A most unseemly offer (1/2)
|Rating:||R to NC-17|
|Warnings:||Unseemliness galore, including most improper language and a couple of playful swats to the behind of a most willing recipient.|
|Disclaimer:||Thranduil and Legolas are Tolkien’s; I’m just borrowing them to lend a little lustre to a couple of original characters. Thaladir is only half mine – I share responsibility for him with Mary.|
|Summary:||On a rare journey to the far south, Thranduil prepares a few surprises for his loyal seneschal Thaladir, an elf too serious for his own good.|
|Author's note 1:||Written for Mary, my friend and writing partner. It’s been five years since we started our journey together! And for our long-suffering fans, as a small compensation for updates of MGM and its sequels being more far between than is seemly. Though not part of the series, this is compatible with them... but the things described here of course happened very long ago in the past, when Legolas had just about reached his majority.|
|Author's note 2:||The two supposedly ‘Haradric’ words are fake, added for ambience only|
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For the umpteenth time that day, Thranduil gestured angrily at his seneschal as they walked through the dusty streets of the capital of Harad. The arid climate did nothing to soothe the irritation he felt at the slowness and complication that seemed to cling to everything he tried to accomplish. The sightseeing part – the official excuse for their incognito journey to the southern lands was furthering Legolas’ knowledge of the world outside the woodland realm – had worked out reasonably well, but all attempts at studying the city’s defence structures or indeed finding out anything at all of military interest had been thwarted.
More than once, he had been sorely tempted to reveal his identity to the fawning court official or haughty captain that barred his way. He had his seneschal’s cool reasoning to thank for not doing so, regardless of feeling near exploding when Thaladir had pointed out how most commendable their loyalty to their lord was.
At least this was the last day of their visit and already tomorrow they would begin the long travel back to the green wood he ought never to have left, not even with his subjects’ safety in mind. This far away, he could not sense the trees at all, a loss that added to his bad temper.
“Your Majesty,” intruded Thaladir into his thoughts. “It has become known to me that Legolas has of recent acquired three bottles of what reportedly is the best local vintage. May I suggest that we return to our quarters with haste, there to remedy our woes? My most sincere apologies, Your Majesty, for saying that you do need it indeed.”
“No apologies necessary, old friend.” It was true that what they needed tonight, all three of them, was to relax. Wine would be good, but perhaps something more...
He would send Thaladir to find a girl, one of the bored courtesans of the rich men of the city. Associating with paid women was not his wont – there was no need either, under normal circumstances – but only a professional would agree to what he had in mind. Equally important, such an arrangement would avert the risk of the mortal falling in love with any of them, and the dire consequences that would then follow, as his seneschal seemed never to tire of repeating.
At the very moment Meret heard the click of the door closing behind her, she turned the hourglass in her hand. Not one fraction of a hemr more than they had paid for would she stay. Soon she would have enough admirers among the rich men of power to never again have to waste her art on entertaining strangers oblivious to the honour that was being bestowed on them by the mere presence of one of the serem. More than courtesans, she recited the mantra of her guild in her head. Builders and keepers of relations they were, the mortar of society and the balance upon which earthly power was weighed.
Annoyed with the light pat on her shoulder, she turned her head hastily and put the hourglass down on a chair with an angry ‘click’. The tall man who had escorted her pursed his lips and nodded towards the room. 'Yes', she mimed to his face. Who did he take her for? She would do her work, and better than his lord could ever imagine. It really was time for this advisor, or whatever he called himself, to leave, but something in his stern expression made her bite her tongue. She settled for a smooth shrug, sensual enough to pass for an element of dance. The throat-clearing sound from behind told her that he knew as well as she did what the gesture was for; to shake off the imagined lingering of his touch. Frankly, she did not care. Whatever strange habits these elves may have, permitting such attitude from their servants, they were still shaped like all other men in the areas that mattered.
Still standing by the door, but now moving slightly from side to side, swinging her hips in a lazy dance to ward off any more prods, she put on a dazzling smile and eyed the room critically. Red curtains, rather than the more expensive purple. An enormous carpet that was finely woven, but sported the peacock pattern that had been the height of fashion two seasons ago. Or was it three? The furniture looked nice enough, dark wood with carved lion heads, but the overall impression was still that of standard lodgings for travellers with more taste than money. That explained why the servant had been so difficult in negotiating her fee, and confirmed her initial decision not to waste her best performance on people who were not going to make it worth it.
She sighed. One regular patron more – that was all she needed to leave this kind of easy, but honourless, assignment. She would climb to the higher circles of power, associate with men closer to the ruling family, and perhaps, one day in the not too distant future, she would be noticed by one of them.
There was that annoying throat-clearing again. She took a few quick steps forward to the centre of the room and began to dance in earnest. The sight was erotic, so she had been told numerous times, and performing the seductive motions often had a stimulating effect on her as well, when coupled with the adoration and lust in the eyes of her admirers.
She began to move towards the chair with the lion heads, where the elf-lord who would pay for her services was seated. His booted feet were all she had noticed in her assessment of the surroundings. Looking at his face made her take an involuntary step back, which she camouflaged with a series of repeated back and forth movements. The interest in his keen gaze was expected, and she had seen many a lust filled grin before, but in this fair-haired, proud-faced noble from the North, desire was mingled with a large portion of amusement. She did not like that at all.
With rising irritation she began to put more effort into her gestures, striving to make each movement reach the perfection she prided herself with. This man should be crawling at her feet, mad with lust and desperate enough to offer her the world if she would but allow a single, heated embrace. In reality, the rich and powerful seldom crawled at the feet of whores, she corrected herself, but that was unimportant. It was attention that counted, and while she was in the room – hopefully after she had left as well – he should think of nothing but her.
She pretended not to hear his hearty laughter – although it made her furious – and instead poured all her attention into her alluring dance. Her softly swaying hips and bouncing breasts, enhanced more than covered by veils that swirled around her along with her hair, seemed to affect him. When she looked at his face again she could hardly tear her gaze away, although the strange fire in his eyes forced her to close hers for a moment.
Encouraged by her progress, she turned her back on the lord and instead faced the servant. Faladir, as his name sounded when she had tried to pronounce it, was still standing by the door, arms crossed and a stony expression on his face. Her best efforts seemed to go unnoticed – the man's strict facade was not even close to crumbling – and she was about to turn again when she felt a hand grabbing her behind. The shock made her yelp. What unthinkable effrontery in the midst of a performance! Only contentment with having driven him out of control with lust made her tolerate the intrusion. That, and the realisation that his caresses, curiously timed with the music in her head, were enjoyable. Quite so.
She pulled away nevertheless, registering with great pleasure that the elf-lord appeared somewhat reluctant to let her go, and danced slowly across the room. When next she came near him, she challenged him with a gaze to grab her again. He grinned, but remained still. So, he wanted to try her patience?
It was not a game she cared for much, so after swinging her hips a couple of times in the movement known as 'the camel', she straddled his right thigh in a direct approach that was as uncharacteristic for her as it was sudden. Usually, she preferred to let the men take the initiative, but she had realized when she looked into his eyes that she had no desire to wait. The soft leather of his breeches felt like a caress to her skin, but the most noteworthy sensation, this close to him, was his scent. Like the rare breeze from the sea it was, carrying a freshness that could not have come from anything in the hot sand that surrounded the city. He smelt of green, like cedars, leafy, and wild. The image of panther creeping underneath the shadowy trees crossed her mind.
She ground herself against his leg, a crude contrast to the refined motions she had shown him so far. She needed him already! For a few moments it looked like he was going to do her will; he put his hands on her hips and pulled her forward and down, causing the lovely friction to soothe and burn at the same time. But then, he lifted her and turned her around to face the room.
Next, she felt his hands gliding over her upper body, greedily but with smooth finesse, slowly approaching her sex, only to glide away again. The panther was playing with his prey. She giggled at the thought, briefly distracted from the desire that rushed through her body. The slightest pinch of a nipple brought her back to that hazy state. She held her breath in anticipation as the hand around her waist tightened its grip, while the other pulled aside the veils that partly covered her body.
"Legolas," she heard him say.
A tall form of slender build detached itself from the shadows. He was as handsome as the elf-lord, but more innocent-looking. A lion cub, but one growing to manhood. So, she had been called here to entertain the elf-lord's son, just like she had initiated a numberless crowd of young men, the too eager sons of the lords of the city. Easy work, but involving little in the way of pleasure or excitement for her. She sighed as she waited for the clumsy fingers of the youngling to replace the experienced ones she had enjoyed so much.
It was some comfort she was still leaning against the elf-lord's chest, warmed by the closeness of his body despite the layer of clothing separating them. His leggings must have been very thin, considering how his erect member rested in the cleft of her backside. She pressed herself against him and was rewarded with a low murmur in her ear. It did not matter that she could not make out the words.
Then he took her wrists and held them to her sides. Clearly, she was on display, for the younger elf as well as the one still standing by the door. What was wrong with that one? By now, he should at the very least have been leering, if not touching himself discreetly under those dull robes, and instead he looked at her as if she was doing something unseemly. She gave him a sweet smile and pushed out her chest. Look at them!
There was no obvious reaction from him, but Legolas accepted the invitation. The young elf was surprisingly gentle with her breasts, touching them slowly, almost reverently. She studied his long, pale fingers as they danced elegantly over her skin, circled around a nipple, then closed in on it. Reluctantly, she realised that she was enjoying his ministrations, experienced or not. She smiled encouragingly when he touched her belly, suddenly wishing to feel his hands between her thighs.
Blue eyes met hers, as if asking for permission to continue. How cute! She nodded and formed a soundless ‘yes’ with her mouth. She was more than ready.
The elf suddenly sank to his knees – not quite crawling, but close enough – and placed a surprisingly chaste kiss on her mound. He couldn’t have been more different from the offspring of the local nobles. She moaned softly in appreciation, and soon in earnest when he began to fuck her with his fingers. With his other hand, he touched her clit, rubbed and pressed it just the way she yearned for it at every moment. From behind, the elf-lord was breathing heavily into her ear and pressing against her back. She struggled against him, overcome with sensations, and doubly so when he did not yield his grip around her wrists. It frightened her not. She was at the complete mercy of these elves, and she loved it. Any time now; she was so close. Ah! So very close.
“Legolas!” The elf-lord’s voice penetrated her pleasure like cold rain. Both elves had stopped their ministrations as he spoke, and her rather desperate attempt to finish on her own by rubbing against the lord’s thigh was thwarted as he rose from the chair, thereby forcing her to get up as well. The younger elf gave her an apologetic glance and took his father’s place in the chair. So, they had planned this interruption from the start, then. Barbarians!
“Now it is your turn to work,” said the elf-lord with a grin. Insufferable barbarian! Good for him she was too well-mannered to complain. Normally, it would have felt great to leave right then, but now? She couldn’t even fool herself. By now, she wanted the elves as much as they desired her.
She bent her neck to acknowledge that she would – obviously – do as he said, but it was more of a toss than a nod. The glance she gave him before turning her back on him to face his son instead was dark, but smouldering.
As she knelt in front of the sitting Legolas, he gave her one more of those sweet smiles, touched her cheek in a gentle caress and then leaned back in the chair. Satisfied, she noted that he closed his eyes as soon as her fingers reached for the fastenings of his leggings. The light blush on his cheeks was a nice surprise. She would do her best for him, even with the elf-lord watching; that was so strange, but in this special case she did not mind, and with any luck, it would encourage him to desire the same treatment himself. For his benefit, she moved her thighs slightly further apart.
The elf by the door was a different matter altogether, she thought absentmindedly, as she began to tease and touch Legolas. She couldn’t see him, but the image in her head of his indifferent expression and the air of disapproval around him were distracting nevertheless. To think that he was watching, cold as a fish, wrinkling his forehead and making sour faces at her.
"With your mouth," ordered the elf-lord. "Only."
Guiltily, she realized that her attention had wandered far from what she was doing. She quickly stood on her hands and knees and again put her face near the younger elf's crotch. The height of the chair made it difficult at first, but she could manage. He is clean, she thought as she took his erection in between her lips and was immediately rewarded with a moan from the elf in the chair. He made few sounds after that, but his breathing was loud, as it should be. Now, if he would just not spend before he could appreciate the full extent of her expertise...
"A scratch on him and you are dead." The suddenness of the elf-lord’s whisper in her ear startled her more than the message it bore. She had never bitten a customer who had not deserved it, she thought, annoyed. Did he take her for a beginner who could not concentrate on her task?
Then he was suddenly on her, the warmth of his body against her backside and thighs, and inside her before she had even finished the thought of arching her back invitingly. It was a true challenge to continue to serve the young elf, whose fluttering eyelids and funny, open-mouthed breathing told her he was near ecstasy, when her whole being called for her to shift her full attention to the elf-lord. To meet his thrusts, to shift her position to the greatest advantage, or, the foremost luxury of all, to allow herself to simply relax, to submit, to be swept away by sensations that soared through her body as he filled her again and again.
Suddenly, Legolas cried out. He shook with tension and then relaxed momentarily, withdrawing from her and leaning further back in the chair. His eyes fluttered open for a second, a drowsy, sated glance that confirmed that there was nothing more she could do for him just now.
She let her head and shoulders drop to the floor. Supported by her elbows she turned and looked at her arduous lover. The sight of his face in passion sent a new surge of desire through her. It was him she wanted now, not his money or standing in society.
Perhaps it was this realization that made her forego her rule of never letting herself go when with a customer, of always remaining in control in her mind, at least partly, even if her body was fulfilling his every whim and reacting accordingly. Likely, that was only part of the truth. In hindsight, it was sooner the elf himself who had conquered her. The way he looked, and felt, and treated her had made her feel safe, but also challenged. He had been so sure he could own all of her. She had gladly received all of him, enjoyed him to the fullest for the brief moments he had been hers, knowing that the time they had together was only what remained until the hourglass was empty. That was all good and clear.
There was just one, very strange, thought she could not chase from her head: that everything that had happened had been primarily for the benefit of the third elf, Thaladir.
To be continued and concluded in part 2
Posted: December 6, 2008
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"Long live Thranduil, great Elf-king of Greenwood!"