotic dance of his father’s tongue, his body arching up. It occurred to him then that his father could not help this. That this was not a demonstration so much as talent augmented by centuries of practice. He could not hope to resist.

When he was not likely to move again, Thranduil turned away, and came back with silken bindings which he wrapped and layered over Legolas’s wrists in such a fashion that soon he was unable to move them. Legolas studied the layerings while he could, trying to commit to memory how the restriction had been done without knots, but then Thranduil moved his bound hands to the bedstead and secured them to one of the carved branches.

“Lie back and submit,” he said softly. “You do not have to touch, or strive, but only feel.”

Slowly he kissed his way down Legolas’s chest, pausing to kiss each nipple, then moving downward steadily until he reached his goal.

The mouth that had been so devastating on his own now lavished all its attention on Legolas’s cock, and he quivered, trying to obey. The sight of his father’s silver hair spread over his thighs made him shiver with warmth that flowed through his whole body and pooled where Thranduil’s mouth touched his cock, his wicked tongue gliding about the tip, tasting the slit, tracing every contour and curve of the head. Thranduil steadied the shaft with his long, elegant hand, fingers curved about it with care; his lashes lay dark against his cheeks as he opened his mouth and slid downward slowly, savoring every bit of the journey.

Legolas moaned, eyes fixed to his father’s lips, stretched tight around him. His thighs quivered, the sweet burn of pleasure all but unbearable. Would he feel thus if he held himself in hand? No. He would not, he never had. It took another to make this kind of pleasure. To come was simple enough, and might be had for a few swift strokes, but this…!

Thranduil pulled off of his cock, sucking all the while, and then let the flat of his tongue sweep from root to tip. Legolas moaned, his hands twisting but useless. His legs were parted, Thranduil laid between them.

“Ai, Ada! For all that you have said, my body will not take this!” he exclaimed. Thranduil smiled against his cock.

“Hmm…” he said, his voice a vibration, and he did it quite deliberately, Legolas was certain. “Of course. But see how long you can hold off, ion nín,” he advised, “for the longer you can, the better it will feel when you do let go. Let this be practice. We will do it often.”

Legolas nodded tightly, wondering if it would be better to close his eyes or not as his father’s mouth stretched around him again. It looked so utterly wicked. But when he closed his eyes, the sensations were keener, the pleasure so sharp he felt the familiar tightening begin and he gave a low growling noise, trying to contain it.

“Think of the wizard Mithrandir without his clothes,” Thranduil advised him, nuzzling kisses along the shaft and flicking his tongue repeatedly at the sensitive spot where the crown and the shaft joined.

“Ada!” Legolas yelped, scandalized, but the mental image bought him a few seconds’ time, and he subsided with a sound that was half-gasp, half giggle. “Oh, Ada,” he moaned, spoiling it all as Thranduil ran the rough flat of his tongue along his shaft, then sank down with his entire mouth around it, sucking hard. His hips lifted, and Thranduil sank all the way down till his nose was buried in the fine dark blond hair at the base of Legolas’s cock. He swallowed, his whole throat rippling about Legolas’s length, and Legolas could hold back no longer, coming with a throttled wail, tossing his head back as he pumped up helplessly into his father’s mouth, coming in a flood that felt like it lasted forever.

Thranduil rose slowly, milking him for every last drop, then moved up along his body with the grace of a panther, offering Legolas a taste of himself, his mouth wet and bitter with salt. Legolas accepted, moaning, and at last this was the kiss he had wanted before: long, sweet giving and taking, tongues ebbing and flowing between them. Thranduil allowed Legolas to chase the taste of himself back inside him until it was long gone and they lay tangled together, nuzzling soft kisses wherever they could reach.

After a few long minutes of this, Thranduil unbound Legolas from the bedstead, but merely layered the length of silk around his wrists, keeping his hands tied together.

“You will stay with your hands bound together this night,” Thranduil told him, smiling. “It pleases me to think of you helpless in my arms.” Legolas felt something in him dip in awareness at his father’s words, almost as if he wanted exactly the same thing. To be helpless in Thranduil’s arms. There it was again. Legolas shivered and moaned, but then Thranduil pushed him down the bed before he could study the feeling.

“You will please me now, Legolas,” Thranduil told him. “Then we shall sleep. In the morning I will use you properly, as you were meant to be used. For now, I will make do with your sweet mouth.”

“Yes, Ada,” said Legolas obediently, already licking his lips to moisten them, trying to bring to mind how it felt when Thranduil did it to him and wondering if he could make it better this time.

It would be a challenge without his hands. But Legolas was strong and agile. He lifted himself, licking a slow stripe along his ada’s length. If this was to be an exercise in prolonging pleasure, he could do that; he could please himself by teasing his ada until Thranduil finally succumbed to the slow torture – or until he lost patience and took what was offered.

Legolas blew on the wet skin, observing the resulting shiver with pleasure, then slowly tongued at the spots that felt best on himself, listening to his father’s sighs. Every texture was different, every flavor slightly altered. He liked the tip best, with its salty tang of desire, and he shivered with arousal at the memory of licking his own come out of his father’s mouth.

He slid down, working to take as much as he could, aware of Thranduil watching him with burning eyes. The stretch in his jaw would soon become a challenge, but he managed to take his ada deep inside his throat, then tried to swallow, choking a little, struggling not to bite. Thranduil’s hand came behind his head, caressing his hair but holding him on until he settled. If he took care, he could breathe – just a little, just enough, backing off for air, then going all the way down again.

He lifted his gaze to his ada, who groaned with pleasure to see him do so, his hand moving with languid grace to caress Legolas’s face – his jaw, his cheek, his lips where they stretched around the solid cock in his mouth. Legolas held his father’s gaze as he sucked, straining to make the pressure as much as he could, and Thranduil’s lashes fluttered, his mouth opening in a slow exhale.

When his father moaned, it was easily one of the most erotic sounds Legolas had ever heard, and he began to move his tongue back and forth, circling a little. Thranduil's head fell back slightly, and he moved one of his hands, the back of that hand resting elegantly across his forehead, fingers slightly curled.

“Legolas,” he breathed, almost panting, his hips rising up from the bed in tiny begging movements for more. Legolas obliged him, his motions echoing the tempo his father wanted to set, eyes still trained on him as he seemed to fall apart at Legolas's efforts.

Legolas wanted to touch, and he struggled with the bindings laid upon his wrists, losing his concentration for just a moment. The mirage of his father’s tender submission vanished, and he felt his father’s hands on either side of his face again.

“Enough, now,” Thranduil said, and angled Legolas to take all of him, as he had done before, sliding deep. Pulling back enough sometimes so Legolas could breathe, but filling his mouth even then. With his hands bound, Legolas felt even more helpless than the first time, but he could make no sound, give no indication of his state.

When Thranduil came, he pulled Legolas further than he had before, until he could feel his father’s balls against his chin. He thought he struggled, but Thranduil held him fast, his grip inescapable. The liquid flooded his throat, making him swallow instinctively again and again while Thranduil praised him. At last he was let back, the last string of essence landing on his tongue as he gasped for air. It tasted warm and wet, unlike anything else. Legolas swallowed that too, and Thranduil pulled him back up the bed to rest on his side, tucking in behind him.

“Now, sleep,” his father ordered, and Legolas could do nothing but obey, held in his father’s arms like a prize.

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Prince in Training