Prince in Training | By : Pippychick_TAFKAB Category: -Multi-Age > Slash - Male/Male Views: 24086 -:- Recommendations : 4 -:- Currently Reading : 2 |
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Chapter Seven
Again Thranduil woke Legolas before dawn, and as before he hadn’t woken for the preparation, only for the feeling of deep penetration as Thranduil used him, used his body. His hands were still bound in front of him, and he relaxed to allow his father to take all he wanted. It didn’t take long. Again he was shivering with need by the time it was over, but when Thranduil unbound his hands he didn’t try to touch himself, which earned him a delighted smile and a kiss.
Afterwards Thranduil arose and left the bed to fetch back more of the salve and anoint Legolas’s bruises, which had darkened overnight. “Look,” Thranduil purred, angling a hand mirror so Legolas might see the distinct marks of his father’s fingers upon his flesh. He felt a tremor of arousal go through him, deepening into a flicker of flame as Thranduil drew one long, elegant finger over him, the cool of the gel making him quiver. “You wear my marks. You will feel them today.” He caressed Legolas with more of the gel, coating every bruise with care. “They are marks of my favour, given in love, to correct and improve my treasured lover,” he whispered in Legolas’s ear. “Whenever you feel them, I am touching you.”
He shared a slow kiss with Legolas, then withdrew. “Go now before the halls stir,” he commanded. “And remember well my instructions. If you are obedient, you will be rewarded.”
“No touching?” Legolas asked, with wry humour, wondering already how he would help it.
“None whatsoever,” Thranduil ordered, narrowing his eyes dramatically so that Legolas giggled. Still, he obeyed the instruction and sneaked out to his own room. Once there, he leaned against the door and remembered what he had done the previous morning. His body would like it if he did that again, but Legolas thought he might try to obey this time.
Instead he went to his bed and ruffled the covers as if he had slept there. He covered himself with a nightgown to hide the marks on his skin before servants brought his washing and bathing water. When they were gone, he soaked himself in the hot water until his arousal subsided, then cleaned himself, inside as well as out, as before. This time it no longer felt so humiliating, and he made sure that his passage was clean for whatever might happen after the meeting. A reward. Legolas looked forward to it.
He neglected, in his eagerness, to consider the many hours that must come before – and the dreadful dull plodding of the Gondorian embassy. The ambassador was a hard man with cold eyes, the present steward’s son, meticulous and detailed in his consideration of every detail of the proposed treaty.
Legolas kept his expression neutral despite his irritation. The chair he sat upon had no padding, its hard flat surface seeming almost hot. The longer he sat, the hotter it grew. He knew his father was attentive, though Thranduil’s eyes never moved to touch him, and his smooth, even tones never faltered. But as Legolas very slowly, very stealthily shifted upon his seat for the first time, he knew his father marked it, and remembered that in this way, he was touched – before all, none knowing, in spite of Thranduil’s seeming indifference.
Touched and treasured.
He moved again, involuntarily, and nearly groaned aloud as the hard wood made him ache, and the ache traveled up to bloom into a low, fitful arousal at the base of his stomach, as if Thranduil touched him indeed.
He stilled himself by force of will, swallowing hard, reaching to sip from a glass of water at his right hand.
It was going to be a long and challenging wait before he could claim his reward.
The man drawled on in an endless monotone that made Legolas want to sigh, but he dared not. He was a representative of his father’s here, and such a slight in courtesy would be harshly punished even if they weren’t engaged in some kind of darker game.
He sneaked a look at his father. Thranduil was apparently listening, keen-eyed, but Legolas had the disconcerting impression his father was paying attention to him only. For a while he did not move, and then it began to feel as if his very bones were conspiring against him, pressing his skin between them and the hard wood of the chair. Legolas unobtrusively rested his hands on the sides of the seat and tried to relieve the pressure of his weight. The movement hunched his shoulders slightly, and the man from Gondor looked his way. Legolas relaxed again, deliberately, giving him a reassuring smile.
This chair had been put here especially, Legolas knew. The rest of the chairs around the table were made of beech. His own seat was ebony, a wood that did not grow here, but was instead traded with kingdoms in Khand far to the east. It was very hard. Legolas sighed inwardly, and though he survived the meeting, he hoped his father would not put him through this every day.
When it was over, and everyone else had left except for himself, he leaned forward, chin on the side of the table and groaned, long and loud, his feet rocking. But he remained seated. Having been fooled once by an unspoken command, he would not be so again. Eventually, his father returned, having seen the ambassador out.
He moved to stand by Legolas, glancing gracefully about the room and at the door, then held out his hand, raising Legolas to his feet. “A dull afternoon, my son. It is no wonder you wished to be elsewhere.” He spoke casually, loudly enough to be heard, sounding entirely unconcerned as he turned Legolas to face him, and then drew him into what seemed to be an innocent embrace-- had Thranduil ever been disposed to such things.
He slid his hands down Legolas’s back and took his buttocks gently in hand, squeezing and kneading them lightly. Legolas choked back a desperate gasp, instantly hard within his breeches, and pressed forward against his ada.
“Come to my rooms for supper and we will discuss the terms of this treaty before I determine whether I shall sign,” Thranduil made the words sound bored. Then he released Legolas casually and withdrew. “I have little mind to grant these greedy men all the beasts they would slay for the beauty of their fur, or the trees they would hew just to satisfy their desire for rich and fine-grained woods. They have little enough to offer us. What need have we of their weak protection?”
He led Legolas out in a swirl of silver robes.
Legolas followed, but then they were parted. He was never sure later how he filled all the time until supper. He walked in the abandoned areas of the palace, checking on the elves who laboured to block the unsafe passages. He stood outside and dawdled by the river, watching the sunset. He went to collect an armful of papers from the team of scribes who had taken down the minutes of the earlier meeting and laboriously copied out the treaty into Sindarin and Quenya.
At last it was time, and once more Legolas stood outside of his father’s door with sheaves of papers in his arms. But this time he wasn’t alone. Supper came with him, and one of his companions knocked on the door.
When it was answered, Legolas swept inside with a warning look at his father, then the elves who brought their supper walked in after him with silver trays of fruit and berries, cold milk to drink, and a little bread.
Legolas and Thranduil did not speak a single word until the servants had departed, whereupon Legolas went to the door to ensure they were alone. Remembering his father’s instructions the night before, he removed his clothes and laid them by the door without fuss, aware of Thranduil watching him all the while, then went to lie upon the bed.
Thranduil locked the door firmly, then came to survey him. Legolas lay still, keenly aware of cool air stirring against the insides of his thighs. Thranduil’s hand settled on his back, running down along his spine, hesitating there. “You have not touched yourself. I can tell,” Thranduil murmured, his voice warm and silken as melting honey. I think you deserve something better to sit upon than a hard chair as we eat. Come climb into my lap, ion nín, and let me feed you.”
Thranduil retreated to the chair, seating himself with his thighs apart. “Put your legs on either side of mine and lean your back against my chest,” he directed, and Legolas obeyed, settling his sore bottom against his father’s cock, his legs spread uncomfortably wide, his genitals left vulnerable.
“You have been very good today,” Thranduil purred, and selected a large red berry, taking the cap and bringing it to Legolas’s mouth. “Open,” he whispered, brushing a kiss against Legolas’s jaw.
Legolas sighed but accepted the morsel, closing his lips around Thranduil’s fingers and licking the sharp taste of raspberry juice from them. So he wasn’t paying attention, and when his father’s other hand closed around his cock, he jerked in surprise.
“Stay still,” Thranduil admonished, and Legolas settled again, his hands on the sides of the chair to stay steady as his father continued to feed him bits of fruit, all while caressing him slowly.
“Ada…” he moaned eventually, his thighs shaking with being stretched so wide, his cock leaking precome. His bottom still felt abused and sore, and his father was hard now, his hot length settled in the crease of Legolas’s buttocks. At some point, Thranduil had crushed berries against his lips deliberately, so that their juice ran down his chin and dribbled onto his chest.
“You are such a messy eater, ion nín,” he noted with amusement, and Legolas moaned again in protest, but he licked his father’s fingers clean even so.
At first he thought his father had reached out for more fruit to feed him, but then his hand moved under Legolas, slippery with oil, fingers sinking into him. Thranduil began teasing with both hands so that Legolas shuddered at the twin sensations: fingers inside him, other hand on his cock. It felt amazing, and he threw his head back over his father’s shoulder in a kind of ecstasy.
Thranduil laughed softly at him. “But I promised a proper reward.” Legolas shook his head. No! This! This was a proper reward, he thought, his mind hazy with pleasure. But his father withdrew his touch and then reached to lift him. His cock slid against Legolas warmly. “There is oil on the table. Ready me and I will reward you.”
Legolas did as his father commanded, then helped steady him and sighed in bliss as Thranduil let him sink down to be filled.
“That is good,” he licked Legolas’s neck. “Now you may stroke yourself while I fuck you.” He put his hands on Legolas’s waist and lifted him, then released, letting his weight drive him down hard onto his cock.
Legolas made a deep sound of shock and awareness: his father, so deep! And still, the soreness of his buttocks made him flinch. His body tightened a little, and for a moment he could do nothing. “Legolas,” Thranduil said, a note of warning in his tone, and he let go of the chair arm with his right hand, bringing it to his own hardness to stroke slowly as his father had told him.
The next time Thranduil let him fall, Legolas’s head dropped forward, his hair falling in waves around him. Their legs were spread wide, there was nothing but empty space in front of him. Legolas’s breath was pulled in and out of him in the same rhythm of his hand movements. “I will fall!” he whispered urgently, gripping the left arm of the chair in desperation.
“I will not let you,” Thranduil replied. “Continue.” Legolas did so, and now there were three sensations. His father’s cock, buried in him, the reminder of the bruises he had, and the pleasure of his own hand.
“I will come!” he said, with the same sense of urgency. “Please!” he begged. “Say I may, Ada!”
“You will hold back, Legolas,” Thranduil commanded sternly, his hands tightening around Legolas’s waist, short nails sharp against his skin. “I wish to play with you for a while longer yet.” He bit sharply at Legolas’s throat, making him cry out, then raised him and let him fall again. “You feel so tight like this – your fear makes your muscles taut around me. But you need not fear. I hold you.” He staggered the rhythm. “Keep your strokes slow and irregular. Breathe.” He thrust deep again. “So needy,” he whispered. “So helpless. So mine…” He let Legolas subside, reaching around to give a firm tug at his balls, pulling them away from his body. “This will help when you are close.” He gave a little squeeze, and Legolas whimpered.
Then the thrusts began again, and Legolas struggled not to succumb to them, his hand trembling on himself, his teeth sunk in his lip. He could not brace himself, so he finally went limp, letting his ada lift him like a doll, using him at his own pace and pleasure.
“I feel your body giving in to me,” Thranduil whispered, his voice hoarse. ‘That is good, ion. Let me, let yourself. Do not struggle so to control, to understand. There is freedom here. Allow yourself to have it. Glory in it. Know your beauty and your trust pleases me. Know I will always hold you. Know I will allow your pleasure when I have taken my own – but let my pleasure become a part of yours. Crave it, give yourself to it.”
Legolas moaned, his toes curling, his hand sliding along his cock, looser now, barely touching the hot skin. Pleasure and pain began to merge again as his sore skin and his cock and his hand and his father’s hard length inside him lost distinction, teasing him away from awareness into an endless moment of sensation where all balanced perfectly: need and fulfillment and pain and pleasure blending and growing richer, fuller, as he ceased to strive and only felt, only experienced what was happening to him.
“That’s it, ion nín,” Thranduil’s voice caressed him. “Like that, don’t think.”
He didn’t need the instruction. He’d already stopped thinking, his eyes closed but not squeezed shut. He relaxed, his body surrendering completely, until he wasn't sure the sensations he felt even belonged to him anymore. He savored the perfection of his father's cock, moving inside him again and again. His body was in tune with Thranduil's, its jolts and shivers and muscles working to encourage him. Legolas felt his father's approaching orgasm almost as if it were his own. Harder, faster, more, until there was no more, and the hardness inside him was stuttering, giving in.
Legolas was aware that Thranduil held him close, arms wrapped around his chest, and he almost understood the whispered words of praise and love that Thranduil breathed into his ear. His hand still moved, so hot, and as he drew in a deep breath, Legolas was surprised to find he was still hard. Realising it made a white hot thread of need pull through his body, and his muscles tensed up all of a sudden.
“Ada,” he said, trembling with strain. “I need it now... Please give it to me.” He understood his changed plea in some deeper part of himself. No longer did he ask permission. Instead he asked for his pleasure to be bestowed like a favour, as if it really were something that could be granted or denied.
“Well done,” Thranduil whispered, exultant, and his hand closed over Legolas’s own, guiding it in a single sweet, firm stroke that undid him wholly. His whole world exploded into pleasure as the denied need inside him was given release, and white light overwhelmed his vision, rolling him under a tide of ecstasy that thundered through him, seeming endless before it finally receded and revealed him to himself laid gasping over his father’s lap, wringing with sweat and trembling to the bone.
His father held him where he was, gentling him, and fed Legolas sips of strong wine from his own mouth, kissing him with red-stained lips, the potent alcohol making his head spin in the wake of his climax. “That is what I desire,” Thranduil kissed the words against his mouth. “Was it so terrible, ion nín? Do you find you like it?” He smiled, tender and wicked, then mouthed a trail of languid kisses along Legolas’s throat. “What would you give for more?”
“More?” Legolas repeated on a sigh, to which Thranduil laughed.
“It is early yet, Legolas,” he murmured, his voice full of promise. “I will have you again before the night is through.” He picked up a goblet of wine and held it to Legolas’s lips. “Drink,” he suggested.
“But I feel so lightheaded already, Ada,” Legolas protested with a satisfied smile. Thranduil only tipped the cup towards him, so it was drink or end up with it pouring all the way down him. Legolas drank. And drank. Until all of the wine in the goblet was gone.
“Soon,” said Thranduil, “you will learn to obey me without argument.” He sat up straighter. “Can you stand on your feet?”
Legolas moved from his father’s lap. “Go on over to the bed, ion nín,” he ordered, and Legolas did so, noting when he sat down that his father had brought the bottle and one of the goblets with him to the bed.
“Lie down, my son.” Thranduil watched as he obeyed, then tilted the bottle, filling the little cup of his navel and bending to lap the wine away. “It is sweeter on your skin,” he murmured, and dripped more along Legolas’s chest and over his nipples, then traced the ruby droplets with his tongue, circling and suckling the small pink buds until Legolas moaned, still sensitive from coming.
“Would you care for some more?” Thranduil’s eyes danced with mischief, and he poured the goblet full, then took a deep mouthful and leaned over, again offering it to Legolas in a kiss.
Legolas accepted, helpless not to, and drank deep of each drugging kiss, each wine-tart mouthful of his ada’s slick, sweet tongue. Thranduil hardly seemed fazed by the strength of the stuff, but Legolas’s head spun half from the alcohol and half from the aftermath of orgasm, which had left him lazy and sated, relaxed and pliant, utterly willing. His father knelt over him, settling his bottom over Legolas’s cock, which was only beginning to stir again. “Do not entertain such ideas,” Thranduil chuckled when it jumped, eager. But he did not pull away, either, rocking atop Legolas leisurely until he was hard, then giving him another wine-soaked kiss. He moved back then, taking both their cocks in his hand, stroking them together. Legolas could see his eyes were faintly hazy, a little dilated, and suddenly it occurred to him to wonder what might be in the wine; it seemed more potent than he was accustomed to.
The touch felt good, so good that soon Legolas was lifting up into it, encouraging Thranduil to go faster. His head dropped to the side, and he seemed dizzy; the room seemed to take its time to move so that he felt disoriented. Only the pleasure remained constant.
“What did you do to the drink?” he asked, his voice slightly slurred. It occurred to him then that he’d imbibed far more of it than his father, and at his instruction, too. He felt hot and needy, his hands pulling at Thranduil for a kiss before he could even answer the question. Every one of his inhibitions fell away, and he was hungry for it. Not just the kiss, and his father’s tongue, but the feel of his bodyweight.
He moved demandingly, and his father let go of his cock, only to slide against him. The friction felt incredible, and Legolas moaned loudly, necessitating his father to lay a hand over his mouth.
“You are hot for it now. Again. And you should be.” Thranduil grinned wickedly. “But you will find we both have much more endurance this time. I think, when I fuck you in the morning, you will still be feeling what we do tonight.”
Legolas only moaned behind his hand, barely coherent of the words, desperate for more sensation, more of everything.
“You wished to come,” Thranduil purred, setting his hands on either side of Legolas’s chest and moving to rut their bodies together. “Your reward is that you will come many times for me tonight, ion nín.” He thrust again, harder, and Legolas arched up against him, keening at the sensation of their cocks dragging together, rough exquisite friction sparking fire in his skin. It was almost too much to bear, intensified by the sweet dizziness in his head; Legolas clung to his father and heard wailing cries and realised they were his.
“Come for me, úthaes nín,” Thranduil coaxed, and Legolas could do nothing but obey, whimpering with delight and clutching at his father, whose mouth still tasted of the sweet wine. Thranduil’s lips opened for him, indulgent and laughing.
“I want you again,” Thranduil said. “Turn over.” Legolas obeyed immediately, and his father pushed inside him quickly. The sensation was sharp and a little painful, but Legolas could hardly tell the difference. His body was still slick inside from the oil earlier and his father’s essence.
“You would do anything I asked now, wouldn’t you, ion nín?” Legolas moaned in response, his body trying to make his father go deeper, faster, instead of the slow, lazy pace he favoured which just seemed to tease at the edges of the endless lust that had hold of him.
“Use your words, Legolas,” Thranduil warned, and Legolas thought he might faint.
“Yes, Ada, anything,” he vowed. He felt another impossible wave rising in him, and his eyelids seemed to flicker, the room going in and out of focus.
“If I dragged poor Galion in here, you would please him at my command, wouldn’t you?”
Legolas shivered at the thought of it, and yet his body seemed to burn. “Yes!” He gasped.
“Again then, úthaes nín,” he said, using the same word as before. “Come for me.” Legolas whimpered.
“I can’t!” He cried out, but he did, and he felt like he must be floating on the bed as his father continued to move inside him, for he had not found any second climax yet.
“How beautiful you are,” the words resonated through him in long slow waves like the push of Thranduil’s cock. “I could sell you in the public square in Laketown, and the men would give all their gold and gems to have you – and even the dwarves, had they any, and you are so needful you would plead for them; you would accept them one after the other and beg for their use. But you are mine. You are my treasure, and none will have you but me.”
“Yours,” Legolas whimpered, still hard, still aching and needy. “Oh, please, ada! More!”
“Very well, úthaes nín,” Thranduil’s hand closed on him, insistent, and Legolas writhed in desperate pleasure, his body unable to produce a drop, but still able to burn, still able to try.
He lost track of himself after that – of everything but the needful aching of his body, the wetness of Thranduil’s mouth, the hardness of a cock inside him, and those sinful whispered words heralding ecstasy so sharp it grew beyond pain, beyond sense, binding him always to Thranduil’s desire. Those words shattered him again and again, remaking him into a begging, whimpering instrument of Thranduil’s will to lust and pleasure as he knelt on the bed, holding himself open and pleading, or as he collapsed, crushed under his father’s weight. Thranduil’s strong hands positioned him, opening him, dragging pleasure from him again and again until he could bear it no longer.
Those words, úthaes nín…over and over his father said it, when his pleasure was at its peak, until he could not separate them from his own bliss, his body breaking, spiralling. Temptation indeed. He wondered if he would ever hear that word again without thinking of this night.
“It is morning,” Thranduil told him at last, regretful. “And we must part, my son; you have taxed my flesh until it will rise no more.” He sounded throaty and sated, a pleased smile lingering on his lips. “I expect you at the negotiations after you have washed yourself, Legolas.” He kissed him lightly. “Do not disappoint me.”
Legolas dressed slowly, deliberately. His body was so tired, and his muscles burned now not with lust, but with a need for rest. But there was to be no rest. Thranduil called him back before he could unlock the door to leave. He padded across the room gingerly and was pulled down into a kiss that left him breathless and dizzy, as if the drugged wine was still in him.
Authors' Note: We hope you enjoyed it, and that you will leave a comment. We will reply here: http://www2.adult-fanfiction.org/forum/index.php/topic/62499-prince-in-training-review-responses/
Translations:
úthaes nín – my temptation
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