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Laurië Celvarmólet by Esteliel

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Story notes:
xFanarix allowed me to play in her Dark Prince universe for this fic - I just could not shake the thought of a Vanimórë/Elgalad/Legolas threesome. So I wrote this ficlet which you can see as a fantasy of Van if you want - certainly he would enjoy imagining this kind of thing. I know that I did! ;)
Chapter notes:
xFanarix allowed me to play in her Dark Prince universe for this fic - I just could not shake the thought of a Vanimórë/Elgalad/Legolas threesome. So I wrote this ficlet which you can see as a fantasy of Van if you want - certainly he would enjoy imagining this kind of thing. I know that I did! ;)
Disclaimer: Vanimórë and Elgalad belong to xFanarix, Middle-earth belongs to Tolkien.
This hasn't been beta'd, so if you see a mistake, feel free to point it out to me!
There was the sound of yrch trampling through the undergrowth only a stone's throw away from them, and Legolas cursed silently when he felt Elgalad freeze with fear. The young elf had seemed more withdrawn than usual lately, and so the Prince had thought it a good idea to take him hunting, just the two of them. They had followed a magnificent stag, and with their blood coursing hotly through their veins as the majestic animal flew through the wood before them, they had not realized how far they had gotten away from the safer parts of the forest until it was too late.

Now they lay in a shallow hollow, pressed together and trying not to breathe so they would not give themselves away. Legolas was overcome by guilt when he felt the slight trembles that ran through the body of the young elf – he should never have brought him here. Carefully, he raised one arm to slowly rest it on Elgalad's back, trying to give silent courage, smiling affectionately when he felt him relax a little almost immediately.

They were not truly in danger, though their situation was a dangerous one indeed; yet yrch did not have the keen senses of elves, and as long as they would stay silent and unmoving, Legolas did not think that they would be found out. For what seemed like an eternity, they waited, and Legolas hid another smile against Elgalad's hair, thinking that if it would not be for the yrch, this would be a situation he could truly enjoy. The young elf's hair smelled like cool ferns, and there was a faint sweetness to it as well that made Legolas think of small, white flowers blossoming hidden high in the boughs of trees.

He was like that, Legolas thought tenderly, a rare flower of the forest, small and hidden and all the more precious for it. Too precious to take advantage of, however good the lithe body might feel pressed against his own.

“I think we are safe now,” he whispered at last, long moments after the last orc had passed. Carefully, they stood, hands on their weapons as they left the small hollow, listening silently to make certain that they were indeed alone – but just when they turned to give each other a relieved smile, there was a cry, and another orc came running towards them.

Quick as lightning, Legolas pulled an arrow from his quiver, pulled the bow and released, but even while the orc died with a gurgling sound at their feet, he grabbed Elgalad's hand and pulled him into a run.

“Quick! The others will have heard – we cannot fight so many!”

They ran as fast as they could, well aware that even though they were both archers of renown, they could not take out an entire company of yrch on their own – yrch that were crashing through the undergrowth behind them now.

“If we can make it across the river...” Legolas gasped, although he was aware that they had wandered too far in their pursuit of the stag – they would not reach the river in time. Elgalad knew it, too, for he did not answer, and for a moment Legolas allowed himself to think of the other's Lord, the mysterious, violet-eyed Golodh who had reared Elgalad and saved Legolas' life many years ago.

There would be no mysterious saviour this time, Legolas thought grimly, wondering whether it would be better to make a stand now and try to take out as many yrch as possible with their bows.

Then there were loud, pained cries and grunts behind them, and both Legolas and Elgalad slowed and turned simultaneously, readying bows as they hoped against hope that a troop of guards had come to their help so far from safety.

There were long minutes during which they heard nothing but death-cries and loud, savage growls - wargs which had not been there before, and so they hesitated to approach, fearing a trap though the sounds of battle made them unwilling to leave in case it were indeed soldiers of Legolas' father who had come to their rescue.

Then there was a last yelp that ended abruptly, and after another minute an elf strode into view – tall, clad all in black, with dark, shining hair that fell to his knees, and a sword stained black with blood in his hand.

“M-my Lord?” Elgalad breathed in disbelief, then ran towards him like a bird finally reaching its nest after a long storm, embracing him tightly with nothing but joy and trust in his eyes, even though the Golodh was splattered with vile, black blood.

“Meluion,” Vanimórë murmured the epessë he himself had given the young elf so many years ago. “Thou art still attracting trouble, I see.”

He brushed a kiss against his ward's pale hair, then released him, striding towards where a small creek had formed a shallow pool, to clean himself of the blood – and worse – that clung to his skin.

“What happened?” Legolas asked, his voice level, although his eyes were alight with fascination when for the first time he found himself free to study the strange elf that had once saved his life.

“What dost thou think? I saved thee again, fair Prince.”

Legolas' eyes narrowed, and he strode up towards where Vanimórë knelt by the pool, studying him as he carefully cleaned his blade. “An entire company of yrch? Alone?”

Vanimórë laughed at the distrust in his voice and got up again, smiling faintly when Elgalad moved to his side, craving his touch – still as innocent in his love as the child he had been.

“Six wargs had been with me. Stupid creatures,” he murmured. “Stupid and obedient – and hungry. They had their fill of yrch meat today.”

Alarmed, Legolas turned as if he feared that any moment, one of the vicious creatures might attack. “Where are they now? Are you certain that they will obey your commands?”

“Oh, they did.” Vanimórë laughed softly, remembering the surprise on the faces of the yrch. “There was just one left at the end. Now, there is none.” He sheathed his sword, then wound an arm around Elgalad's waist, drawing him close just for the joy of seeing the wide, grey eyes come alight with innocent pleasure.

“Meluion... Thou art well?” Vanimórë then asked, half-smiling when the young elf threw his arms around his neck once more, burying his head against his Lord's chest.

“Beloved L-lord! I missed you so! D-do not leave me again!” Elgalad begged, and Vanimórë sighed, stroking the silken hair of the only one he had ever loved, though he did not answer.

“Didst thou take good care of him, Prince?” he asked after a moment, gently extricating himself of Elgalad's embrace to study the heir of the Woodland realm, pleased to see the beautiful youth he had once rescued now grown into a fair, strong adult, a warrior prince crowned with kindness.

“I did,” Legolas said simply, and Vanimórë nodded, smiling to himself when he thought of the tempting picture they had made pressed against each other in the small hollow.

“I saw thee with him, hiding from the yrch... Thou dost desire him.”

Elgalad's eyes widened at his Lord's accusation. “M-my Lord, no-!”

“He does, hęn.” Vanimórë raised an eyebrow at his reaction. “And thou dost not? The fair prince of the Greenwood... He would be thine, Meluion.”

“I- no, m-my Lord...”

There was a thoughtful look on Legolas' face as he glanced at Elgalad, taking in his pained uncertainty, and then looked at Vanimórë. “Are you afraid I would take him from you? I know he loves you, and only you.”

“I know thou dost want him, and as fair as thou art, it would be no hardship to thee to make him fall in love with thee...”

“No, m-my Lord!” Elgalad protested with tears of confusion in his eyes, shaking his head beseechingly so that Legolas frowned at the upset Vanimórë was causing his friend.

“I know that he loves you; I would never touch someone unwilling!”

“No?” Vanimórë mused, ignoring Elgalad's protest for the moment. “Hast thou maybe had to endure an unwanted touch thyself, Prince? Or...”

His hand closed around the prince's tender throat, bearing him to the ground with his weigh. “Or is it maybe that thou dost in truth desire such a touch?”

Legolas smiled despite the grip that could crush his throat so easily, meeting Vanimórë's strange, amethyst eyes unflinchingly.

“As sweet as my Meluion, thou art,” Vanimórë murmured. “Dost thou truly want the honey of his touch?”

“Or the spice of yours...” Trusting, challenging, Legolas tilted his head back, the long line of his pale throat vulnerable beneath Vanimórë's hand.

Elgalad closed his eyes, confused and pained by what he saw. He had never seen Legolas like this – the noble, confident prince whom he thought his friend surrendering so easily to his Lord, to the one he loved, and who would not even look at him or touch him! To see him touch Legolas now instead, when he had always wished for, yet never known the same...

“He loves you,” Legolas pointed out softly, still holding Vanimórë's eyes. “You should not hurt him so...”

“Dost thou truly love only me, hęn?” Vanimórë moved back from Legolas stretched-out form, raising a hand to his ward's cheek to once again marvel at the smooth skin, the fine, high cheekbones, the tender beauty of this elf he had taken as his own. “Wouldst thou truly be so foolish to reject a Prince, just because of thy love for me?”

“I want n-none but thee, Lord!” Elgalad whispered pitifully.

“And if thou wilt never have me, sweet one?”

“Then I will n-never have anybody,” Elgalad declared quietly, lowering his head so that his hair hid his eyes.

“And what a pity that would be...” Vanimórë touched the curtain of silver-gold hair, then sighed and drew the lithe, young body into his arms.

“I have clothed thee, taught thee to speak, to write, to sing and hunt and fight... Wilt thou make me teach thee how to love as well?”

“Yes – yes, m-my Lord!”

Vanimórë chuckled softly. “And thou, Prince?”

“You have saved my life twice now,” Legolas pointed out, giving Vanimórë a smile through lowered lashes. “You took a kiss, that first time... I sometimes dreamed that you would take more.” He reached up and slowly pulled open the lacing of his tunic, baring more of his pale throat.

“Dost thou see his beauty, Meluion?” Vanimórë murmured and moved to kneel behind his golden elf, winding one arm around his waist to keep him close. Elgalad was trembling, poised for flight like a stag scenting the hunters. “So fair, so graceful, lithe as a birch... He has a gentle soul, this Prince, like thee. And yet, he is quite unlike thee...”

“I am no virgin,” Legolas pointed out with a soft laugh. “And though you call me gentle, I have known rough handling.”

“And thou didst like it,” Vanimórë murmured, one eyebrow raised in surprise. “See, Meluion... I think thy Prince prefers hard usage. A pity then he shall not have it, not from thee at least.”

“Will you torment both of us?”

“Nay... only thee, fair Prince.” Vanimórë chuckled and took Elgalad's hand, placing it on the prince's bared throat with his own resting on top of it. “Feel his pulse, how quickly his blood rushes through his veins, how his fair skin flushes... and all because of thy touch, Meluion.”

He whispered the words against Elgalad's neck, his hot breath making the young elf tremble lightly, making his heart beat fast and his skin flush, just like Legolas did at his touch.

Slowly, Vanimórë moved both of their hands downwards, baring more of the Prince's chest to their eyes, until they brushed a tightly drawn nipple – pierced through by a gleaming hoop, Vanimórë noted with surprise – and Legolas sighed, arching his chest against their fingers.

“More... please!” Legolas begged softly, his eyes gentle as he held the wide, grey eyes of the other Sinda. He raised one hand to tenderly brush it against Elgalad's cheek, smiling at his confusion. “My dearest friend,” he whispered, then met Vanimórë's eyes for a moment, studying him as if to search for the answer to an unvoiced question in the detached amethyst eyes.

At last, he leaned forward to press his lips tenderly against Elgalad's soft mouth, feeling his trembling intensify as he stole his first kiss, and Legolas became gentler still, remembering how his own first taste of passion had overwhelmed him – and what had happened then...

“Your Lord wants me to seduce you, I think,” he said in quiet amusement when he finally drew back, banishing all thoughts of the past to the back of his mind. “You are very dear to me, Elgalad – do you not want to take this comfort from me? Your Lord wants you to...”

Elgalad swallowed, trying to turn in Vanimórë's arms to look at him, but his Lord did not let him.

“Thy Prince is right, sweet one... I will not touch thee, I cannot, and thou knowst it. But thou shouldst also know that I shall very much enjoy it to see thee with him... Two golden pets performing for my amusement.” Vanimórë laughed at that, his eyes darkening as he imagined what it would have been like had he indeed taken Legolas as his that day long ago.

“Maybe I should have taken thee with me then, Prince,” he mused, laughing again at the flash of rebellion in the Prince's eyes. “I could have taken thee and him to the far south, where I reign empires of spices and gold... They understand these things there. Two beautiful, golden pets in my bed to serve my every whim – 'tis what they expect from their rulers there.”

“I would have killed you,” Legolas said, his eyes flashing, and Vanimórë raised a brow.

“Indeed?” he murmured. “That would have made it more interesting... But that chance is past now, so be at ease, Prince. All I want of thee is thy compliance for this day. And I think that is something thou art only too eager to give...”

With one hand he tugged on the lacing of Legolas' leggins, slowly pulling it open until the hard shaft sprang free, testament to how the Prince did indeed enjoy the situation he found himself in.

“How dost thou like thy present so far, Meluion?” he murmured, taking his Sinda's hand to wrap the hesitant fingers around the Prince's length.

“M-my Lord-” Elgalad protested, but Vanimórë paid no heed to him and instead forced him to tighten his grip until Legolas moaned and sank back to the ground.

“Thou hast proved a good pupil in thy life so far, Meluion – I taught thee how to ride, how to fight. Wilt thou now disappoint me for the first time?”

Elgalad swallowed, still trembling against his Lord's body – but then Vanimórë shifted ever so slightly forward, letting him feel his own hardness against his skin, and Elgalad gave in with a soft moan of despairing need. He was all too aware that his Lord would not take him no matter how he begged, but still he wanted him so much that he knew he would do whatever his Lord desired, as long as he could be so close to him.

“Never, my Lord!” he whispered, his voice trembling with emotion, and Vanimórë's arm tightened around him for a moment as if to reassure him.

“Is he not beautiful, thy Prince? Almost as beautiful as thou, hęn,” he murmured against Elgalad's ear, watching him experimentally stroke Legolas' shaft. The hesitant touch made Legolas' moan again, and Vanimórë sighed against Elgalad's neck, his passions fanned by the picture the prince presented – still fully clothed, though his tunic was half undone to bare a large part of his smooth chest, carmine nipples hard and begging for a touch, and his leggings undone just enough to free his shaft, teasing them with glimpses of the round pouch beneath, and soft, golden curls.

Vanimórë looked the Prince up and down with a sensuous smile, admiring how the fact that he was still mostly clothed only made him look more alluring – unashamedly wanton, the Prince looked, a woodelf willing and bent on seduction.

Vanimórë waited until Elgalad lowered his head again, unable to resist Legolas' lips – the kiss forced a soft moan of surrender from him, and Vanimórë used their distraction to completely open the Prince's leggings. When Vanimórë then pulled them down, Legolas raised his hips in such ready obedience that Vanimórë could not help but laugh, and Legolas broke the kiss to give him a look of hunger as well as amusement, as if he were well aware that he proved to be quite different to what Elgalad's Lord had expected.

“Come, take off his tunic, Meluion,” Vanimórë said, surprised that his voice sounded hoarse with passion. “Let us see all of thee, Prince...”

Elgalad obeyed, baring the Prince completely to their eyes, and though his touch was hesitant with inexperience, the sight was so alluring that he did not falter even when Vanimórë released him to kneel next to the Prince.

His curiosity roused, Vanimórë touched one of the small hoops that pierced the Prince's erect nipples – crimson as ripe berries, and just as plump, they stood from his chest, and when he pulled on a mithril hoop, the prince moaned and arched up, though his eyes fell closed and his head fell back onto the moss.

“Strangely trusting, thou art,” Vanimórë murmured, his eyes narrowing as if the Prince were a puzzle to be figured out.

“Not so strange,” Legolas sighed, his eyes opening again to give Vanimórë a look of ungarded need. “You saved my life... You saved Elgalad and showed him naught but kindness... I do not fear you. Also,” and now a tone of puzzlement entered his voice, “I do trust you, though I know not why – you remind me of someone...”

“Someone whom thou didst trust enough to let him pierce hoops of mithril through thy nipples?” Vanimórë said knowingly, laughing softly when at last the Prince blushed a most becoming shade of red. “A most intriguing mystery – I did not know that the folk of the woodland realm were given to such practices. I have long thought that it were the Noldor mostly who were given to the more refined pleasures.”

“I can assure you,” Legolas breathed, twisting deliciously beneath the torment the skilled, long fingers wrought on the sensitive nub, “that a Sinda can find just as much pleasure in those games as does a Noldo.”

“Truly intriguing,” Vanimórë said with a chuckle. “Only thou art here to please my Meluion, not me, though mayhap once he has tired of thy embrace, I shall endeavour to find out just how well trained thou truly art, Prince.”

He twisted both hoops until Legolas whimpered, noting with raised brows how the Prince's shaft twitched against his belly.

“Ai, come to me, Elgalad, please!” Legolas pleaded breathlessly when Vanimórë finally released him, turning to where Elgalad knelt next to him – wide-eyed and confused, and very, very aroused. Vanimórë moved to kneel behind him, and Legolas sighed to himself when Elgalad closed his eyes at his Lord's touch, melting back against him in total trust even when Vanimórë's fingers slowly divested him of his clothes.

“Elgalad...” Legolas whispered when the young Sinda finally rested completely naked in his Lord's arms, so beautiful, so innocent that the Prince who indeed found the greatest pleasure in the games Vanimórë had spoken of, trembled with a more tender need now, a gentler desire to teach the beautiful elf of pleasure and tenderness.

“Prepare thyself for him,” Vanimórë murmured and threw him a pouch of salve he had drawn from Elgalad's pack. “I think thou knowst how to do it?”

Legolas watched for a moment how Vanimórë's hands tenderly stroked Elgalad's sides, his thighs, though he cruelly kept away from where Elgalad's hard shaft arched from his body. With a moan, Legolas spread his legs then, one knee bent to give them a good view as he slowly prepared himself with one slick finger, his eyes darkening with desire while he held Elgalad's gaze. Confusion, embarrassment, desire flitted across the young elfs face, and then he gasped when one of Vanimórë's fingers brushed against a nipple.

“He wants thee, thy Prince... Canst thou imagine how it will feel to sheathe thyself in that tight body? Watch, Meluion, how wantonly he readies himself for thee – we could make him beg for thee even, I think.”

“Please... I need you, Elgalad!” Legolas moaned, as if complying with his words, and now Vanimórë smoothed a little of the oil over his ward's hard shaft – touching him for the first time so that they both trembled at the wave of potent desire that rushed through them.

“Go!” Vanimórë commanded harshly, panting as he pushed Elgalad towards Legolas. “Go, take him! Let me watch thee... Let me be thy teacher in this as in all other things.”

Legolas once more raised a hand to bury it in Elgalad's flaxen hair, drawing him down for a kiss that made both of them moan, passion hitting with bursts of heat like lightning in a great storm wherever their skin touched.

They came together gracefully, need and desire overriding any hesitation, Elgalad sliding deep into the Prince's oiled, relaxed body while Legolas wrapped his legs around his waist, urging him on. Legolas' grateful moan filled the air, yet Elgalad stayed silent, only a soft, keening noise telling of the nearly unbearable pleasure as he held himself motionless on trembling arms.

“So beautiful thou art,” Vanimórë murmured, his voice thick with passion, and he brushed some of the silver-gold hair away from Elgalad's shoulder to look at his face all transformed by pleasure. The young Sinda had frozen in position, buried completely in Legolas' body as if he had been surprised by the tight, clenching heat, and Vanimórë softly laughed as he drew his hand down the straight back, tight muscles quivering beneath his touch.

“Thou art tormenting him, like this... Come, Meluion, move; give thy Prince what he needs of thee.”

He kept his hand on a smooth, round buttock, feeling the muscle flexing as Elgalad finally surrendered to his nature, to his need, and moved as his body desired to. There was no artfulness in it, none of the trained movements of one who knew just how to move to bring pleasure to his partner – Elgalad simply did what was natural, burying himself again and again in the tight, hot sheath that quickly drove him over the edge. At last, there on the pinnacle of pleasure, he cried out, a faint cry of surprised surrender, and Vanimórë smiled to himself, feeling the rush of climax through his body from the hand that still rested on his ward's hip.

He could have used his hands to position Elgalad, show him how to move and when, how to hold back pleasure and draw out the climax – how to give pleasure to Legolas, too, so that the Prince would have spilled his seed as well.

Vanimórë smiled when he noticed how Legolas was still trembling with desire, his hard length squeezed between their bodies while Elgalad softened inside him. No, this had not been about the Prince's needs. And it had been far sweeter to watch Elgalad's body react to the pleasure it found; there had been such an innocence to it, a naturalness... Their poor, unsatisfied Prince would just have to wait his turn.

Vanimórë gently caressed Elgalad's back, watching with a smile how he turned his head to kiss Legolas again – so gently and sweetly that if it were true what the Prince had intimidated about his preferences, he must be near desperate from Elgalad's tenderness.

“Shall I test thee now, Prince?” he asked, smiling wickedly as he openly watched how Elgalad's softened length slipped from the Prince's tight body. The rosy muscle glistened with oil and his ward's silvery essence, yet despite Vanimórë's scrutiny, Legolas let his legs rest on the ground as they had fallen, splayed open in invitation, his chest rising and falling quickly with fast breaths as he waited for someone to touch him, give him release.

Slowly, Vanimórë opened the lacing of his leggings, holding Legolas' eyes as he tugged the string free. He squeezed his shaft, laughing softly when Legolas bit his lip to keep from moaning, then motioned for him to come closer.

“On thy hands and knees, Prince – if this is what thou wantest?” He raised a brow in mocking inquiry, rewarded when Legolas moaned softly and crawled towards him, turning to position himself as he had been commanded without even a single defiant look.

“Thou hast been trained to please then?” Vanimórë inquired, running his hands up and down the Prince's quivering flanks, cherishing the smooth skin, the ready submission – so surprising, so unlooked for here! “By a Noldo, mayhap? Is that who I remind thee of?”

He did not wait for an answer as he entered the Prince with one hard thrust, groaning at the slick heat that enveloped him. The Prince's moan was one of shocked delight, and Vanimórë thought of how Elgalad had felt the same just moments ago, of how Legolas was still so slick inside with his seed. The thought excited him more than he had thought possible, and when he looked toward Elgalad, he found him stretched out in the grass, languid and sated and still dazed from the pleasure he had known.

Vanimórë smiled at him, excited by this, too – if Elgalad was watching them, he would make certain that he would not forget so soon what happened to those who thought they could serve him, as his ward had wanted.

He wrapped one arm around the Prince's waist and pulled him up, Legolas's back flush against his chest. Legolas moaned again, resting his head against his shoulder in surrender, his pale hair fluttering back, teasing against Vanimórë's back as it mixed with his own midnight tresses. Again, Vanimórë tugged on a mithril hoop, gently twisting the erect nipple until Legolas cried out and trembled against him. Though he had passed the threshold from pleasure to pain now, there was no fight in him, Vanimórë noted with surprise, remembering the other elf he had taken, long ago – remembering how different it had been. Maglor had been fire, blazing passion – he almost laughed when he imagined how the Fëanorian would have reacted had he commanded him to present himself on his hands and knees for his use. No, Maglor would rather have killed him than give in to him, whereas there was no fight in Legolas at all.

There was no fight, no... but there was passion in the Prince, an abundance of it. Whereas Maglor had been bright, threatening fire, Legolas' passion was a hidden, mysterious thing, like the secret places of an ancient forest, a well of clear, blue water that sprang from unfathomable depth, imbued with strange powers.

“Bewitching, you Sindar are... thou and Elgalad alike!” he breathed, both fingers manipulating the piercings now until Legolas' entire body was arched against him, muscles taut as he quivered beneath the tormenting fingers. “Art thou afraid of me now?”

“No,” Legolas moaned in answer. “No... I serve thee, Lord, in whichever way you require!”

Anger entered Vanimórë's voice then, anger he had never been able to hold back, not when it came to this.

“Speak not to me of service!” he ground out, repressing a shudder when he thought of chains, heavy iron, that had held him motionless, powerless, so often...

“I will speak of what I want!” Legolas flashed arrogantly, his ire finally roused as he twisted angrily beneath Vanimórë's fingers. “You know naught of me!”

“You are right,” Vanimórë relented, the Prince's anger having taken him by surprise. “Let us... not speak of those things.”

Legolas relaxed against him, around him at that admission, turning pleasing and yielding once more as he looked over to where Elgalad was watching them from wide, dazed eyes.

“I need not speak at all,” he murmured throatily. “I have often been told that there are better uses for my mouth...”

Vanimórë laughed again, surprised, and strangely aroused by the thought of Legolas serving them both at the same time. And yet – he had no wish to needlessly humiliate the Prince. He had known too much of that himself to willingly expose another to it...

“Thou dost not need to, not to please me.”

“But to please Elgalad,” Legolas breathed, bucking against Vanimórë as much as the other's firm hold of him allowed. “And to please myself... Let me taste him, Lord, please! 'tis what I desire, what I want!”

“Join us, Meluion,” Vanimórë commanded, watching breathlessly how Elgalad obeyed, Legolas greeting him with a kiss, so slow and tender, though Vanimórë could feel him trembling with need. At Legolas' gentle insistence, Elgalad came to lie on the soft grass once more – yet now he was in Legolas' reach, and Vanimórë watched with bated breath how the Prince lowered himself to his hands again, the fair head bowed as he teased Elgalad with the silky mass of his hair.

Elgalad had begun to harden, already roused once more by nothing but the enticing vision of his Lord's swift mastering of his Prince's body, and when Legolas at last drew him into his mouth, he cried out in shocked pleasure.

It made Vanimórë groan to see his ward in such utter abandon, writhing beneath the Prince's skillfull ministrations as all the secret passion hidden behind his sweet, unspoiled innocence was finally unveiled, and he gave in at last, driving into Legolas' body with hard thrusts. Legolas clenched around him, giving them a muffled moan, and willingly pushed back against him as if begging for even harder use.

Vanimórë held back nothing then, taking him with the same savage lust that had once made a son of Fëanor moan in enraged defiance. Yet while there was no defiance in Legolas, he still took all Vanimórë had to give him, taking Elgalad deep into his throat while Vanimórë's swollen length filled him to the core. Each powerful thrust made him clench hard around the large shaft that spread him open, forcing sounds of pleasure from Vanimórë's lips that mingled with Elgalad's moans of rapture.

At last, it was the sight of Elgalad's face as he found release that proved too much for Vanimórë. Legolas drew back, moaning as strings of Elgalad's silvery essence hit his face and chest, and with a savage growl Vanimórë pulled him up by his hair, licking his ward's salty release from Legolas' cheeks and lips. He took him with savage thrusts then, all control gone while Legolas cried out every time he was filled, and the Prince found his pleasure like that, too – speared on Vanimórë's iron-hard shaft, trembling as he spilled his own seed without a single touch while his tightening muscles at last brought Vanimórë to climax as well.

For long moments, Vanimórë could hear nothing but the roar of his blood. When at last he released the prince from his vicelike grip, Legolas sank down onto the grass next to Elgalad with a sigh, wrapping a tender arm around his chest. There were still smears of Elgalad's seed on his face, and the young Sinda touched a hesitant finger to them, giving his Lord a wondering look.

It made Vanimórë smile, and he stretched langorously, pleased and satisfied now, like a cat basking in the sun. “My two golden pets, serving no other purpose but to please me. How I wish I could keep thee...”

“You could not keep me,” Legolas murmured contently, though he caught Elgalad's finger and playfully licked his seed from it, smiling when that made him catch his breath and blush.

“Thou couldst keep m-me, Lord - if thou didst w-wish it.” Elgalad's voice trembled, for he knew what the answer would be, and Vanimórë sighed.

“I cannot and will not,” he said simply. “Thou dost know the reason, hęn.” He cleaned himself with Legolas' tunic, laughing at the look of exasperation that got him, then laced up his leggings again. He knelt down next to them and pressed a tender kiss to Elgalad's brow. “Be content with what thou hast.”

The he ran a hand up Legolas' chest, encircling one of the tantalizing, ripe nipples, gently twisting the hoop until it got him another submissive moan.

“And thou, Prince? Hast thou now angered the one who marked you so?”

Legolas gave him a slow smile. “I will not tell you his name...”

“And so thou dost think that he will never find out?” Vanimórë laughed and bent down, whispering into the Prince's ear. “But if he knew... wold he punish thee? Ahh, I see.” He laughed knowingly when Legolas shivered. “Thou wouldst want him to punish thee.”

He straightened again, smirking at the flush that had crept up the Prince's body. “Then, once I do find out, I will make certain that he knows. Thou wilt dream of that in the nights to come, I think. But for now, thou wilt take my Meluion back home – and thou wilt take more care, next time, not to bring him into such danger again.”

He did not even wait for Legolas' acknowledging nod as he turned and strode away, quickly vanishing in the shadows beneath the trees while Elgalad's beseeching “My L-lord!” died away without response.


Laurië Celvarmólet – Two golden pets [Quenya]
There is no attested Quenya word for 'pet', so I used a compound of celva - animal and mól - slave, thrall. Celvarmólet is hopefully the grammatically correct dual, which I chose to use because Van's 'two golden pets' here do indeed form a unit, like the Two Trees.
yrch - orcs [Sindarin]
Golodh - Noldo [Sindarin]
epessë - after-name, a title given as form of admiration [Quenya]
hęn - child [Sindarin]