A night of fulfilled desires

BY : sevenofmine
Category: +Third Age > Threesomes/Moresomes
Dragon prints: 2935
Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings, nor the characters from it. I do not make money from writing this story.

Chapter 12

Instead of giving an answer, Elrond turned and walked towards the door. On his way out, he said “I need to do research”, and with that he was gone.

“We might still need the Istari,” Thranduil decided and cast a glance upon the wizard, hanging from the ceiling. “Your body has remarkable strength,” he said and took off the metal boots. Blood squashed onto the floor, covering it in brown. Galion rushed forwards to take the metal and start cleaning it.

“When you are done cleaning, let the wizard rot in his dungeon cell until Elrond knows what to do with him,” Thranduil informed his butler. “Bind off the blood circulation to his legs so that he will not bleed out. Tell a nurse to keep constant guard on him. If he dies, we do not know where he will return to our world in his new body. When you are done cleaning, tell Legolas to come by the throne where I await him. I shall then have you prepare a bath for me.”


Elrond was so deeply focused on the papers of unbound parchment that he did not hear the footsteps nearing him. He was in Thranduil’s study, something he had not thought to exist centuries ago. His collection of literature was by far smaller than his own at Imladris. He looked up when someone stepped in front of the desk. It was Legolas.

“You have been down here for hours. It has turned night. I brought you something to eat,” Legolas said with a light voice. He placed a bowl of porridge mixed with forest fruits onto the paper that Elrond was reading. He shoved it aside.

“I need to continue this. The whole world as we know it might be in danger,” he said but kindly.

“How will you save the world with an empty stomach?” Legolas asked softly. He did not take it personal; he knew that Elrond was very worried about his biological father.

“My father has sent troops to both the dwarf settlements around Erebor as well as the Hobbit-lands west to the Misty Mountains. They are to find Pallando and bring him here before he can do more harm.”

“Pallando and Alatar were to meet West of the Shire, ready to search the Sea for Eärendil. If Alatar does not come, I do not know what Pallando will do. I fear he will continue his mission on his own.”

“What about those who come to help us?” Legolas asked. He was visibly shaken by the news of impending doom.

“The works are incomplete,” Elrond said with light anger in his voice and dropped the parchment. “I will need to ride to Imladris and consult my own books. They contain more detail about what is upon us.”

“First, my Lord, you must eat. Or shall I feed you?” Legolas grabbed the bowl and pressed it into Elrond’s hands. The Peredhel sighed and began to spoon it.


While Elrond was packing his most important things, Legolas returned unsatisfied to the king’s halls to where he was called by Galion – only to find Thranduil very angrily pacing up and down in front of his throne. There were no guards around; Legolas assumed he had sent them away or they had fled from his fit of rage.

“What is it, father?” Legolas asked carefully.

Thranduil stopped to look at his son. “The first ravens have returned from the East. Were-worms have attacked the dwarves and men. Dale was reduced to a pile of ashes and dust. Erebor was fortified and able to hold off the attackers. Reinforcements from the Iron Mountains are on their way and I have sent troops of ours as well.” He grimaced at the thought of helping out dwarves. “It happened over night. Pallando must have bewitched the worms for that they were more aggressive and harder to kill than normal.” He began to pace up and down again.

“Have you drunk?” Legolas asked. He knew that his father preferred to drown his sorrows in Dorwinion.

“No, and that is the problem,” Thranduil answered. His voice was harsh, and he was effervescing with anger and energy. “How could we let it come so far?” he suddenly shouted. “Why did we not act earlier?”

Legolas wanted to answer, but he knew his father was best not interrupted during such an outburst of fury.

“Pallando is probably crossing Mirkwood right now under our nose, heading for the Hobbit settlements to reduce them to rubble as well. Then he will find Eärendil and send upon us the end of all days.”

Thranduil grabbed a wooden column for support. He felt a pain running through his body.

“You need to calm down, father. It is not your fault that we did not see this coming.”

“I am the king of these woods. I see and hear everything that happens a thousand miles into each direction. Ever since the fall of Lothlórien I feel the more responsible for the fate of the children of Ilúvatar. Those who gave their lives in Dale were men. They are supposed to be under our protection; it is written so in our trading contracts.”

Legolas had endured many eruptions of his father, but it still scared him when his father raised his voice. He was a strong and violent man and his punishment was never carried lightly. Legolas had learnt that very early as a child. Now, he had to witness how his father’s head was red, his veins could be seen pumping blood and his eyelids were quivering.

Thranduil, who had bent down to him, straightened his back again. “Turn around.” His voice had returned to a normal volume, but still there was a trembling in his tone.

Legolas closed his eyes. He should have anticipated it. He trembled himself as he did as his father commanded. He lowered his pants and prepared himself mentally. This time he had not done anything to anger his father, but he was the only person around to calm him down. He wondered where Galion was and whether the butler was avoiding his king on purpose.

“Undress yourself completely,” Thranduil said and Legolas did so while hearing his father dropping his trousers to the ground as well.

Legolas flinched when his father laid his hand on his hips. He could hear him breath deeply as he was still overflowing with anger.

“Onto the floor,” Thranduil ordered and Legolas did as he was told. He felt his father’s knee at his hip and knew that he was getting himself ready. He quickly grabbed his underpants and put it into his mouth. His father’s hands felt cold on his waist and he knew that he would soon endure a pain he had felt so often but was never prepared for. Neither was he this time. He screamed so loud he was sure that someone must have heard him. It was as if somebody was forcing a dick of sandpaper into his butt, turning and twisting it inside him and pulling it out only to shove it in with twice the force.

Thranduil worked deep and fast. His balls were hitting Legolas’ butt cheeks over and over again, synchronised with his yells for him to stop or go slower. Halfway through, the underpants dropped out of the son’s mouth while shouting. He wanted to put it back in, but his fingers were clenching so hard into the garments that lay on the floor that he could not open his fist. He held his mouth open to breathe, occasionally realising that he was biting his teeth too hard and opening the mouth again to pant for air and to yell at or curse his father. It seemed for him like ages until his father’s movements slowed down and he felt how he released into him.

Thranduil did not stop moving, much to Legolas’ frustration. He kept thrusting into him until his dick became limp. Finally, he pulled out and let go his tight grip of Legolas. His son fell onto the floor and rolled onto his back. He kept lying there, his face red, his eyes tear-swollen, his asshole red and his waist showing marks of his father’s big hands. He could not move, only absorb all the pain and the emotion and lie there. Wordlessly, Thranduil dressed himself again and left, letting his son lying on the floor in front of his throne.

Legolas was still lying there, naked and vulnerable, when Elrond wanted to inform the King of his imminent departure. But instead of Thranduil, he found his son, in front of the mighty throne, staring into the sunlight which came down in rays from the holes in the ground which illuminated the underground palace.

Lord Elrond quickly hurried to his lover. Legolas smiled at him. “Elrond…” he whispered.

“What happened?” the half-elf asked and nervously inspected the young elf’s body. He was a healer, but he found no wound. Then he recognised the imprint of Thranduil’s hands on his son which had left dark bruises. “Oh no,” he muttered and gently turned Legolas to his side. His butthole was roughened and red and there were traces of blood. “What has your father done to you?”

“He had no one else. It is the order of things.”

“A father should not lay his hand on his only son like this.”

“Have you never punished your sons, Elrond?” Legolas asked, his lips still showing a weak smile.

“I have never abused my sons.”

“It is not abuse if I did so willingly.”

“Oh Legolas,” Elrond said and grabbed his lover tight and hugged him. “I will never do such things to you. I will never hurt you. I will never take out my wrath upon you.” He dug his face into his blonde hair and wept. “Thranduil will have to pay for this,” he finally muttered.

“What?” Legolas asked surprised but Elrond had already gotten up. “Get dressed. Find Galion who should tend to you. Get a massage, get a hot bath, and get some rest. I will talk to your father.”

“You will not talk to him,” Legolas said and stood up quickly. He had lain so long that he felt dizzy and stumbled, so Elrond rushed to support him.

“I will talk to him like a Lord to a King, with respect. But he should not live out his outbursts on you, Legolas. Nor on any other elf. I will go to Rivendell for research after that, so he will have some time before I return and by then, his anger directed at me should have evaporated.”

“I hope you are right,” Legolas muttered sadly.

“Get Galion, or any other servant. Make them protect you,” Elrond said and held his lover’s cheeks in his hands to make him look at him. “I love you, Legolas,” he said and smiled at him while his dark eyes showed century-old grief. He then bent forward and gave him a gentle kiss. Legolas’ lips were so small and soft that Elrond was always afraid to apply too much pressure. This young elven prince should be handled with care and not abused and thrown away like an object.

When Elrond turned and left, rage returned on his face. All the anger towards Thranduil which he had never allowed himself to vent crawled to his head. He had no idea where the king might be at this time of the day when not sitting on his elevated throne and watching his minions work, so Elrond went to the king’s chambers.

There was one guard standing outside, an ebony-haired woman who Elrond had seen elegantly playing the harp at the last party.

“You cannot enter,” she said when he wanted to walk past her.

“I really don’t care,” Elrond said more briskly than he wanted to.

She sighed and added, “he is not in a good mood.”

“That’s why you should leave,” Elrond said and raised his eyebrows. His authority as the Lord of Imladris was still worth something in these woods, so the she-elf turned and walked away. She definitely did not like standing guard when her king was having mood swings.

The steam coming from a room next door indicated that Thranduil must be taking a bath. Elrond was not surprised, after all he, too, had wanted to get the smell of the dungeons off his skin. Determined, he walked to the bathroom and found Thranduil, still wearing his braided hair-dress, leaning relaxed in the bathtub. He opened his eyes when he heard Elrond entering.

“What do you think you are doing?” he asked and sat up, his own anger reflected in the Lord’s face.

“What you did to Legolas,” Elrond began to speak, anger sparking from his mouth like it had not done in decades, “was unjust and in appropriate.” He rushed closer.

“I do with my son as I like. Now get out of here,” Thranduil said and leaned back again.

Elrond could not contain himself any longer. He reached forward and grabbed Thranduil’s braids to heave him up. Surprised, Thranduil gave in because of the pain on his head. Once he stood, he pushed Elrond’s chest, but the half elf did not back away. He pulled him further towards himself and to avoid stumbling, Thranduil had to step out of the bathtub. He slipped and fell into Elrond’s arms who held him close to avoid that the king could launch another attack against him.

Elrond sniffed the blonde hair. “Is that hobbit weed?” he thought to recognise the smell.

“Leave now, stupid half-elf, before I shall cast all you Ñoldor scum out of my protected realm,” Thranduil screamed and pushed himself away from Elrond’s chest.

Lord Elrond still held him by his hair and grabbed his arm. “How can you relax in a soothing bath and get high while your son is in aching pain because of your reckless, unnecessary actions?” he shouted. He very, very rarely lost his temper, but now was such a time. And seeing the mighty king helpless and stoned made him really want to take advantage of the situation. He knew he should not, and he knew that such action would make him no better than Thranduil himself. But he wanted to make him pay for the misuse of his fatherly relationship with his son. He needed it. He needed to dominate him and make the grand king of the woodland realm submissive to him.

He dragged the blonde elf, who was several inches higher than him, towards the bed.

“What do you think you are doing?” Thranduil’s rough voice cut through the room. Elrond was glad he had sent the guard away. He searched the king’s night table and found – among a lot of other things – what he was looking for: leather strips. He gazed at the handsome, naked body of the Sindarin elf who stared back at him. His look was only half-off into the void, so Elrond knew that Thranduil was still conscious enough to protest. Therefore, the Peredhil acted very fast: He climbed onto the king and pressed his upper body down with his legs, binding his wrists under great toil to the bed posts.

Thranduil gave half-meant attempts to defend himself, but he had indulged too fondly into the inspiring herbs of the Western folk. When Elrond bound his legs, he was kicked several times into his stomach and knew that he would get bruises sooner or later. Physician, heal thyself, he thought and was surprised about his sense of dark humour in such a dangerous situation.

When Thranduil was restrained, he gave up kicking and screaming. “You don’t have the guts to do what it takes,” he hissed with a malicious smile. Elrond felt the urge to wipe it off his face. Before he could reason with himself, he climbed onto the king’s muscular body and gave him a slap in the face.

Thranduil was surprised by the sudden anger outburst of the calmest and most balanced elf of all the middle continent. “Cut me lose,” he demanded with all the authority he had.

“No,” Elrond grinned and slapped him again.

Thranduil grimaced in pain, and only now did Elrond remember that he was hiding severe disfigurement under his left cheek. He touched and ungently fondled the cheek which Thranduil was ashamed off. “Show me your true self,” Elrond said. He continued rubbing the skin. “Or I will slap it out of you.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” Thranduil hissed, visibly angry, but unable to free himself. Another slap hit him so hard he forgot to breath for a second. He did not look back at the Lord as he tried to gather his thoughts. His cheek was burning and so was the anger in his eyes. Out of rage and defiance, he uncovered the disfigurement with a yell and showed the scars that he hid under the illusion of flawless skin.

“Are you happy now?” he asked aggressively.

Elrond took his hand away to look at it. He remembered trying to heal the burns while Thranduil had only wanted to shoo him away. He had been too proud and too arrogant to be helped. But Elrond could not help him in this. The injury had been too deep. And the sorrow and grief that had followed the battle with the dragon had impaired the healing. Elrond knew that Thranduil was most probably thinking of his wife now as well. He slapped him again to distract him of these thoughts.

“I did what you said, why did you slap me again?” Thranduil complained and his voice roared through the hall.

Elrond chuckled. “I don’t care,” he said and raised his eyebrows. He enjoyed seeing Thranduil helpless and he looked very much forward to what he was about to do now. Elrond stood up and began to undress.

“What are you going to do?” Thranduil asked, slight panic to be heard in his voice.

“I am punishing you,” Elrond said. “When was the last time that someone was in you rather than you were in someone?”

“Yesterday. I am wide enough,” Thranduil answered triumphantly. To be honest, he much preferred to penetrate someone himself, but to work on his own butthole, Galion was regularly allowed to widen it either himself or with toys. “You will not be able to punish me with that.”

“We shall see about that,” Elrond said. He was unsure whether he could get an erection with Thranduil lying so helplessly in front of him. When he had removed his clothes, he started rubbing his penis thinking of Thranduil in the dungeon. His many braids made him look rebellious, his lemon-scented skin was in such contrast to the musty smell in the deepest rooms, and his crimson dress had fitted so tight that Elrond did not know how he had resisted him back then. Whatever King Thranduil did, he did with such grace and charm. Now Elrond was about to take that all away from him.

With images of Thranduil crouching beneath the tortured wizard in his head, Elrond managed to get an erection. He spit into his hand and wetted his hardness. Then he grabbed a pillow and placed it under the king’s pelvis.

“Elrond!” Thranduil said with a menacing sub-tone.

The wise elf climbed onto the bed between Thranduil’s restrained legs. “You should relax, my king, or this will hurt you even more,” he said with laughter in his voice. He bent forward and entered the king who threw his head back and opened his mouth in a silent scream. He was determined to not give the half-elf the satisfaction of begging for him to stop. Elrond pushed himself deeper inside. It was difficult as the butthole was not lubricated enough, and he knew that Thranduil must be in pain. He pulled out again. Thranduil looked at him in expectation. Elrond knew he wanted him to use more spit or oil.

Instead, he inserted his penis again without wetting it. Thranduil could not hold back and breathed deeply in and out. Elrond worked slowly in him, not to treat Thranduil with care but because he was unsure about such forced penetration. Then he saw again Legolas lying on the floor and his mind filled with rage again. Thranduil did not care. He did as he pleased. Before he knew it, Elrond’s back and forth movement became faster. He took his hand to aid the entry into Thranduil’s butthole which was becoming red. He spanked the cheeks from time to time. All of this resulted in more moans by Thranduil. He did not plead anymore, he simply took it all in. He absorbed the pain of his butt and his butthole, he endured the fast movements that he usually exerted on others.

Elrond, focused not only in thrusting faster and harder, found it – to his very surprise – not difficult to get further aroused. Maybe he had wanted to subdue Thranduil for a long time and use this as a payback for all the pain he had made his son endure.

The Peredhil grabbed Thranduil’s penis, squeezed it hard and then began slapping it. When it had become all red, the king had also become aroused.

“You enjoy this, don’t you?” Elrond slapped harder. “You enjoy this too much!” He did not stop slapping Thranduil’s penis or working in him hard, and when Elrond felt close to release, he pulled out and crawled over Thranduil’s body, rubbing his penis until he came all over the king’s face. He then sat down on his pelvis and rubbed his behind over Thranduil’s erect penis. Then he continued slapping it. He stopped when Thranduil sounded too aroused. He did not want to give the king relief.

“Now, how do you say it, ‘let me wash this off your face’,” Elrond imitated the king and started to pee onto his face. Thranduil squeezed his eyes together and looked to the side to avoid the stream. But Elrond kneed over his upper body and held Thranduil’s chin with his hand to direct first his piss all over his face and then into his mouth until Thranduil gagged and spat out the liquid, but also drank amounts of it. When Elrond had no more liquid to spend, he spat straight onto Thranduil’s face, then got up without a word, also leaving the king lying on his bed, helpless and sore, and he went to the bathroom to climb into the tub that Thranduil had earlier immersed himself in.

The water had a lemon flavour, and he spotted the hobbit pipe lying on the other side. Elrond quickly washed himself in the water that had by now gotten nearly cold. After having dried and clothed himself again, he turned to Thranduil who was looking at Elrond with an anger of surprise, disbelief, and wraith.

“I formally excuse myself and ride back to Imladris. I have to do research on the prophecy about the end of all days and I have the appropriate books only at my home dwelling. I shall return as soon as possible,” he said in his official business-manner. Then he turned and walked away. He ignored Thranduil’s yelling and shouts to bind him loose, but he cared no more.

He informed the head of the wood-elves guards of his endeavour and took his horse with food and care packs and rode off into the west, towards Imladris.

Thranduil lay helplessly bound to his bedpost until Galion came to check for him. By then, his boner had died, and his fury had apparently blown off. When Galion found him, he suspected the worst when he freed him from the leather straps. He thought he would be punished and mistreated, but instead Thranduil kept lying there, watching his butler bend over him.

“Who did this to you, my king?” Galion asked when he inspected Thranduil’s arsehole.

“Lord Elrond.”

Galion sighed. He had underestimated the half-elf. Galion knew that the Lord would be furious if he found out how Legolas was treated by his father, but he would have never thought that he would be able to take such actions. Before Galion could reply, however, he heard Thranduil add, “I actually liked it.”

Galion thought he had misheard. “Excuse me, my king?”

Thranduil sprawled on the soaked bedsheets. “Elrond was all dominant and powerful. I was helpless but also unwilling to help myself. I enjoyed being in the submissive role.”

Galion sat down on the edge of the bed. “Would you like us to explore this further?” he asked hesitantly. He was not sure whether Thranduil was ready to endure what he made others endure.

“Yes. But right now, I would like to bathe,” he said and sat up.

“Of course, my king. I will prepare hot water for you immediately,” Galion said and rushed off to the adjacent bathroom.

Thranduil regarded his red penis again. His butthole was hurting as if he were just deflowered. Slowly, he began rubbing his member. He used the piss with which he was covered and his spit until he was aroused again. It did not take long until he released on the bed sheet in front of him. He only needed to remember the fond memory of being helplessly subdued to Lord Elrond. He soon submersed himself in a hot bath and doze off with a smile on his face.

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