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A most unseemly offer (2/2)

By: Malinorne
Beta: Sinda
Pairing: Thranduil/OFC, Legolas/OFC
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
Feedback: Please sign our guestbook or write to to thaladir@yahoo.com

As they walked through the narrow, winding streets of the bazaar quarter, Meret followed the hem of the tall elf's robe with her eyes. With each step, it swept the ground and formed a tiny cloud of dust, yet the dirt seemed not to cling to the fabric. Interesting.

For perhaps the hundredth time the last few minutes she turned the small, green gemstone in her hand. There would be more, the elf-lord had said. If she could seduce his servant, the seneschal Fala... no, Thaladir. She smiled to herself. The pleasant soreness between her legs would pass soon enough, and its presence made her wish for more, rather than deterring her. She would do it, as soon as they reached her home, and not only for financial gain. Despite his distant behaviour, he was an elf. And a challenge she couldn’t resist.

The somewhat alarming feeling of surprise Thaladir, His Majesty King Thranduil Oropherion’s seneschal and most loyal servant, experienced as the courtesan ran ahead of him was replaced by relief when she stopped outside the third door in the alley behind a spice monger’s stand. Admittedly, he had been distracted by unseemly thoughts on his previous visit to these environs, and thus had failed to commit her exact address to memory, regrettable as it was.

Reaching this destination brought other relief as well. Within moments, her disturbing intrusion in his peace of mind would cease, and it would be the end of this unsettling evening. He would find his way back without difficulty, and on the morrow, the long journey back to Mirkwood would commence. He could not feel the pull of the trees like His Majesty, but the thought of them brought a flood of pleasant memories of solitude, order, quiet. His rooms.

“This is where I live,” the wench said, in an impatient enough manner that made him realize he had been lost in thoughts. How very unusual, and not at all advisable in a strange land. “Please come in,” she continued. Her smile looked innocent enough, but the unsettling spark in her eyes filled him with apprehension.

“My lady, it is my duty to return to His... my lord’s side with haste.” Thranduil had no need for him, but it was not entirely a lie. His Majesty was notoriously fond of sharing a few bottles of any worthy vintage with him and perchance would wish to do so this very night, particularly since all but one of Legolas’ recently procured bottles were still intact. It would be a shame to miss.

“You escorted me home. The least I could do is to invite you in for a cup of tea. Or coffee, if that is more to your taste. I haven’t had an elf as a guest before.”

Her stress on the word ‘least’ was unsettling. Innuendo regardless, it would be a trying experience to remain in her company. The walk through the warm night of these southern climes had not cooled him off – his memories of the services she had provided to His Majesty were too vivid for that. Declining her invitation, however, would be a violation of the local custom. The choice between being rude and experiencing a short additional period of physical discomfort was, however, easy. He carefully concealed his stiffness as he bowed his head to step across the threshold of her house.

He was satisfied to find her quarters adequate. In spite of his protests when Thranduil had paid the girl thrice the customary fee, it was comforting to find that Mirkwood had not exploited on indigence.

“My lady, would it be inappropriate if I were instead to ask for something cold?”

“Rum? No? There’s water, then. I’m out of fruit juice.”

“Water would be most kind of you, my lady.” Anything that would clear his mind would be most welcome.

Invited by her gestures as she went to fetch the water, he sat down on the large pillows that covered a corner of the floor, with a low table placed in their midst. The burning candle on it proved to be the source for the heady scent of exotic flowers that filled the room. Sweet as it was, it seemed to cloud his mind, or in any case not make it easier to resist the impulse to simply relax and enjoy the sight of the lovely creature who had now dropped her cloak and appeared before him as indecently clad as she had been earlier. It proved annoyingly difficult to quench the whim to caress the plump flesh of her hips as she poured the water.

He tried to ignore her as she sat down beside him, and instead took a large gulp from the glass. Valar, it was bitter! Turning his reaction into a civil remark required effort.

“The taste is most unusual, my lady, to one from the North.”

“Oh. We put spices in it, to better the taste. The oasis lies several days journey from here, so it’s not completely fresh. But much better than that from the river, I’d advise you not to touch that.”

Images of cool clear forest springs and the swiftly flowing waters of mountain brooks crossed his mind as he lifted the glass and took another sip, then drained the glass. The Enchanted River would taste better!

“Thank you.” He put down the glass and rose. “It was most kind of you to extend such hospitality to a stranger. I shall not, however, prolong the visit beyond the limits of courtesy. Farewell, my lady.”

She laughed and stood to her feet. “On the contrary, our customs require guests to stay much longer. You must see my house.”

He seriously doubted the truthfulness of what she said – his books had told him quite the contrary , which, in combination with the bitter drink, sobered his mind. Alluring as she appeared, the woman was a liar and of no interest to him. Thaladir declining an opportunity to learn of traditions was, however, yet unheard of.

Soon enough he realized that his initial impression had been correct. The walk around her house proved merely an excuse for her to lay hands on his person. Her fingers on his arm as she guided him he could tolerate, but she definitely crossed a border on the occasions she dared to brush pertinent parts of her body against his, under the pretext of pointing out various features of the scandalous decorations her home was filled with. A particularly indecent miniature painting made him blush. The motif as such was strangely thought-provoking – the position depicted appeared somewhat exaggerated – and as such deserved attention, but viewing it in the company of a lady was altogether improper.

“Let’s take off that robe,” she said suddenly, apparently misunderstanding his reaction. It’s hot in here.”

“Indeed, my lady, the temperature conditions of your home land are somewhat trying. I am, however, adjusting, and thus prefer to remain dressed as I am.”

“Oh, I give up! Don’t you see that I just want to thank you properly?” She snuck up to him and when she opened her mouth again, her voice was a seductive whisper. “Perhaps you would like some of what your lord’s son enjoyed so much? Or would you rather we try that?” She pointed at the picture and winked. “You deserve it, and it needn’t take long.”

“That, my lady, is a most unseemly offer.”

She laughed. “Do you not desire me? Everyone does.” Hands demonstratively on her hips, perfect lips wearing a pout.

“You are impudent and indecent. Such manners do not interest me.”

“Even if I said you could do anything with me?”

“I might be somewhat more inclined to consider such an offer if made with greater courtesy.”

“As in, ‘touch me, please!’?

“The addition of an element of politeness is indeed a considerable improvement; the phrase as such, however, is lacking in sincerity.”

“But I want you! It is true! Thaladir!”

“Ah, using my name is quite nice. The demanding tone is not. Also, I would prefer if you would address me with my title.” He cleared his throat loudly, hoping it would help him regain his wits. This conversation was taking most unexpected turns.

“And that title is?”

“Among my own, I am known as His Excellency.” Not adding ‘seneschal to His Majesty King Thranduil of Mirkwood’ required effort.

“Your Excellency, would you please cut the crap and just fuck me senseless?”

He blinked, dumb-struck. “Is... hrm...” He cleared his throat. “Is that your sincere desire, my lady?”

“It is, and if there is something I could do amend my impudence..? And the unladylike language? It’s not accepted where you come from, is it?”

Her words, coupled with an unsubtle wink, challenged him to overstep his boundaries of suitable behaviour. It was a matter of seconds to sit down on a conveniently placed pile of cushions and drape her across his lap. She accepted it gracefully, even presented her scandalously bare bottom in the not so innocent way that had awakened his desire to put his hand to it in the first place. When he did, she yelped, a sound of protest and yet very much not so.

He had only planned to give her a couple of light smacks, but as he followed his inclination to add a few more, she urged him on with excited little gasps that gradually grew into moans of pleasure. At times, he let his palm rest on her bottom, or follow its soft curve and caress its roundness, until her squirming showed him that she desired another swat.

Then he pushed aside the sensations running through him, how she felt, how she affected him in a most unseemly manner whose manifestation beneath his robe she would hardly have missed even in a more dignified position. Instead, he recalled her impudence and the brazenness that annoyed him all the more for the emotions they caused. Emotions he had forbidden himself the day he agreed to serve the Elvenking with all his vigilance. He was not an elf who succumbed to lust for its own sake.

Turning that annoyance into swats was the easy part; it proved harder to neglect the effect the repeated contact with her much too comely behind had on his aroused state, when paired with her vocalisations of pleasure.

The gradual realization that he was now acting for her enjoyment, not to satisfy an egoistic desire of his own, allowed him to follow through on the impulse to slide his hand between her legs. She held her breath as he did so, but he met no resistance. The moistness on his fingertips encouraged him as much as her voice. With much satisfaction he noted her response to his continued exploration – with any luck, her sounds would drown any of his own that he might find himself unable to contain. Her soft wetness engulfed his fingers again and again. A tentative swat from his other hand had unexpected effects and he watched with a raised eyebrow how she came to shuddering completion, right there on his lap.

The unseemliness of it should have made him stand up and leave, but something held him back. Patiently, he waited for her to regain her senses, continuing to nurture the vain hope that the act of patting her hair would not only soothe her, but lower his own level of excitement.

He was still hard when he helped her to her feet. Her appearance was ruffled, but just as alluring. And there was something in her gaze that he had not noted before. Sincerity?

“Come to my bed,” she whispered. He cleared his throat.

“At this time, I appreciate your invitation, my lady, to a much greater extent...” He found himself searching for words while she took his hand and coaxed him nearer the draping next to the offensive painting.

“Then don’t be stubborn. It is the least I could do for you.”

“My lady, such favours are your trade and to accept one without financial compensation would be incorrect and most indecent.” He was relieved to have found a way to back out from exploiting her in her aroused state. Now, if he could just leave her house before he would explode.

“If you must know, your lord paid me in advance. Now, come?”

If that was the case, it changed everything. He must not let His Majesty’s money go to waste. There was only one hitch. Giving out money in advance was something Thranduil would never do.

“I believe I told you previously that I find unsatisfactory behaviour most disappointing. I do not sleep with liars.” With some effort, he controlled the laugh that welled up in him at the sight of her fit of anger.

“How did..? What is it with you?! Now, I don’t know why I don’t kick you out, and I put my salary at risk by telling you, but he promised he would pay if I could get you to lie with me. There!”

Surprise hit him and for a moment he could just stare at her. His king wanted him to have her, but knew he would not have accepted the gift if she had simply come to his room. That sort of trick was precisely what Thranduil was capable of!

“Now you don’t want me again, do you?” She looked disappointed, and honestly so.

“My lady, if you are still inclined to share your bed with me, would you lead the way, please?” He prided himself with his polite reply, when what he really wanted, if he were to follow his base instincts, was to rip off his clothes and ravish her like an animal, there on the floor. Like His Majesty had done. Fresh arousal surged through his veins at the thought, for a moment clouding his analytical mind.

The little minx was at him again, pressing herself against his front, and this time he welcomed her hands on his person. The haste with which she divested them both of their clothing was astonishing, even considering her profession – and the scarcity of her vestment, as was the most undignified manner in which she attempted to lead him to her bed, by his... He would have none of that! Instead, he lifted her into his arms, walked through the draping and deposited her on the bed. She immediately turned onto her belly.

“Like this, no? You seemed to appreciate the view earlier?”

The thought, as well as the sight, was very stimulating, but he decided to decline. No, he wanted to see her face. She would not deceive him again.

“I appreciate the offer, but I would prefer to behold your fair face during the act.”

“How traditional,” she complained, with a pout. The swat he placed on her comely behind changed her expression to surprise, then satisfaction as he lay down beside her and kissed it better.

“My lady, were we to be acquainted for any period of length, you would inevitably notice my favour for tradition. As we are pressed for time, you had to learn that sooner.” He kissed and caressed every available part of her, from shoulders to well-formed feet, holding her down when necessary. She was ticklish. “Now, turn over for me.”

She was fast. “Anything you like,” she said. “But now, please! Your Excellency!”

He allowed himself the luxury of entering her fast, but then held himself still – despite her complaints – until the first, overwhelming sensation had passed and he could trust himself to follow through with attention to her needs, and the pleasure of both of them. Painstakingly slowly, he began to move, feeling her with every stroke. Ever so often, he would pause to look at her, suck a nipple into his mouth, or just enjoy listening to her impatient whimpers, knowing that they were for him. Resisting them became increasingly harder.

“More. Faster,” she moaned. A single look at her flushed face confirmed that she was sincere. “I may never meet an elf again,” she added in a needy whisper. “Make the memory last.”

This time, he gave her everything, without holding back and stopping only when he knew he was spent for the last time and could do little more than lie panting by her side.

“No, my dear lady," he said when she attempted to take him into her mouth. “I fear I will be out of commission for a considerable time even with your skilful succours. I sincerely hope my impression will be as lasting as you desired.” She laughed, nodding, and rose from the bed.

“After this, I’ll have to take a week off! No, don’t worry, your lord’s generosity would see me through more than that.” She put on a garish robe, transparent but with flowers embroidered in the pertinent places, and then handed him his clothes.

“My lady,” he said when he had dressed, “the mention of my lord’s... ahem... generosity...” He would have to speak with Thranduil about that. Wasting his wealth on such things!

“It’s been taken care of already.” She held up a small pouch. “He told me earlier that he would put this in your pocket.” There was something else he would have to discuss with his king. How most unworthy of a royal to sneak things into the belongings of his subjects!

She escorted him to the door.

“Thank you, my lady, for a most pleasurable night.” He wished he could have expressed it less formally, but she appeared to appreciate his words.

“Thank you. I enjoyed it... all of it, you know. Your Excellency.” The sincerity of her smile warmed his heart, as did her semblance of a curtsey. He knew it was merely the studied coquetry of an experienced street-girl, and nevertheless, he appreciated it. As he did the kiss she placed on his cheek, standing on her toes. Most touching, indeed.

“The pleasure was on my side,” he said and offered her his most formal bow before stepping out into the warm night.

Thranduil’s lifted eyebrow at his arrival to their rented quarters made him realize that he had been smiling the entire way back, and he quickly arranged his face in a more suitable expression for the Elvenking’s seneschal.

As he took care of the final arrangements for their journey home – including finishing the bottle Thranduil had saved for him, a rare dream formed in his mind, a thought that was completely unrealistic, but persistent. Had he not learnt that anything was possible in His Majesty’s service? Perhaps, one day, another impudent, brazen, and completely irresistible, mortal woman would cross his path...


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Posted: December 8, 2008

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"Long live Thranduil, great Elf-king of Greenwood!"