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Chapter Text

Legolas did his best not to look. It was ridiculous - foolish. There was no way this could be the thing that undoes him. 

But it was.

He could admit to himself that he’d made certain assumptions about what the Lord of Imladris would look like underneath his layers of velvet robes and silken undershirts – not because Legolas had spent time purposefully dwelling on the subject, of course, but only because one’s mind will naturally wander during the long strategy meetings his father delegated to him, and will naturally wander toward thoughts of all kinds, including those of a scientific nature regarding the half elven race. 

All of this was to say that in his entirely natural wanderings, when he’d considered what the lord's bare chest might be like, he had thought it would be rather smooth and unblemished, more like an elf than a man's. Legolas has bedded his fair share of ellons, well, he certainly has bedded quite a few of them, who all conformed to his own archetype — smooth and slim and pretty.

However, he had not considered any of this very much this morning, as he was here in Imladris not for celebration: it was more of a tail-between-the-legs situation, with Gollum having escaped his father's clutches and he — as always — dispatched to deliver the news, like the realm's most ominous raven. Lord Elrond had taken it well, to be fair to him, and called an emergency meeting for the crack of dawn, which Legolas had turned up to five minutes early, simply because he had still considered himself to be skating on thin ice. This was why he had been sitting primly at the Council table when the lord swanned in cheerily, with Glorfindel hurrying about behind him. 

He'd clearly rushed through dressing, hair still damp from the bath-houses, but he still managed to look as collected and well-kept as he always had, and greeted Legolas politely (as in, did not dangle him out of the tallest tower for letting that rat-adjacent thing out of his sight). The lord's robes were plain cream with gilded edges, a perfectly pleasant combination if not slightly too monochrome for the son of Thranduil. 

But the neckline hung open, and as others trickled in for the meeting, Legolas couldn't look away from Lord Elrond's collarbone, couldn't stop himself from staring at how the fabric draped and gaped, exposing pale skin and dark hair that clearly travelled downwards. Legolas had never seen body hair on an elf, couldn't push down the sudden and inexplicably intense desire to touch. 

He'd not noticed it before, but now it was all he could think of. Elrond was scratching away at some map with his ostentatious quill and Legolas was staring wide eyed, not at the lines he was drawing but the short, dark hair on the backs of his knuckles. The way he shook his hand over the map to dispel a cramp, and how the movement dislodged a sleeve, giving him a glimpse of forearm — which also had a soft smattering of hair. 

Fuck.

If Elrond noticed his staring, he was not giving any sign of it, chattering away with Mithrandir, shapely legs crossed at the ankles. Legolas shifted uncomfortably in his seat, adjusting his tunic to cover his lap. In his mind's eye, he slipped a hand under the shirt, over Elrond's chest. Was the hair coarse, or soft like the flowing black locks on his head? Did it thicken over his belly, leading down between his legs? Valar. It would be easier if he were naked. There was something about the image of him in that half-undone neckline that was hopelessly appealing, helplessly captivating. It was as if the Lord of Imladris had chosen to wear his colours.

_________________

That night, Legolas walked across to the sparring ground, hoping to work off some of his frustration, but unfortunately (trust me, he thinks, half exasperated, half excited) the very object of those frustrations was sparring with Glorfindel, and from the looks of the two, had been at it for quite a while. He could, he supposed, return to the main house and do quite literally anything other than watch Elrond easily dodge Glorfindel's blows, gazing at the skill and speed with which he handled his sword. 

It wasn't that he thought Elrond would have been bad with a sword — he knew he spent long years at war and many of them in command, so he was clearly no green squire. Still, because he was a healer and a loremaster, and only very rarely rode out with his sons, Legolas hadn't expected him to be this good. 

Finally, Elrond gave his sword an obnoxious little twirl and completely disarmed Glorfindel with a clattering of metal, and stood there panting, hands on his knees, as his captain gathered up his sword and moved onwards to spar with another of his guard. 

"Enjoying the show, Prince Legolas?" he rose, caught sight of the wood elf standing to the side, and walked over to greet him. 

"Um," said Legolas, flushing dully, the cat for once having well and truly gotten his tongue. Elrond looked as gentle and pleasant as he always did, smiling politely even as he sheathed his sword. But his hair was dragged back in a loose braid and a few strands were sticking to the sides of his sweaty face (he wondered what the hair on his — no, this is your dear friends' father – absolutely not), and for some reason Legolas just could not shrug off the image of how his thighs had tensed underneath his leather practice-armour when he'd crouched before disarming his captain. 

"Oh, I was just rather impressed at your swordsmanship," he gathered himself, and coolly appraised the lord. "I had thought you would have been more of an archer, because of your build, so I was curious to see your swordplay. You move in a very interesting way, Lord Elrond, it seems almost like dancing." 

He was sure that sounded perfectly normal. Like he was complimenting competence. Of course, Legolas had always been incredibly attracted to effortless competence, but Elrond didn't need to know that. The lord called out to Glorfindel that he was leaving for the evening, and turned to Legolas, smiling. 

"Would you walk back up with me? I can tell you where the fighting stance originated from," he said, and Legolas acqueisced in a second, staring as Elrond walked ahead of him. Not because he particularly cared about Elrond's fighting stance, but because of the way the tight leather armour and said fighting stance accentuated his thick thighs and rear end.

"I learnt to fight with the Feanorian brothers, you see," he explained, whilst Legolas tried his best to listen. "Maedhros, the oldest, lost his dominant arm to Morgoth's torment and thus learned to fight with his left hand — as such, he prioritised teaching us ambidexterity and flexibility - the art of a good dodge, he called it." 

"Ah, so using the skills of an archer, or a ranger, but adapted for close quarters," Legolas found that he was actually interested. "That's not something I considered before, but now you mention it, I realise your sons follow a similar style, do they not?" 

"Yes, though they are of larger build than I, closer to Glorfindel, hence they've adapted it even further," continued the lord. As Elrond spoke, Legolas let his mind wander even further (perhaps his old tutors were right, and he was an insufferable little daydreamer). He recalled Elrond dodging and parrying with expert ease, wielding the sword like it was an extension of his arm, half-smiling savagely. Lord Elrond in leather armour was a completely different creature to Lord Elrond in brocade robes, stalking into the armoury with an air of danger that Legolas was — once again, inexplicably attracted to. 

"Ugh, I had told the squires to oil the scabbards," Elrond was pulling at his belt irritatedly, in a moment Legolas alternatingly considered Valar-sent and torturous. He should not. He knew full well he should not. The last time he was in this room, he and Elladan and Elrohir had finished a full day of sparring, and he tried to remember that those two would probably skewer him on a pike, roast him over a fire and slap him between two slices of waybread if they ever found he even looked at their father amorously, let alone followed him around like a lost puppy trying to get a glimpse of his damned chest. Yes, Legolas was perfectly aware that he should not. 

However, Legolas was also a wood elf. And wood elves were creatures of opportunity. 

"I can help, my lord," he said sweetly, moving closer and sitting on the bench, head now on a level with the half-elf's hip. Elrond raised his eyebows at his eagerness, blinking in confusion, before moving his hands back and shifting his hips forward slightly.

"Thank you, Legolas - if you look at the circular link to the belt, there's a spot to press to open up the link and release the scabbard — but it's rusted, so you'll have to twist the link out entirely." 

Legolas was not exactly a master armourer – aside from the fact that he was primarily an archer, and wore only very slight padding, he was also dressed by squires on the rare occasion he did wear heavy swords or armour. However, he was nothing if not keen to continue sitting right under Elrond's crossed arms, breathing in heady sweat and metal, and so he made a valiant effort with the belt. 

Thankfully, he had absolutely no clue what he was doing. Thus, him fumbling around with the belt link for a good five minutes, accidentally touching the lord's thighs a good five or six times, looked perfectly natural in its incompetence. Legolas shifted on the low bench, crossing his legs slightly and adjusting his tunic over his lap again, knowing full well that his intentions would be fully visible had he not, and continued pulling at the buckle. 

"Sorry, my lord, it's just a bit stiff –" he bit his tongue. Thranduil was probably right, he sighed. He used to say the Prince of Mirkwood was blessed with the features of the Valar and the tongue of Morgoth. 

His hand 'slipped' again, moved closer to Elrond's inner thigh, and he could not help but sneak a glance at the spot he actually wanted to look at. And whilst he was certain the lord was well endowed (he had a nose for well endowed men and elves — it was like the gift of foresight, but very specific and relatively useless in any meaningful sense), he was also certain that there seemed to be a strain to the leather he hadn't noticed previously. 

Legolas tried to steady his breathing, crossing his legs even tighter. This was normal, he tried to tell himself, swordplay and the rush of battle leading to arousal was common – biological, natural. He should not be so captivated by it. As he watched, hands still on the forgotten scabbard link, the leather seemed to strain even tighter. Legolas gulped. 

"Oh, for crying out loud —" Elrond noticed where he was looking and flushed most uncharacteristically, swatting his hands away from the scabbard. He clicked his teeth in irritation and pulled on the scabbard himself, one hard shove and the entire thing broke off, the link clattering to the floor. He tossed it aside, sighing exasperatedly. 

"Sorry, my lord, it was too stiff for me to do anything with," he said again, but this time, not accidentally. Elrond's eyes were fixed on him with something like hunger, and Legolas inhaled sharply. 

"Is that so?" asked the lord mildly, though still flushed. "Well, I have gotten off — gotten it — taken it off now." 

"You have indeed," admitted Legolas. "Much faster than I could manage, clearly." 

"Well, clearly, as you took almost ten minutes."

"I did indeed," Legolas nodded introspectively. He leaned back against the wall, uncrossed his legs. "And that begs the question, my dear lord, why you allowed me to fumble around for said ten minutes when you and I knew full well you could get the link off in, what was it, two seconds?"

Elrond didn't move, but there was a small smile playing around his lips. His own gaze involuntarily travelled downwards, appreciating the man before him.

"I'm going to go into the bathouses, wash off this grime," he said at last, and though his tone is even and tightly modulated, there's still a hint of teasing in it, a hint of later, or something more, soon, and the wood elf's breathing stuttered. "Thank you for your assistance, Prince Legolas,"

Legolas, still sitting on the bench, let his gaze train downwards, for a final look at the thick, flexed thighs in their leather armour. The strain at his groin was even more obvious now, to the point of near-obscenity, and its cause evident in the way Elrond stared directly at the prince. Legolas cleared his throat, adjusted his tunic again, using a split-second to palm his raging erection.

Still sitting on the armoury bench, he watched Elrond walk off into the house, his stride swift. Wash off the grime, my arse, thought Legolas. He's going to go touch himself. 

The thought has him slightly bereft. Not the idea of the lord touching himself in the bath-house – no, that was a delightful thought, especially since he, Legolas, was almost certainly the cause of such degenerate decisions. No, his problem was simpler: he wanted to watch. 

No, not just watch. He wanted to peel the armour off the lord, piece by piece, tugging at straps while nosing into the hollow between his neck and collarbone. He wanted to see Elrond bare in front of him, wonderfully broad shoulders and warm skin, and letting his fingers roam across the dark hair that surely decorated his chest, the same hair he hadn't stopped thinking about since the meeting that morning. 

He palmed his own cock again, and realising how hard he was, took himself in hand and began stroking himself — right there in the armoury with the door wide open, knowing full well that Elrond was probably doing the same a few floors above. The thought has him spilling over his fingers with a choked-off moan. 

Legolas didn't know what he felt about the fact that Elrond clearly desired him too. It wasn't surprise, no. Legolas had been desired by so many people that he often thought he should begin a pocket-book of names like Elladan's pocket book of orc raids. He wondered if it was the forbidden aspect of it that made it so alluring, the fact that the man's sons and foster sons were his brothers in arms. Or perhaps it was that Elrond was so much older than him, so much more experienced, perhaps it was that which flattered him – someone who had seen so much of the world springing for him of all people. 

No, he knew the real reason. It was because Elrond clearly had no interest going down the path everyone who desired Legolas insisted on throwing themselves down: dramatic declarations of love, pining and angst, writing him terrible reams of poetry about the gossamer gloss of his hair. No, when he looked into Elrond's eye just then, his intentions were writ clear on his countenance: before him stood an ellon who wanted to fuck him senseless, potentially often, but someone who had absolutely no interest in writing him poetry or declaring his undying love. Elrond wouldn't give a damn whether or not he took other lovers, got betrothed, went insane, or decided to live in Gollum's cage, as long as Legolas sucked him dry. It was as refreshing as it was exasperating. Legolas would have taken offense, if he didn't find it so ridiculously hot. 

I don't understand why I didn't discover this demographic sooner, he thought to himself, lazily climbing the spiral stairs to his guest chambers. An exclusive diet of happily married elves with wives in Valinor who want nothing more than a good ride or six would have made my love life far less complicated.

_________________

“Why are you here, my lord?” he asked, knowing without looking that the Lord Elrond stood at the council table, hovering over the maps. The second meeting in as many days had just come to a rather miserable end, with none of the participants agreeing to a solid plan for reconnaissance. Legolas stood at the window, looking at the white cliffs and falls, feeling the brush of cold wind as Elrond closed the door behind the last person to depart — the steward, Erestor.

“I might ask you the same, Legolas,” He sounded uncertain in a way that he rarely was, and Legolas’s chest tightened. He smiled.

“I am glad to see your beautiful home, regardless of the ill tidings I bring,” he said carefully, staring out at the valley. “It is always a pleasant sight to see, Lord Elrond, so for you to offer your hospitality – in winter no less — is an immeasurable gift. I know my own reason for being here, but I need to know why we are here in this room.”

Still he didn’t turn to look, and he felt Elrond come up behind him, close enough to touch. “Because I…”

Legolas leaned his head back, just slightly, and Elrond stepped into him until Legolas’s head rested gently on the slope of his shoulder. Legolas could feel him breathing at his back, slow and steady, while Legolas’s heart raced like a rabbit’s. He reached out a finger to the window, tracing the edge of the frost as it curved across the corners, letting the crystalline structures melt against the heat of his fingertip through the glass.

“Because I want to be here,” Elrond said quietly, a confession, his cheek catching against Legolas’s temple, making him shiver. Legolas realised that he was standing far too close for — well, no, not comfort, Legolas was perfectly comfortable. No, the lord was standing far too close for propreity, in his mind at least. He could have been mistaken, but he dared anyway. 

"Because you want me?" he suggested quietly. Elrond chuckled, hummed. 

“No, because I want to know something.”

Legolas braced his arms against the window frame, understanding. He had been obvious then, clearly. Elrond’s hands slid down his arms to cover his fingers where they gripped the stone. His warm breath rushed over the curve of his neck.

“Any particular something?” Legolas rolled his head across Elrond’s shoulder, giving way.

“You couldn't take your eyes off me earlier, when you delivered your report about that creature escaping — both meetings, actually. And then later, at the armoury,” Elrond answered, a hand rising up, clenching on Legolas’s shoulder. "What I wish to know is why." 

"Well, you are the lord of the region, to whom I was delivering a report about our failure in containing Gollum and his subsequent escape and possible capture," Legolas did turn around now, smiling sweetly. Elrond was standing too close, he realised.  

Legolas dared again. He reached out a finger, touched the neck of Elrond's robes, a spot of bare skin just beneath the hollow of his throat. 

"Your tunic was slightly open at the neck," he said, as if that was an adequate explanation. To his delight, Elrond looked mildly confused. 

"And?" 

"And I have never seen hair like that on an elf," the wood elf admitted at last, shrugging. "On your chest." 

"Oh?" 

"It was compelling," he continued. "I wanted to see... well. It was mere academic curiosity, my lord. I was very good at my lessons, you know." 

Elrond actually laughed. "So tell me what you are, what was the phrase, academically curious about."

"I was simply wondering how much more there was. And — how far down it went."

"Were you now?" Elrond moved even closer to him, so that his lips were touching Legolas's ear. "Keen little student, are you?"

"I am indeed, Lord Elrond," Legolas grinned. "And I think that makes you want to touch yourself." 

"And what makes you think I'd deign to show you anything, dear princeling?" Elrond raised an eyebrow, traced a lazy finger across Legolas's jaw. "I think there is a little royal entitlement at play here, don't you?" 

"Possibly," Legolas's lip quirked up into a dimple on his left cheek. "And the fact that if I ran a hand across your robes right now, I'd find you hard as a rock at even the thought of showing me." 

The stone bit into his fingertips, anchoring him to something solid. The snow outside was dazzling, gold-tipped in the setting sun, blinding him. He closed his eyes and breathed, soaking up the cold that pressed in from the window and the heat of Elrond at his front. He stayed there for a long time, for hours after the lord himself left the room. 

____________________________

"I do not think there is much use sending anyone after the accursed creature, let alone my sons, who are used to going after large scale orc raids," mused the lord, leaning back in his chair and rubbing his temples. "Though perhaps it may be wise to send a smaller group, reconnaissance as opposed to an encounter. I would thus actually suggest your lord father's men — they are considerably more skilled than ours in terms of espionage." 

"You would be correct, but you forget that this reconnaissance would take place in Isengard, not Lothlorien or Mirkwood," Legolas echoed his movements, sinking lower in his chair as well. "As such, any stealth advantages our forces have would be rendered completely useless." 

Elrond frowned, looked down at his map, and moved to make a small mark on one of the squares. It was then that he felt it — a bare foot on his thigh, slowly creeping upwards. His eyebrows shot up, and he glared at Legolas, who looked perfectly unperturbed, extraordinarily innocent. The foot traced little circles over the fabric of Elrond's trousers, gradually inching its way higher and higher up. 

"What are you doing?" he hissed, almost silently, jerking a quick thumb at the balcony where Mithrandir and Galadriel stood, deep in conversation, and at the open doorway, outside which Glorfindel and a member of his guard stood, facing out towards the corridor. 

Legolas looked around, shrugged.

"So should we stop what we are currently doing?" he asked, raising his voice to normal levels. "With the scouting missions outside the forest, I mean."

Elrond sighed explosively through his nose, gritting his teeth. "No," he ground out. "You should keep it up." 

The foot moved dangerously close to his crotch, and only then did Elrond finally move to place his hand over top. He didn't push it off, however, just gripped it under the table. 

"Well, my father has stated he is happy to lend a larger proportion of his troops to said efforts, if Imladris agrees to send sentries over to supplement the standing guard within the forest itself," Legolas continued, quite breezily. 

"Happily," said Elrond, ignoring the challenge in the other's voice. "It will be good to play on our strengths — your father's forces are better suited for long-range scouting, whilst mine are more experienced with the guarding of a specific, static area." 

Legolas in turn ignored the vice grip on his ankle and moved the foot higher, tracing the seam of the lord's breeches. And his face broke out in a sudden smile, when he felt the half-hard cock through the fabric slowly filling out. 

“Oh yes, and I just enjoy scouting and reconnaissance in general,” he goaded, experimentally pressing on the bulge which earned him a shuddering exhale. “It's the thrill of discovery, the lure of the unexpected, my Lord Elrond. There are always dirty little secrets in the most pristine of places, don't you agree?"

"My own position is that those who go looking for dirty secrets should not sound so surprised when they find them," Elrond raised his eyebrows, his voice perfectly modulated again in a way that frankly irritated Legolas. He liked to tease and provoke, and the lord was far too in control of himself for his liking, even — or especially when Legolas could feel just how hot he made him. He brought his foot back down to the floor, and watched Elrond raise his eyebrows minutely. 

"Given up already?" he smirked. "And here I was, expecting more gameness from the prince of Mirkwood." 

"Oh, no, I was simply considering the best way to demonstrate what you mentioned earlier — our proclivity for stealth," Legolas winked, and right before Elrond's eyes, slid down the chair, crawled under the large oak desk, and pulled over the heavy brocade chair he had just been sitting on closer to the desk to cover himself. 

"Let's see how in control you are now, my lord," he whispered from under the desk, pushing aside the lord's robes and untying his breeches.

"Best of luck," wished Elrond dryly, keeping a watchful eye on Galadriel and Mithrandir, still absorbed in conversation on the terrace. "I applaud your tenacity, my prince." 

"Valar," whispered Legolas from the ground, momentarily distracted. "It is true what they say about the Edain. The fault will be yours if I get lockjaw. You will have to explain it to my father."

And Elrond laughed — or he would have, if Legolas didn't envelop the head of his cock with his mouth right as Glorfindel had turned from his post and walked through the door, straight to his desk. 

Ten minutes in, and Elrond was hovering right on the edge of his chair, barely able to focus on Glorfindel's report — his sons had returned from scouting lands near Bree, and had turned up with a set of maps they had collected from one of the dens they cleared. He reached out for the sheaf, and Legolas suddenly surged forward, deep throating him almost entirely, and Elrond had to cough to avoid a moan. His knuckles were white, from how hard his hands were clasped together on the desk, a far cry from their usual gentle steeple under his chin.

"Are you all right?" frowned Glorfindel. "Oh, I forget, your sort tend to get — what is it again? Summer colds? Hay fever? It's quite endearing." 

"Endearing," choked Legolas from under the desk. "Sweet, in fact." 

"Indeed," Elrond agreed through gritted teeth, feigning surveying the maps to avoid doing what he actually wanted to, which was to grab Legolas's pretty little head, hold him still, and fuck his mouth until his throat was sore enough to shut the hell up – a state the prince seemed to have no familiarity with. 

"I'm fine, Glorfindel," he said, voice impossibly controlled once again. "Continue with your report, and have the twins come see me this evening, I would like to dine with them." 

He took deep breaths as Glorfindel continued, trying his best not to let them hitch noticeably. Legolas helped a little, rubs his thighs soothingly, but he's still sucking away, stroking his tongue all along the underside of his cock, bobbing his head up and down indecently. 

And then, as Glorfindel proceeded on a tangent about the difficulty of maintaining a certain corner of the valley's borders due to a rockfall that made patrols impossible, Legolas pulled off Elrond's cock completely, and the Lord – somehow – succeeded at not whimpering in protest. He licked his way down the shaft, mouthed at the base, applying the tiniest scrape of teeth. Elrond jumped. 

He shifted forward in his chair, adjusting his robes slightly so that Legolas's ridiculously blonde head was almost entirely covered, and braced his forearms on the desk as Galadriel and Mithrandir joined Glorfindel. This was quickly turning into the most stressful blowjob he has ever received. He could actually feel Legolas grinning against his cock, and masterfully resisted the urge to knee him in the chin just to stop him from shaking in silent laughter.

Legolas seemingly had the best timing in the world, however, because as he nipped his way back to the tip of Elrond's cock, Mithrandir was wrapping up the conversation, offering to accompany the lady partway to Lothlorien. As Legolas flicked his tongue over the slit, Galadriel (his mother in law, Elrond thought in complete horror) reached out her hand in a gesture of parting and he stared blankly at it for a second before reluctantly taking it.

"Apologies for not seeing you off myself, Galadriel," he said smoothly. "I have an appointment immediately after this, I am afraid, or I would have shown you to your horses at least." 

"Oh, do not worry yourself," said Galadriel, waving her hand fairly. "I am no stranger to Imladris as you well know. Now, was Thranduil's son not just here? I would have liked him to pass a message on to the Elvenking." 

"Ah, he too has had an urgent appointment, and had to excuse himself," explained Elrond, and possibly to stifle a laugh, Legolas slid down his cock until the head was right on the cusp of being in his throat.

Right as the three turned to go, Legolas took the rest of Elrond's length and swallowed. Elrond grunted, and then swiftly put his fist in front of his mouth so he could bite his thumb without it looking conspicuous, as Glorfindel turned back around. He raised his eyebrows at at his captain, biting down harder when Legolas swallowed again.

“By the way, they’re wanting a few more patrols down in –“

“Yes, yes, appoint them —” Elrond cut Glorfindel off, working to make the words come out naturally instead of strangled. "Take whoever you want."

“Excellent,” Glorfindel said, and finally, finally walked out the door, with Mithrandir even going so far as to shut it behind them.

Not that Elrond thought that would have stopped him from pushing back from the desk and staring down at Legolas with dark, hungry eyes. The wood elf blinked innocently up at him as he pulled back, swirling his tongue around the head.

"Enterprising fellow, aren't you?" sighed Elrond, leaning back in his chair and spreading his legs further apart. He slid a hand into the flaxen hair, grabbed hold. "Finish the job, then," he murmured, bucking his hips slightly. 

Legolas hummed around him, and then pulled off again, the insufferable tease. “I wasn’t aware I was stopping you from coming, my lord.”

“Oh no?” Elrond raised an eyebrow at the blonde's smirking face. “I was under the impression you liked it more the longer I have to wait.”

“Hmm, that is true. Additionally, I think having you spend yourself looking right into an Istari's eyes would possibly get me a few extra years with Mandos," Legolas grinned up at him, accompanying his words with a quick stroke up and back down Elrond's slick cock.

Elrond narrowed his eyes at Legolas, tightening his hold in the hair and pulling him closer, leaning down to speak in his ear. “Beastly creature." 

Legolas only looked at him from under his eyelashes, leaning forward to lick Elrond again, from base to tip. "Me or Gollum?" 

"Do you always talk so disrespectfully to your elders, boy?" Elrond pulled downwards on his fistful of hair, so that the wood elf had to look up at him. "Hm?" 

"Yes," Legolas breathed, flattening his tongue and running it across the base. "And you love it." 

Elrond's own breath hitched as Legolas lapped at the precome leaking from his cock. The wood elf moved forward, stopping just short of taking Elrond back into his mouth, his lips hovering over the head. He looked up at the lord, holding his gaze as he opened wide and took him to the root. He swallowed, hard. 

Elrond gasped, clamping a hand over his mouth as his hips shoved up. Legolas hummed again and pet his quivering thighs, swallowing as the half elf shot down his throat.

It felt like he was coming forever, breathing harshly into his fingers to stifle a moan. Legolas backed away to breathe, but kept his mouth on Elrond, drinking him down. Elrond loosened his grip on Legolas's hair, carding his fingers through the strands. 

The wood elf wrapped his hand around Elrond's cock, stroking up as he pulled off, squeezing a few last drops onto his tongue. Elrond finally let out a muffled groan, his cock twitching in Legolas' grasp. With a smug grin, the blonde tucked him back into his breeches, pulled his robes straight, making him look presentable once again. He then pressed a chaste kiss to the lord's flushed cheek and sat back in his own seat.

"Now, what were we saying about long-range scouting?" 

Chapter Text

The earthy scent of cedar hung in the steam room, mingling with the steady hiss of the coals. Here, stripped of any distractions, Elrond enjoyed sitting with himself without pretence — the sole unnecessary luxury he allowed himself. The steam room offered a kind of challenge: to sit, to sweat, to think about nothing at all, and perhaps leave feeling lighter, a little closer to himself. And then, as he was just about to pull his tunic off, he heard the knock. 

"Legolas," he sighed heavily, getting a full dosage of the archer's sweetest smile. "We are not paupers in Imladris. There are six other steam rooms, and I know precisely why you are in mine."

"No, you do not. I am scared of the furnace in the other room," declared the wood elf, comfortably lying through his teeth. "It frightens me, and I have a feeling it may explode: that would be very embarrassing for you. I would like to come in with you." 

"When they said the Silvan prince was a nightmare," Elrond sighed, stepping back so Legolas could enter. "I did not expect they meant Morgoth himself." 

It wasn't that he didn't find Legolas attractive. The prince was a remarkable creature, aesthetically speaking. The problem was that he knew it, and had a mouth sent straight from the darkest pit in Mordor. However, Legolas was also currently clad in nothing but a strip of smallcloth, which he slid off the moment he stepped inside, and Elrond — whilst normally one of the more honourable beings of the realm — was no saint. If the finest piece of arse in Middle Earth presented itself to him, who was he to deny the will of nature? 

Elrond began undoing his tunic slowly, enjoying the look on Legolas' face. It was exactly what he had hoped for, no, better than what he had hoped for: the chest was indeed covered in soft, dark hair, which thickened at the navel, narrowing as it reached downwards. Legolas thought of climbing ivy — and couldn't resist opening his mouth again. 

"Valar," he whispered, watching a drop of sweat roll down into the half elf's chest and disappear amidst the hair. "Thank you for this blessing. Such a delightful pasture you have sent unto me to graze upon. This is stunning. I have seen paintings in Rhûn, of strange creatures with hair all over their bodies. They live in trees, much like us. I have forgotten the name. Little fellows, like the halflings, they reach up to here —" he tapped his hip. 

Elrond blinked, genuinely taken aback at the audacity: "Boy, did you just call me a monkey?" 

"I could not think of another animal!" he cried. "Keep undressing, thank you. Is it my fault there are no other ani… " 

"For the love of —" Elrond threw the tunic to the side and shoved Legolas into the wall, covering his mouth with his own in a hard, searching kiss. The wood elf kissed back harder, nipping at the other's lip. 

"I need you to know," panted the lord, drawing back. "That was out of no affection, simply the desire to silence you." 

"Oh, such a shame," Legolas' hands wandered across the broad chest, his thumbnail flicking across a hard nipple, eliciting a choked off moan. "Here I was, thinking you had just proposed marriage to me, my lord. Oh, it does go all the way down." 

He kissed the half-elf again, his hand snaking down the trail of dark hair to cup him over his trousers. 

"My, I think you are proposing marriage to me," Legolas marvelled into the other's ear, feeling the dampness of precome at the tip already, as he was pressed harder against the wall. "I call you a monkey and you, instead of having me thrown out of the valley, seem to be harder than ever. You truly are smitten, hm?" 

"All the better to shut you up with, my prince," breathed Elrond, as Legolas expertly slid down the wall and tore the trousers down. The wood elf expressed his appreciation again, at the size of the offering, and Elrond fisted his hand tight in the blonde strands. 

"Legolas, if I get thrown into Mandos' halls because you cannot keep your blasted mouth shut, my first act upon being re-embodied will be to toss you in there myself," he informed Legolas, eye twitching. "Valar this, Valar that. And at the most depraved things."

"Would you like to wash my mouth out?" Legolas batted his eyelids. "Or should we use soap for other pursuits?" 

"Currently, all the pursuits I have in mind for you involve you being tied up," explained the lord. "And potentially gagged — not even for sexual purposes, I'll have you know, but just to shut you up."

"You truly are a kinky old bastard," Legolas said in a genuinely impressed voice. "I had taken you to be such a square."

"What's the towel for?" Legolas asked, pointing at the linen cloth Elrond was tying around his waist as was custom in the steam room, before snatching it up and tossing it to the side. 

"Modesty, which I am certain is a term you will need to look up in a dictionary."

"Modesty?" Legolas scoffed. "With all due respect, my lord, I spent a good twenty minutes the other day with that" — he gestured — "poking the back of my throat like it were a chunk of Lembas in a drought." 

Elrond blinked: "a chunk of… what?"

"Lembas." 

"I am starting to think my life would be much simpler," Elrond rolled his eyes. "If Thranduil had done the realm a single favour and never taught you language." 

"This is why you are my favourite person in Imladris, my lord," Legolas smirked. "Look at you — primly discussing linguistics when we both know the only thing you want to do is get me on my knees." 

"Get on with it, then," Elrond motioned downwards, sinking onto the bench. 

Legolas bent his head and licked a firm stripe upwards, his hand reaching to follow the trail of dark hair upwards, finding a nipple. Elrond exhaled sharply, twisted a hand in the golden hair. 

Legolas finally obeyed, letting Elrond’s cock fill his mouth, working his tongue enthusiastically around in circles. He sucked, stroking his hands in tandem up and down, occasionally finishing off the pull with a twisting flick of his wrist, relishing in the little shivers Elrond made, the little noises in the back of his throat.

Usually, Elrond was so composed. So stoic. So entirely in control — and here he was, head thrown back, knees apart and face flushed, unable to stop himself thrusting lightly upwards. This was an elf who knew what he wanted to fuck and how, and was perfectly happy to let Legolas know how much he wanted it. How good he was being, how much he liked his tongue, his efforts. Legolas’s heartbeat had long since migrated to his cock. With every pleasured shudder of Elrond’s body, Legolas throbbed.

Valar, the lord was so undone. He wasn't even trying to conceal it. 

Elrond added another hand to Legolas’s head, with gentle pressure down, setting a rocking up and down motion. Legolas left one hand helping Elrond, and let the other fall between his own legs. He set a rhythm to match the strokes of both hands together. Legolas didn’t think he’d ever been harder. Only a couple of strokes in, and he couldn’t help but moan despite Elrond's girth continuing to fill his mouth. 

He pulled off. 

"May I ask a question?" 

"No, Legolas, unless it is to ask me if I have any remedies for your inability to keep your damn mouth shut," groaned Elrond, this time sounding as if he were in pain. He looked down, and the wood elf looked so outstandingly whorish, quite literally batting his eyelids with his lips swollen and flushed, that he relented, solely because the quicker he answered the question, the quicker those lips would be back where they belonged: around him. "All right. One question." 

"How many times have you touched yourself thinking about me?" 

Elrond looked back down at Legolas, smiling. A sheet of hair fell across his shoulder. "What makes you think I've ever touched myself thinking about you?" 

Legolas raised his eyebrows, unimpressed. "There is a reason, my lord, that I asked how many and not if." 

He darted his tongue over the tip, drew it back instantly. 

"Never," said Elrond, inhaling sharply. Legolas pressed his lips to the shaft, whispered: "liar." 

He put his lips over the tip for a quick, tantalising swirl of the tongue, before sitting back on his heels, stroking himself and once again smiling sweetly.

"A couple of times," muttered the lord, fisting his hand in Legolas' hair again, stroking the curve and point of his ear. 

"What does a couple of times mean? And… where?" Legolas flicked his tongue near the base of Elrond's shaft, ran his fist up the length of his own. 

"A few." 

"Come, you are the lord of Imladris," coaxed Legolas, drawing back. "I am certain you can count." 

"Six," Elrond ground out at last, teeth gritted. "Six times, you atrocious boy." 

"Where?" blonde hair fanned over the powerful thighs as Legolas nipped along the insides. "Your chambers?" 

"Yes," Elrond instinctively thrust up slightly, his cock bobbing against Legolas' jaw, sliding across his cheek. The broad chest heaved, shimmering with sweat as the temperature in the room increased. "In the baths. And — and in my study. The first time, when you couldn't take your beady little eyes off me."

 Legolas almost spent himself there and then, untouched. He took Elrond into his throat, dragging his tongue along the way and receiving a string of obscenities in return, words he had never imagined Elrond even knew, let alone uttered. He shuddered, thrusted into his own hand even harder. Suddenly, he felt a tapping on his shoulder and drew back, looking up at Elrond. The Lord had his dark, heavy eyebrows raised, and motioned to Legolas' fist around his own cock. 

"What do you think you're doing?" 

Legolas blinked. "Have you gone blind? I am touching myself." 

"Did I say you could?" Elrond reached out, flicked him on the lip. "Hm?" 

Legolas keened, panting. "But I am so close!" 

"Don't you dare come, boy." 

Legolas argued. At least, he tried to. What ended up coming out was another moan. Ragged, pathetic, he just couldn’t stop it.

Elrond was staring at him. And, Valar, was the lord ever so hard.

"Fuck you," he gasped at last. And then, fuck my mouth. 

Elrond set a pace, thrusting with small, gentle pushes, in time with Legolas, whose hands were now clenched by his sides, his painful hardness throbbing between his leg. Elrond thrusted harder — carefully, though, carefully in control as to not hurt him. The wood elf dragged his hands across the hair on Elrond's thighs, letting out a low, muffled moan around the thick cock. 

Legolas was in heaven. Glancing upwards showed Elrond, chest and cheeks flushed, an expression of pleasure across his face. And clearly, had lost all sense of discretion — the lord didn’t try to control his voice any longer, letting himself moan and swear as he pleased, sweat running down his chest from the steam of the room. 

"Gods," Elrond panted, as Legolas drew back, hardened his tongue, and scraped it across the wet head of the other's length.

Legolas had never heard anything so beautiful. Hearing the lord moan and cry out turned him on to no end. His entire world had reduced to two fronts- a sharp, fast, blinding pleasure between his own legs, impossibly hard even though he wasn't touching himself any longer, and then, his mouth, filled with the warm heaviness of Elrond's cock, an even rhythm, mostly, anyways, since the lord was practically shaking and every so often bucked, unintentionally, into Legolas' mouth a little harder and faster than he’d probably intended. Legolas twisted his head slightly, running his tongue up the stiff cock, following the veins upward before his tongue found the slit and pressed hard. Elrond gave another shuddering groan, swore again, and Legolas could feel him twitch in his mouth. 

He continued to lick, suck, take. He closed his eyes, squeezing them shut, trying to think about anything else other than the fever hot pull inside. He twisted his tongue up Elrond's hardness again, as the action seemed to him to turn the lord completely wild, and he was proven right when Elrond moaned low in his throat again, jaw clenched, breathing heavily. 

"I'm close —" he breathed. "I'm going to —" 

Legolas pulled off swiftly, sat back on his heels, his cock now so hard he thought he might even come untouched. 

"On my face," he tilted his head up, panting. "Spill on my face." 

Elrond let out another gasping, incoherent moan at that, standing up and curling his hand expertly around his own length. His face tightened, screwed into an expression of utter pleasure — 

"Vanimelda!" he cried out, breathless. "Oh you beautiful, beautiful boy —" he was a complete wreck yet at the same time entirely in control, staring at Legolas' upturned face as he came all across it with a series of short groans, painting the skin with rope after rope of come, across his cheeks, nose, hair.

And as soon as he was done, Elrond dropped to his own knees so fast Legolas didn't even realise he was doing so. He pushed the wood elf backwards roughly, so that he was lying back on the stone floor with his legs spread apart wantonly. He raised himself slightly on his elbows, only to see the lord's head bend over, and his cock was enveloped suddenly in warm, moist heat. Legolas threw his head back, hands tensed on the floor, almost keening once again. "Please —" he gasped. 

Elrond took him up to the hilt, swallowing roughly and manipulating the back of his tongue in a skillful crescendo. 

Legolas' eyes were closed in bliss- every second that he had waited while getting Elrond off paid dividends of pleasure now. Like a wave, his orgasm rolled over him, crashing and drawing back and crashing again, finally subsiding to little shocks, as Elrond swallowed once, twice, thrice, and then licked his tip clean with a dextrous tongue, flattening and softening it to manipulate the rhythm of Legolas' extended orgasm. When it was over, the blonde raised himself into a sitting position and moved forward till he could reach Elrond, and pressed a slow, open-mouthed kiss onto his lips. 

Valar, thought Legolas, still hazy from pleasure — he had not thought Elrond was the type of person to go down on another, let alone be so outrageously skilled at the task itself. That kinky old bastard. 

"With all due respect, Lord Elrond," as he came down from the euphoric high, his devilish personality returned in equal measure. "And not to say you look like someone who cannot give good head. However, I didn't expect it to be this good! You truly are an overachiever — had this been a competitive sport, you would have seized the laurels constantly for the last — " 

"I am starting to realise that our little dalliances here, Legolas," muttered Elrond, rolling his eyes as he rose to grab a towel. "May be less because of your notorious beauty, and more that I like you a lot better with my cock stoppering your mouth." 

"Well, if you're going to be like that," Legolas smiled sweetly, raising a hand to be helped up, and running a fair hand across Elrond's chest once again. "I will have to admit to you that I lied about the furnace in the next room being dangerous." 

"Yes," the lord of Imladris said dryly, raising his eyebrows in mock surprise. "I had figured."

"Yes, the true reason I came here is that Glorfindel, the captain of your personal guard, was using the room in question, and remains there as we speak." 

Elrond stared. "You are going to be the death of me, boy."