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Bound for an Apology	By : kathmco Category: -Multi-Age > Slash - Male/Male Views: 2300 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the Lord of the Rings (and associated) book series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Bound for an Apology
- 1
Title: Bound for an Apology

Author: Emmess

Rating: NC17

Genre: LOTR, Bondage, Non-Con, Slash

Summery: Rumil seeks an apology from Legolas in a most unorthodox fashion.

Pairings: Rumil/Legolas

Disclaimer: I own nothing that anyone could possibly believe might be of value to anyone.

A/N: Originally written for the Slashy/Santa fic swap.

Bound for an Apology

Winter had come to Lothlorien, and with the snows and freezing winds came the hardships of rotation at the western fences. Knee deep snow, soft powder for the most part, kept even lightly stepping Elven feet ice cold.
Bending into the ferocious winds, bundled in his warmest cloak, Rumil slowly made his way back to the flet he was sharing with several other Guardians on this rotation. His thoughts were completely centered on the warmth of the fire they would have kindled in the small hearth, and a mug of hot cider. Such amenities would be no small comfort after the hours he had spent patrolling the outer borders in the frigid temperatures.
Also in his thoughts was the coming Midwinter Celebration, a festival he looked forward to greatly each year. There would be music, dancing, a great deal of food served, and a greater deal of wine poured, with every Ellon and Elleth in the city participating, aside from the few unlucky souls chosen to guard the border. His mind so occupied, distracted, he nearly walked into the arrow aimed at him.
"One would think the Silver Lord's Guardians would be a trifle more mindful of what was occurring mere feet in front of them," a taunting voice, as smooth as silk, said derisively. "You would be dead if I had wished it so."
Looking at the owner of the arrow aimed mere inches from his nose, Rumil squared his shoulders, affected his most authoritative tone and demanded, "Who are you and what is your business in the Golden Wood?"
"I think you are in no position to question anything, pup," the owner answered, laughing. His escort laughed with him, forcing Rumil to notice that none other had drawn on him except the archer in front of him. Their leader, he thought, one they must be assured of being capable of taking him out without their assistance. He scowled into the deep blue eyes of his assailant, noting that the Elf before him wore the dressings of a noble of Mirkwood.
Barely perceptively, Rumil's fingers inched toward his short sword, sheathed in its leather scabbard at his waist, his eyes never unlocking their steely gaze into the other Elf's eyes.
"Draw it and you will be dead before your fingers wrap around its hilt," the stranger growled, pulling his arrow back a tad tighter, in preparation to loose it into Rumil's left eye.
"Legolas! What brings you to Lorien in this weather?" a deep voice boomed from behind him, making Rumil wince as he recognized it as his Captain's voice - his brother, Haldir.
Rumil watched as the arrow was gracefully removed from its bow and replaced in a quiver strapped to the Mirkwood Elf's back, his own fingers itching to draw on this imperious Elf, but knowing it would be folly. Not only were he and his brother outnumbered, but even more distressing, Haldir seemed to be acquainted with this pompous intruder.
"My father has sent me as an emissary with a message for the Lord and Lady, Haldir. I trust I have not come at an inopportune time? Have you a shortage of wardens, Haldir? Why would you have such an inexperienced Elfling patrolling your borders?"
Rumil had not taken his eyes off the stranger, but he could feel the glare of his brother's eyes on the back of his neck. His ears reddened with more than the cold under his woolen hood, burning with embarrassment at both his brother's anger and the stranger's harsh humor.
"He will be dealt with, Your Highness, I assure you. I hope his transgression has not offended you," Haldir said, the formality in his voice telling of his immense displeasure in Rumil's delinquency.
"Not at all, Haldir…he provided us with quite a chuckle - he nearly walked into my arrow!" The stranger laughed again, his guards with him.
Almost cringing in his shame, Rumil realized that not only had this highbrowed Elf gotten the best of him, but that the stranger was a member of the Royal family of Mirkwood, no doubt one of King Thranduil's sons. The story of this encounter would soon be all over Lord Celeborn's court, Rumil was sure, and carried back to Mirkwood when the emissary returned to his home. Rumil would be the laughingstock of two kingdoms, and worse, the reputation of Galadrim would be impugned.
"I am most distressed to admit that this is my youngest brother, Rumil," Haldir said by way of introduction. His placed his hand on Rumil's shoulder, squeezing to let Rumil know exactly how displeased he was. He nearly brought Rumil to his knees with the pressure he exerted on the nerve in Rumil's shoulder, and it was only the fear of further embarrassment in front of this visiting dignitary that kept Rumil upright.
"Please allow me to escort you into Caras Galadhon, Legolas. You must be weary, and in sore need of warmth and food," Haldir offered, giving the Prince a respectful bow, his fist to his chest.
Rumil averted his eyes as the Mirkwood Elves passed him, but could not close his ears to their soft laughter. Haldir whispered ferociously in his ear before he followed them that Rumil would be dealt with when he returned from patrol two days hence.
Standing in the driving snow, Rumil watched the backs of the retreating Elves, unmindful now of the cold, his rising anger boiling his blood to keep him warm.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

His punishment from Haldir had been harsh, but not nearly as bad as Rumil had feared. Five days of hard labor in the armory was all that had been mandated. Rumil wondered if perhaps Haldir was going soft…he had thought for certain that he would be assigned to the borders during the Midwinter Celebration.
Going about his business in the city, Rumil had caught glimpses here and there of the Elf who had been at the heart of his troubles - Legolas Greenleaf, Prince of Mirkwood, the youngest of Thranduil's sons. It seemed that no matter where Rumil went, or who he struck up a conversation with, Legolas' name was bound to mentioned and it was eating Rumil alive. No one dared mention the embarrassing encounter at the eastern border to his face, but Rumil was well aware of the whisperings going on behind his back. In addition, the praise that flowed from his acquaintances' mouths about the Prince of Mirkwood made him want to smash his fist into something - preferably into Greenleaf's angelic face.
Angelic it was, even Rumil had to concede that as fact. Never had he seen such a beautiful face, on either Ellyn or Ellith. Not even The Lady could quite compare to the beauty of Legolas Greenleaf, and, Rumil was sure, the Prince knew it.
Honey colored hair, tied back in warrior knots flowed across broad shoulders, hanging well below his belt that cinched a narrow waist. Long legs encased in high leather boots carried the Prince with an assured stride that could only be bred in nobility, as he walked about the bridges and stairs of Caras Galadhon. But it was, indeed, his face that caught everyone's attention - his haughty, highbrowed, but in every aspect, exquisite face. Not that, Rumil was sure, Greenleaf would ever turn that lovely countenance upon the likes of a lowly Guardian, except in derision.
"Still obsessed with the incident at the border, brother?" Orophin's voice reached him, interrupting Rumil's most pleasant daydream of beating the daylights out of the Prince.
"Nay, I was just thinking about the coming festivities," Rumil lied, shrugging his shoulders at his brother.
"You need to let go of it, Rumil. I know that you dwell on your meeting with the party from Mirkwood. Your eyes follow him all over the city. Besides, you would have done the same had the situation been reversed. You would never have passed up the opportunity to make the Mirkwood guardians squirm."
"You're daft - and I wasn't squirming. He caught me at a bad moment, that's all."
"A moment that should never had been allowed to happen while on border patrol, and you know it. That's why you're so upset over this. It isn't the Prince's fault that you were negligent in your duties, Rumil…it is your own."
His brother's stern words only served to fuel Rumil's anger. Of course he knew that his lack of diligence was no one's fault but his own, but that egotistical Prince (Rumil was certain that Legolas must be egotistical, for no one that exquisite would likely be otherwise) didn't have to embarrass him in front of the Mirkwood guard, and particularly not in front of his brother, Haldir - his Captain, no less.
"I am well aware of my shortcomings, brother…there is no need to expound on them," Rumil answered curtly, turning his head from his brother's gaze. His keen eyes once again caught sight of the golden haired Prince who was standing far across the way, speaking to one of Lord Celeborn's scribes.
"Perhaps it is more than the incident that keeps your eyes on the fair Prince," Orophin teased, seeing where Rumil's gaze had once again fallen. "You would not be the first who has been captivated by that one's charms."
Suddenly furious, Rumil brushed past his brother without a further word, stalking off to his own talan. Slamming the door behind him, Rumil picked up the closest object his fingers could reach - a vase - and sent it flying across the room to shatter against the wall. His anger spent in the destruction of earthenware, he slumped into a chair, wondering how long the gossip about him would last, and how soon the Mirkwood party would leave Caras Galadhon. It couldn't be soon enough to suit Rumil.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Elven horns heralded the beginnings of the Midwinter Celebration, calling all and sundry to the Feasting Hall. Everyone in attendance was dressed in their finest: yards of silks, and brocades, soft leathers and suedes in every hue swirled and strutted about the Hall.
Rumil had donned his best as well, a dark blue jerkin of butter-soft leather, black leggings, and highly polished leather boots. His hair, freshly washed and braided, secured with small pins of jade, sprayed across his broad back in a curtain of shimmering silver.
He entered the Feasting Hall, pausing at the door. His eyes scanned the crowd, searching for his brothers, with whom he had planned on dining. He spotted Orophin seated on the far side of the room, and made his way through the crowd to join him. Sitting, he helped himself to a goblet of wine, filling it to the rim with the rich, red liquid.
"Has Haldir not yet arrived?" Rumil asked his brother, carving a thick slice of roast onto his plate. "I would have expected him to be here early."
"Aye, he's here. He's at the head table speaking with Lord Celeborn and…your friend."
Rumil's eyes shot up from his plate, glaring at the head table where Haldir stood laughing with Lord Celeborn and the Prince of Mirkwood. Watching his oldest brother laugh easily with the lovely Prince, Rumil felt the unfamiliar fingers of jealousy grip his soul. Jealousy? What was there to be jealous about? Just because Haldir was talking with Greenleaf? Rumil scowled back down at his plate, after taking a long, deep gulp of his wine, draining the goblet. He poured himself another.
"Really, Rumil…why does this continue to haunt you? Let it go…they will be leaving soon after the Celebration anyway."
"The sooner the better, as far as I'm concerned," Rumil muttered, draining his second glass and reaching for a third.
Orophin cocked an eyebrow at his younger sibling's goblet, wondering how many more it would take before Rumil succeeded in embarrassing himself yet again.
The night was interminable for Rumil. Oh, he laughed at the bawdy jokes his brothers told, danced with all those who asked, ate too little and drank too much, but some corner of his mind was always thinking about one Elf in particular, the corner of his eye always searching for that golden mane in the sea of silver.
"He really is beautiful," Rumil thought, his thoughts running amok with the wine he had ingested. "He dances as though his feet do not touch the ground. So graceful…so beautiful. Orophin was right...it was all my fault, and I should apologize." Finally, having drunk enough to dull his sense of propriety, Rumil rose rather clumsily from his seat, and approached the fair-headed Elf from Mirkwood.

"Ah…it is the young pup who so bravely and competently defends the borders from ravaging hordes of intruders such as myself!" Legolas chuckled, as Rumil approached, swaying slightly on his feet. "Have you captured any more interlopers, or, should I say, have they captured you?"
Legolas' cold words shot straight through Rumil's heart, sobering him in an instant. Gone were all thoughts of apologizing to the handsome Prince, replaced instead with the bitter, hard anger that had consumed him before. Turning on his heel, without a word, Rumil stalked out of the Feasting Hall.
He was halfway to his talan before the pain of Legolas' words really hit him. When it hit, it was enough to take his breath away. "Cruel. He is purposely cruel…Eru gave him everything - beauty, position, talent - everything but a heart!" Rumil thought as he gripped the railings of the bridge. "I am but a lowly Guardian, not fit to share the same air he breathes! He is superior, I am inferior…he is perfect, I am naught but flaws!" His hurt feelings, fueled by the vast amount of strong wine he had consumed, compounded by the very little food he had eaten, grew into an anger like none other he had ever felt. "I will show him who is superior! I will have him at my mercy…I will have him beg me to release him…I will have him!"
Like an Elf possessed, Rumil strode into the night to gather what equipment he thought necessary. The vaguest outlines of a plan worked in his mind, as he stuffed materials into a cloth bag. Taking a breath to calm himself, he headed in the direction of the guest talan that he knew Legolas occupied.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Legolas watched the retreating stiff back of the young Lorien Guardian, immediately feeling remorse for his harsh greeting. In truth, he found Haldir's youngest brother very appealing, and had only meant to jest with him. He hadn't realized how sensitive the Elf might be to his remarks. Perhaps he should go after Rumil, he mused, thinking that he could apologize, and perhaps get to know the young Silvan better…they had had a rather rocky start, and Legolas admitted that most of it was his fault. He had been cold and tired himself, and had lashed out in a most uncharacteristic fashion when his party had happened upon the lone Guardian walking, lost in his thoughts.
Before he could act on his thoughts, Legolas was sidetracked by one of Celeborn's scribes telling him that his presence was requested once again at the head table. Bound by duty, Legolas returned with the scribe, casting a look backward at the door through which Rumil had left.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The night was more than half over before Legolas could finally make his apologies and leave the celebration. As usual, he had been the recipient of many offers for bedsports, by both Elf and Ellith, but his mind kept replaying the sight of one particular Elf storming out of the Feasting Hall, guilt tugging at the edge of his conscience, and so he politely declined each offer. Refusing also an offer for an escort to his talan, he slipped quietly out the door. Briefly wondering if Rumil was in his talan, and if he would make the obviously angry Elf even more upset by waking him, Legolas opted to wait until the next day before offering Rumil his apology. Sighing and stretching, Legolas stifled a yawn as he made his way across the interconnecting rope bridges to the talan assigned to him by Lord Celeborn upon his arrival.
He entered the talan, the door swinging silently shut behind him, when he suddenly found himself face down on the floor, a heavy weight on his back preventing movement. A rough hand covered his mouth, while another jerked his arm behind his back. Struggling, trying to unseat the unseen attacker, Legolas found his one hand already bound to his belt, while the other was forced behind him just as harshly, and tied to his belt as well. A moment later, he tasted leather as his mouth was gagged. He felt the weight on top of him twist, before feeling his feet bound together. Angrily, Legolas twisted his body from side to side, an exercise in futility, since he was trussed up tighter than a sheep bound for slaughter.
Gathering his thoughts, Legolas knew it had to be someone from the City, since no enemy would have been allowed through the Golden Wood. Even he, himself, when he arrived and had behaved so poorly with Rumil, had been seen and approached by Haldir and his Guardians. He calmed himself, willing himself to lie still, knowing his opportunity to act would present itself in due time.
Face down on the floor, his keen eyesight of no value, Legolas allowed his other senses to take over. Legolas' nose found traces of the heady aroma of the fine wine served at the Celebration, which told him this person, whoever it was, had been at the feasting. His sensitive ears picked up the sounds of the hard breathing of his assailant, winded from his efforts to subdue the Prince. A few moments later, Legolas heard his attacker walk away, and recognized the familiar sounds of a fire being kindled.
His suspense was short lived because, no sooner did he begin to feel the heat from the fire that his assailant roughly flipped him over, and the Prince of Mirkwood found himself staring into the angry, inebriated silver-gray eyes of Rumil.

"Who is it that is caught unaware now, Your Highness?" Rumil growled, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Where are your laughing guards? Where is your admiring audience, My Prince?"
Legolas bit down hard on the gag, his own anger rising to color his fair cheeks. This pup! This Elfling! This arrogant, negligent, poor excuse for a guardian dare attack a prince of Mirkwood? This could be cause for war! How dare he?" Legolas thought, his eyes shooting daggers into Rumil's.
"I suppose you want to know what my motives could possibly be…not that I care one whit about what you want, but I'll tell you anyway. I've put up with the gossip, and the snickering, and the whispering about our first meeting for days now…as well as the punishment meted out by my brother, and yet I came to you tonight with the intention of apologizing!" Rumil hissed, though some of his words slurred, the alcohol still thick in his system. "And what happens? You deem it necessary to embarrass me further…in public this time! Have you no heart at all, Greenleaf? Are you so perfect that you feel it beneath you to show the tiniest bit of compassion to someone of a lower class than yourself?"
The fire in Legolas' eyes died down as he listened to Rumil's ranting. He knew the Elf was angry, but never realized how deeply his words had cut him. It was certainly no excuse to tether the visiting son of a King on the floor of his own talan, but it made Legolas wonder what he would have done in Rumil's place.
Rumil stared down at the gagged and tied form of the Prince of Mirkwood, his beauty again striking the Silvan with the force of a mallet. Unable to stop himself, Rumil reached out and softly stroked Legolas cheek, closing his own eyes at the feel of the silky skin beneath his fingers.
When Rumil again opened his eyes, Legolas cringed at what he saw. Anger, yes…but something more now. Lust. Lust shining through the anger as Rumil's strong fingers gripped Legolas' chin. Before Legolas could blink, Rumil's head descended, clamping his lips over those of the Prince, trapping the leather gag between them.
The sweet taste of the Mirkwood Prince, even combined with harsh taste of the leather gag, fueled Rumil's passion like oil on a fire. No longer thinking of consequence - no longer thinking at all, except of the enchanting Elf that lay bound before him at his complete mercy, Rumil stood, a bit unsteadily, grabbed Legolas from under his bound arms and dragged him across the room, the Prince twisting his body from side to side, fighting every inch of the way. Pulling the Prince's prone body, still arching and twisting, onto the thick, soft fur rug set before the crackling fireplace, Rumil forced Legolas into a sitting position, his own arm holding the angry royal in a fierce grip. Using his free hand, Rumil tied another cord to the rope already securing Legolas' hands to his belt, and fixed the other end to the foot of the heavy, intricately carved bed.
Rumil straddled Legolas, looking down at the Prince with hooded, desire-dilated eyes. Legolas growled angrily at his captor, the gag between his teeth disallowing the stream of curses that were backed up into his throat from flowing between his lips in a stream.
Smiling a predatory smile, Rumil straightened, standing over his captive. He quickly doffed his own tunic, kicked off his boots, then untied the lacings of his leggings, folding back the flap to unleash his already throbbing, rigid Elfhood. He took great delight in the expression in Legolas' eyes as they took in his thick, reddened length.
Naked, he bent to straddle the Prince again, leaning down to lock his eyes with those deep blue, angry ones in front of him.
"Shall I keep you gagged? You do realize what an embarrassment it would be to your father should you scream for help, and be found bound hand and foot with me on top of you, do you not?" he laughed, tracing one finger down Legolas' soft cheek.
Legolas, even though his anger and humiliation boiled his blood, knew Rumil was right…he could not afford to allow himself to be found in a position of weakness. Mutely, he nodded in assent.
"Good. Then I shall remove the gag - but nothing else. You will remain bound, though I dare say before I am finished with you, you will gladly submit to me."
Rumil reached behind Legolas' head, deftly untying and removing the gag. Legolas turned his head and spat, trying to clean his mouth of the foul taste of the leather. He would have much preferred spitting at Rumil, but knew that would only exasperate the situation.
"Do you realize the penalty for what you are doing?" Legolas hissed, although he kept his voice low so as not to travel past the talan walls. "Your career…your life in Caras Galadhon…will you throw it all away to avenge a few thoughtless remarks?"
"Aye…I understand completely…and I suppose I will have to make this worth the sacrifice, won't I?" Rumil laughed.
Rumil sat back on his haunches, slowly rubbing his erection against Legolas' groin. It took all of Legolas' willpower to keep his facial expression stoic, and not allow the excitement Rumil was stirring in him to show. He turned his head away, not willing to allow his eyes to take in any more of the pale, nearly translucent skin that stretched tightly across the well developed muscles of the Guardian's chest and shoulders, not to mention the turgid shaft that was working quickly to shatter what was left of Legolas' self control.
Seeing the exposed tender throat of the Prince of Mirkwood as he turned his head, Rumil bent his own head, his lips sucking the warmth below the skin at the juncture of Legolas' neck and shoulder to the surface, marking him. He pulled back, admiring the dark red blotch that stood out in stark relief from the creamy white skin.
The Prince gritted his teeth as he felt Rumil unbuckle his belt, and undo the hook and eyes that held his tunic closed. The still chilled air, followed quickly by the heat of the fire, hit his chest and abdomen as Rumil peeled away the garment, exposing Legolas' own well developed archer's chest and chiseled abdomen. Closing his eyes, his ears still heard Rumil's intake of breath as he gazed down at the exposed flesh of the Prince of Mirkwood.
"Great Eru," Rumil sighed, letting his fingers run down the length of Legolas' torso in a feather light, barely touching stroke. The creamy white skin…the hard muscles just below it…the body of the Prince of Mirkwood was every bit as exquisite as his face. Bending down, his tongue tickled the tiny, rosy bud of Legolas' left nipple before his lips closed over it, sucking hungrily, while his fingers teased at its twin.
Leaving his chest, Rumil's fingers reached the top of Legolas' leggings, untying the lacings of their own accord. Rumil barely registered his own actions. In one smooth movement, Rumil tugged down Legolas' leggings to just past his knees, moaning at the sight of the Prince's thick shaft, at full attention, a single drop of precum clinging to its head.
Again, Legolas tried twisting and pulling at his bonds, but to no avail. Rumil paid no attention to the writhing Prince, his attention focussed solely on the weeping, hardened shaft before his eyes.
It was Rumil's firm hot tongue, as it licked his shaft from just above his fuzzy sac to the weeping tip, flicking lightly under the ridge below the head, that was Legolas' undoing. He could not bite back the moan that was torn from his throat as Rumil's soft lips sucked gently at the head of his Elfhood, any more than he could stop his pelvis from rising, trying to push himself deeper into that hot, moist mouth.
"More…" Legolas moaned, his hips thrusting upward. "More…"
Rumil raised his head, his eyes taking in the strained features of the Prince. "You are in no position to give orders, are you?"
"Not an order…" Legolas moaned, pumping his hips futilely beneath the Guardian. "Begging…I am begging…"
"Now that is more like it," Rumil whispered, bending his head and swallowing Legolas whole.
Legolas groaned loudly as Rumil's hot mouth devoured his organ, his firm lips pulling against the delicate skin of his erection, the suction he created nearly unbearable.
Tasting the Prince's precum on his tongue nearly undid Rumil. Quickly he released Legolas' shaft from his mouth, pulling back, taking a deep breath to keep his own release at bay. He rolled off the Prince, his strong hands slipping under Legolas back, flipping him over onto his belly.
Lifting the back of Legolas' tunic, Rumil exposed the Prince's smooth bottom. Using only his forefinger, Rumil traced a circle around each cheek, then slowly slid it down the rift between them, taking great pleasure in Legolas' soft moan. Reaching closer to the roaring fire, Rumil grabbed the cloth bag he had brought. Riffling through its contents, he pulled out a small bottle of oil, tossing the bag to the side. Uncorking the vial, the aroma of sandalwood filling the air, Rumil poured the oil into his hand. He drizzled more along the crack of Legolas' firm ass, sighing as he watched it drip between the alabaster cheeks.
Setting the bottle to the side, Rumil pried Legolas' cheeks apart, whistling softly as he exposed the quivering, puckered pink opening that lay hidden between them.
Again, Legolas could not help himself as he felt Rumil's oiled finger gently touch his entry; couldn't help his rear from rising to meet his touch, or the guttural groan from escaping his lips.
Slowly, Rumil slid one finger inside of the Prince's body, hissing with pleasure as the tight, silky sheathe gripped his finger. He pulled it out, then pushed it back in, noticing Legolas' rear rising to match his thrust. Rumil bent to suck at the soft white flesh of the Prince's bottom as he slid his finger faster in and out of the pulsing depths, his own shaft weeping with delight. Another finger was added to the tight entry, scissoring the firm ring of muscle. Still another finger joined in, plunging now into Legolas' channel, eliciting a mighty groan from the Prince as they brushed his pleasure spot.
Unable to hold back any longer, Rumil removed his fingers, and pushed Legolas' legs up into a kneeling position. He found the Prince more than willing to acquiesce.
"Please, Rumil…I beg you…please…" Legolas pleaded, "Do not torture me further…"
"Your wish is my command, My Prince," Rumil answered, his own voice thick with desire. Pouring more oil liberally on his own shaft, stroking it and coating it well, Rumil positioned himself behind Legolas' quivering cheeks. In one smooth movement, he breached the tight opening, embedding his shaft to the hilt.
"Ai! Legolas!" Rumil cried, nearly undone as the silken steel of Legolas' channel squeezed his rod. Thrusting faster and faster, Rumil felt his release boiling in his sac. Reaching around Legolas' thigh, Rumil grasped the Prince's member in his fist, pumping it furiously as he rode him. A strangled cry was ripped from Legolas' lips as he came hard, his silver seed spilling over Rumil's fist.
The contractions caused by Legolas' climax virtually squeezed the essence from Rumil's organ. He thrust wildly several more times, his pelvis slapping hard against Legolas' rear, head thrown back, his deep harsh cry filling the air as he came.
Collapsing on top of the Prince of Mirkwood, his weight carrying both of them to the soft fur of the rug, Rumil lay panting, his entire body trembling.
"I will release you now," he whispered to the Prince who lay trapped beneath his body. "I will gladly accept whatever punishment is due me, but I must tell you…no matter how severe…it was worth it." Rumil kissed Legolas on the back of the neck, before rising and untying the bonds that had held the Prince. Without a further word, Rumil quickly dressed and left the talan, Legolas not having spoken a word.
The Prince of Mirkwood lay quietly on the rug before the roaring flames of the fire as the Guardian retreated, still wrapped in the glow of his powerful orgasm.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The rising sun found Rumil sitting in his darkened talan, ramrod straight in a chair, his hands clenched in his lap, waiting for the guards he was certain would be pounding on his door anytime now.
He reasoned that it would take a while for Legolas to dress, seek out Lord Celeborn, file his formal complaint, and send the guards for Rumil. He was completely willing to accept his punishment, be it death or banishment. His only wish was that he not have to see the faces of his brothers as they witnessed his disgrace.
His body jerked at the pounding on his door, but he forced himself to remain calm as he rose and went to open the door. To his dismay, Haldir stood on the porch, along with the Prince.
"Where have you been? I looked for you all night!" Haldir grumbled, eyeing Rumil's disheveled appearance. "Have you not slept at all?" Haldir shook his head in disapproval, then turned to the Prince. "Your Highness, I wanted to once again apologize for the unpleasantness surrounding your arrival." Turning to Rumil, Haldir said, "Rumil, you own His Highness a formal apology. He is waiting…" Haldir flashed Rumil a look that told the younger brother he had better come up with an apology quick, and make it good.
Rumil couldn't help the look of astonishment from crossing his face. Staring hard at the Prince of Mirkwood, confused because Legolas gave no hint at the outrageous crimes committed by Rumil against his person the night before, he stammered out an apology.
Legolas, a brief, amused smile gracing his lips, said to Haldir, "I understand that you will be traveling to Mirkwood this spring at Lord Celeborn's request."
Haldir nodded affirmatively, already aware of his Lordship's plan to send emissaries to Mirkwood.
"I would ask that the young pup be included…he seems to be in dire need of experience," Legolas said. Looking directly at Rumil, he continued, "I would be most pleased to further his instruction myself." He waved his hand for Haldir to precede him off the porch, but lingered behind for a moment.
Placing his hands on either side of Rumil's face, Legolas plundered his mouth in a hot kiss that curled Rumil's toes within his boots. Whispering in his ear, Legolas said, "You will receive your punishment when you reach Mirkwood, pup. I hope you will find it as pleasant as I did mine."
Rumil stood openmouthed, his lips still burning from the Prince's kiss, watching Legolas and his brother until they were out of sight.
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Bound for an Apology