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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
- 7
- 8
- 9
Authors' Note: The time this story is set is III 2440. At that time, the Steward of Gondor was Denethor I (not to be confused with the Denethor who is Steward during the War of the Ring). His son is thirty years old here, and is Boromir, later to be Boromir I (also not to be confused with the Boromir who is part of the fellowship). These are those characters' ancestors, their original namesakes.

Chapter Eight

He did not quite remember how he negotiated the passageways that led back to his own lonely room, but he managed it. He even managed to ruffle the bed again, though he longed to lie down upon it. There was no time. No time for anything but bathing and dressing, which he did in a kind of hazy awareness, as if the world was no longer as real.

Perhaps he was smiling slightly as he glided into the conference hall to take his place. He sighed silently as he sat down. Everyone had been waiting for him, it seemed, and he felt their eyes on him, but did not respond. He was not late.

The steward’s son of Gondor gave him a look that mingled outrage with something more, something Legolas had not noticed before, as if the sight of Legolas bestirred him. He became aware of his father’s smirk from the corner of his eye, and he sat still, waiting very properly for his king to speak.

“We have considered the ramifications of your proposal, but we are not satisfied in some small matters,” Thranduil announced lazily. “How is your Quenya, Master Boromir? My scribes have readied a portion of this document, amending the pertinent points–”

Legolas tried to attend as he should, but every part of him ached with pleasant memory, and he could only make an appearance of concentration upon diplomacy. He caught himself shifting, and knew the man was watching him. He did so again, on a whim, and the man’s tongue flashed out to wet his lips. He knew his father marked all, but Thranduil did not react, so Legolas shifted again, running his fingertips along the polished wood of the table in a slow caressing motion, his lips parting.

Thranduil’s hand settled on his thigh beneath the shield of the tabletop, but did not clutch taut, forbidding; instead his fingertips circled once, slow and sensual. Legolas responded without thinking, tilting his head to bare the line of his throat; he heard Boromir draw a slow, surprised breath.

Legolas felt his mouth go dry at what his father was doing. It could not be seen, but still. He licked his lips and leaned forward again, every motion deliberate because he was so tired, and teased his glass of water to him before picking it up and sipping from it.

The sip became a swallow, and he tilted the glass back further, deeper, suddenly thirsty. He swallowed a couple of times, and then put the water back down carefully, aware that Thranduil was slowly edging his way up his thigh under the table. Legolas did not dare to look at him. Did not dare to look down. Instead, he looked at the man, Boromir, and he faltered in the middle of speaking, something about one of the new clauses Thranduil had added to the contract.

So close. Legolas felt completely at his father’s mercy, and he could not contain a slightly sharp indrawn breath when he felt those fingers glide over him, hardly any pressure at all, but his body seemed not to mind, the blood rushing down to fill the space. He wished he could speak, but he could not. He wished he could move his hands from the edge of the table, but that would be too obvious.

“Ion nín!” Said his father sharply, and Legolas jumped, the erotic atmosphere suddenly withdrawn so that he almost whimpered. Instead, he swallowed, his mouth dry again. Thranduil was still touching him!

Legolas looked his way helplessly. “Ada?”

“Your mind wanders.” Thranduil’s look turned austere. “Do you find this negotiation tiresome?” His fingers flicked against Legolas, a moment of blissful pressure along the swollen ridge of his cock.

“No, Ada,” Legolas spoke in simple honesty; what was happening to him was anything but tiresome – and yet his father withdrew his hand, setting his elbows upon the table and steepling his fingers. Legolas set his teeth in his lip without thinking, looking on the long, slim hands that had just touched him, thinking of the pleasure they could give.

Thranduil fixed Boromir with a shrewd stare. “Are you satisfied with what is on offer, Man of Gondor?” His voice turned sleek. Legolas blinked; surely his father could not mean what it seemed!

“We are well-satisfied,” Boromir replied in great confusion, dragging his eyes from Legolas’s mouth in haste, and Thranduil smiled, gesturing for a scribe.

“Bring a quill,” he directed, and watched as the greatly discomposed young man placed signature and seal upon the document.

“Legolas, you have clearly overindulged and long to be somewhere else. You need not stay for this. We will finalise without your presence.” Thranduil did not even look his way, but looked at the document before him, quill held in his hand. He twirled it in his elegant fingers, the movement capturing Legolas’ attention against his will. He hardly attended the words.

“Go!” Thranduil waved the hand with the quill carelessly, and Legolas followed it with his eyes. “I would suggest you seek rest in your chamber until you are more well-disposed.”

“Yes, Ada,” Legolas replied automatically, but then blinked again, tearing his gaze away. Did his father expect him to get up now and display himself to all present?! Legolas willed his desire away, but it did not go. And he had already agreed.

Trying not to look at anyone around the table, Legolas got up, biting his lip, sure that all must see his arousal, and exited the room as quickly as he could, fleeing to his bedchamber as his father had suggested. Once there, he lay on the bed, on his back, breathing, trying desperately to resist the temptation to touch himself.

He flinched, surprised and embarrassed, as his door swung open without warning – but there stood his father, still robed and crowned.

“Boromir has signed away the request for trees,” Thranduil gloated. “If I had thought to put in a clause specifying more, he would have given up half the White City. You did well, my son.” He chuckled, low and approving. “Unclothe yourself swiftly and display yourself upon the bed.”

Legolas obeyed, eager for his ada to join him there, but Thranduil did not remove so much as his crown. Instead he surveyed Legolas with thoughtful cunning and draped a sheet partly over him. As he straightened, a tap sounded on the door, and Thranduil’s smirk deepened. “It is the man. Tell him to enter.”

“Yes, Ada,” Legolas’s voice shook, uncertain precisely what his father intended. Thranduil composed himself some feet from the bed, at his most regal and forbidding.

“Enter,” Legolas called, and the door creaked open, the steward’s son revealed, beginning to step inside with his eyes fixed upon Legolas, going wide with avarice – but then he froze as Thranduil stepped forward, smiling a shark’s smile.

“Do give your father, the steward, my personal greeting,” Thranduil whispered, silken soft. “I hope he will be pleased with the agreement.”

The man stammered for a moment, and so Thranduil just spoke over his feeble vocalisations. “I assume you followed me here. Is there something I can help with? I came merely to advise my son on the satisfactory agreement, but as you can see, he is indisposed.”

Boromir nodded, swallowing, and Legolas turned onto his side to watch, feeling like a pawn as his father dealt with the man.

“Do you have children of your own? They are always overdoing things. They cannot resist úthaes,” Thranduil said and frowned, while on the bed Legolas gasped and buried his head in the pillows. His body recognised the word, having associated it with pleasure though the long night just passed. “What is the Westron word?” He said, snapping his fingers. “Yes! Temptation!”

Thranduil waited, eyebrow raised, and Boromir appeared to collect himself. “Oh, well I did follow you. Yes, of course. I just wanted to say you had been very… fair.” He stood, wide-eyed, clearly hoping Thranduil would accept his lie.

“Good. Well, no doubt we will speak again before you leave,” Thranduil said. “But if you will excuse us, I have something to teach Legolas about the effects of strong wine.”

Boromir’s eyes flickered between them, startled and disappointed, but he shook his head, dismissing his thought, and turned away, his jaw clenched. “As you wish, King of the Greenwood.” He absented himself, the heels of his boots clicking crisply away down the corridor.

Thranduil closed the door and laughed, soft and long. “That one will haunt your footsteps until we send him and his embassy away unsatisfied. Flirt with him. Keep him in heat. Give him nothing.” He stepped to the bed and ran his palm along Legolas’s thigh from the crease of his knee over his bare bottom and to the small of his waist. “His father will be far less pleased with him than I am with you.” He considered Legolas. “I saw you shudder when I spoke.” His hand moved again, fingers tracing along the cleft, dipping between Legolas’s thighs. “Did you spend your seed at my word?”

Legolas could only groan, spreading his legs a little so that Thranduil could touch him. “How did you do it?” He asked helplessly, humiliated and mortified. “Why did you do it?” Legolas buried his head amongst the pillows again. The man had stood right there! Just thinking about it made Legolas shiver.

All the while Thranduil’s fingers ghosted around on his sensitive skin. “Is that a yes?” He asked.

“Yes. I did. I am sorry, Ada.” Would there be a punishment now? Had he broken one of the invisible rules?

“Good,” replied Thranduil. “Then you will be very relaxed for what I intend to do with you.” His hand withdrew for a moment, then a bottle of oil was placed on Legolas’s nightstand, in his line of sight. “You will keep this here for my use,” he instructed, before opening it and tipping some out onto his fingers.

“Yes, Ada,” Legolas said, and then gasped when Thranduil began to prepare him without any further teasing or play. Did he mean to do it without undressing? But he was still wearing his crown… Legolas gulped as a spike of arousal shot through him, aided in part by his father’s touch.

“You have been teasing me since you walked into the conference,” Thranduil observed. “Do you have any idea how delectable you look after you have been fucked all night long?” Legolas shook his head, his breath becoming short and needy, even though he was beyond being roused. “I have duties, so I will have you now, then leave you here to recover. Get on your knees for me, ion nín.”

“Yes, Ada.”

“Sire,” Thranduil breathed, lifting him into position. “Address me as your King, princeling.”

“Yes, Sire!” Legolas turned his head and watched over his shoulder as Thranduil freed himself, his silver robes parting easily. He moaned as his king claimed him, driving in with a single rough thrust.

Pleasure softened the hauteur of Thranduil’s long, elegant face; his eyes closed to slits beneath the rowan crown, and his hair fell forward, a glimmering cascade over his shoulders. Legolas moaned, suddenly desiring more of that expression, pride flaring fiercely in his breast; he tightened his body and rocked back, making Thranduil lick his lips, his lush tongue dark against his pale skin.

Legolas all but forgot himself in the joy of watching Thranduil take pleasure in him; he played his body like an instrument, tightening and easing, pressing back and rocking forward, even moaning to encourage his father – his moans coming at the signs of Thranduil’s pleasure, not his own: the press of a tightening hand, the hiss of an indrawn breath, the flicker of that wet red tongue over a bitten lip. He learned if he did well, he could make those things happen – and he strove to do so, learning to give pleasure as well as take it.

When Thranduil realised he was watched, he locked eyes with Legolas and spoke in the haughty tones of the king. “You perform your duties adequately, princeling. We are pleased.”

Legolas shivered, recognising the heat in his father’s eyes despite the cold tone and formal words.

“Use me as you will for your pleasure, my sire. Your wish is mine,” he answered, unflinching, tightening his body seductively. “And if it is not, then use me still, for I am yours to dispose of at your leisure. Ai!” He whimpered as Thranduil thrust hard, stroking the sensitive spot inside him, sending a flare of sparks through his nerves.

After that, Legolas thought he might have lost the thread of what he was trying to do, as Thranduil set a fast pace, in and out. Legolas was certain he could feel each solid inch, claiming him deep, and he let his upper body down gracefully in a show of submission he couldn’t help.

“That’s right, cunneth,” Thranduil said, his voice raspy with desire. “You do not have to try. Just submit. Ahhh…” He seemed to draw in a breath through his teeth, his movements slowing just a little, as if he was making sure to enjoy it. Legolas trembled.

“Sire,” he breathed quietly, and that seemed to draw Thranduil on just as much as before, so that all too soon he felt his father come to an end inside him, fingers tight around his pelvis, holding him in position for it.

After a moment or two of stillness, Thranduil pulled out of him and let him go, stepping back. Legolas turned around and looked, but by then the king was immaculate once more. He almost smiled as he pulled down the cuffs of his sleeves slightly. “Go to sleep, Legolas. Rest for tonight.”

Legolas gave a dismayed moan and wondered if his father would make him drink the wine again, but he stretched out on his bed obediently. “Very good,” Thranduil said with a final satisfied sigh. “Very pleasing.” Then he was gone, out of the door and about his other business of the day.

Legolas was asleep so swiftly he barely heard the click of the latch.

Authors' Note: Thank you very much for reading. We hope you enjoyed it. Comments cherished and will be responded to here: http://www2.adult-fanfiction.org/forum/index.php/topic/62499-prince-in-training-review-responses/

Translations:

cunneth – young prince

úthaes – temptation

ada – father

ion nín – my son
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Prince in Training