Archive of Our Own

“Hmm…” Thranduil mumbled in his sleep, his eyebrows scrunching together in absolute pleasure. Something soft was tickling at his neck - nuzzling and licking and kissing him. He had been having an exquisite dream about his prince, and he was pulled into reality from a vision of Legolas sitting astride him, riding him seductively and moaning delectably. While it had been a lovely dream, Thranduil knew that the real Legolas was right beside him, their slightly sweaty, naked bodies pressed right up against one another under the covers.

“Good morning, Ada,” Legolas mumbled in between ravenous attacks on his father’s neck, “It’s Christmas.”

Thranduil grinned and slid his arms around his son, winding them over his shoulders and clasping Legolas’ lithe body to his. The prince was beautiful, and his body was no exception. His pale, toned chest rubbed up against the king’s, and he squirmed further into his father’s embrace – all the while ravaging Thranduil’s neck. It was wonderful to wake to his son kissing him, it truly was the most amazing experience, and Thranduil planned on taking full advantage of Legolas’ morning friskiness.

“Merry Christmas,” Thranduil breathed, spinning in Legolas’ arms and pressing their fronts together snugly. Legolas was already throbbing for his father, his cock hard and leaking against Thranduil’s stomach. The Elvenking was always astounded at Legolas’ eagerness – his son had a voracious sexual appetite, one that seemed to be depthless in its innovation and stamina. Legolas truly was an elf worthy of a king, body and soul.

“Make love to me,” Legolas whispered, his gentle plea echoing around the planes of Thranduil’s mind and lancing straight through to his heart. Thranduil could not fathom that fate had granted him such a perfect soul mate; it all seemed surreal and dreamlike to the king. He had made many mistakes in his life, as King of Mirkwood and as an elf trying to exist in the human realm – what could he have possibly done to deserve such happiness with his beautiful son?

Thranduil did not answer Legolas, but he did moan and rub his cock against his son’s, its length hard and ready for his prince. Legolas could always turn him on, no matter the location or their activity. It was somewhat of a talent of his; making his father hard with desperate want in a matter of seconds, usually at the most inopportune moments. Thranduil could not bring himself to be annoyed though, he was too in love to hold anything against his lovely son.

Legolas hummed and buried his fingers in his father’s hair, dragging the tips of his fingernails against his scalp and tugging on the white-blonde strands gently. It caused just enough pain to inspire Thranduil to dominate him, rolling them over to hover above his son. The king nestled perfectly between Legolas’ strong thighs, which wrapped around his waist immediately, pulling Thranduil roughly against his son.

Legolas’ very favourite activity was sex immediately after he awoke in the morning. He loved that his senses were still a little addled, with his mind still flittering halfway between dreams and waking. He loved the press of a strong body against his as his mind woke up, and he loved the sweet drag of Thranduil’s cock inside of his body as they both welcomed the new day.

The two elves rocked against each other, both sighing and moaning and taking their time to grind against one another’s arousal. It was delicious, tender foreplay, and Legolas loved the way his father would twist his hips, working against just the right spot to have Legolas seeing stars. Thranduil was an exceptionally talented lover, and Legolas took full advantage of that gift.

“Ada,” Legolas moaned, hot and dirty in Thranduil’s ear as his father buried his face into his soft neck and nipped at his sensitive skin. The prince gasped and widened his eyes when his father sent an image through their soul-bond. Thranduil imagined his son, panting and bouncing on his cock, as he had been in his dream, and projected it into the space of Legolas’ mind. The prince gasped and stuttered out a few incoherent words, aching to ride his father, just like he had shown him.

Thranduil wasted little time, their tender thrusts and soft nips driving him half mad with desire, and he rolled them once more to allow Legolas to straddle his slim hips.

Once Legolas was on top of his father, he immediately began to grind down on his throbbing erection, letting the insistent flesh slide between his ass cheeks and brush against his entrance in a delectable, teasing way. He sighed and hitched a breath every time Thranduil brushed against him, excitement and anticipation welling inside of his stomach as he squirmed.

“Oh, Legolas” Thranduil’s voice was rough from sleep, and low from the passion that flowed unchecked through his veins. The sight of his son, looking down at him as he rocked over his hard cock, was more beautiful that he could ever have imagined.

Sleep still clouded Legolas’ sapphire eyes, though they were quickly clearing to reveal his usually depthless blue irises. His blonde hair was mussed, the small braids on either side of his head fraying a little and sticking out from his head. The golden strands that grew from the base of his neck were damp with sweat, and they clung around his shoulders, twirling and turning over his chest as he twisted on his father’s lap. A soft, pink blush had risen on Legolas’ cheeks, painting his face a ruddy red colour up until the tip of his nose. He panted, his chiselled chest rising and falling erratically and his pulse point throbbing in his flushed neck. His son was the most beautiful being Thranduil had ever laid eyes on.

Legolas’ body was ready for his father. He had been watching the king sleep for a few minutes before he had woken him with his kisses, and his need for his king had been building for a while. His cock was painfully hard, and his passage had grown slick with want. Thranduil always managed to make him hard instantly, quite a feat for someone who had seen millennia pass by. But Thranduil was a part of him; a part that made Legolas deliriously happy.

“Legolas!” Thranduil begged through their bond when his son kept up his intense pace, writhing about on his cock. The prince grinned and slowed his hips; lifting up slightly onto his knees and wrapping a firm hand around his father’s length. He angled it just right, allowing the head of Thranduil’s cock to slip into him with ease. The king gasped and gave a tiny thrust; unable to control his hips when his hardness was surrounded buy such tight, wet heat.

Legolas bit his lip and sunk down in one fluid movement; sheathing himself onto his father’s cock with a groan and a shudder. He always felt so complete – so full – when Thranduil’s large dick was inside of him. It was how the two elves were always meant to be - joined to one another in such a way. It made their soul-bond crackle and hiss and writhe in satisfaction.

The prince set a blistering pace as he rocked into his father, squeezing Thranduil and pleasuring the large length that was buried to the hilt inside of him. Thranduil dug his fingers into the flesh at Legolas’ hips, steading his bouncing son and trying to anchor himself in reality at the same time. Legolas sucked a reddened lip into his mouth, biting down to keep himself from screaming out for his Ada over and over again. It was maddening torture to feel his father’s cock teasing him, just barely grazing his prostate and stretching him to near breaking point.

But then Thranduil angled his hips and grabbed Legolas’ hard pink cock, which was bouncing in front of him lewdly. Legolas stuttered and growled out a few curse words in elvish, before he shuddered and came all over his father’s hand. He gasped as he felt Thranduil’s release heat him from the inside out, claiming him as his own and bringing his climax to an even more intense crescendo. It was all Legolas had ever wanted, and he collapsed against Thranduil’s chest in exhaustion and sated need.

Thranduil continued to thrust into his son’s trembling body, drawing out their releases with a languid speed. Legolas hummed and kissed his father’s neck, smiling all the while. Yes, good-morning sex was his favourite, narrowly beating out public hand jobs.

Thranduil’s ears pricked and twitched when a small, pitiful sound reached his ears, and he slowed his hips to a stop, his cock still enveloped by his son. Both elves turned their heads towards the sound; a soft, gentle meowing that was coming from beneath their duvet. Thranduil frowned and lifted the cover slightly, peeking underneath.

There, beneath the sheets and rolled up into a tiny ball at their entangled feet, was little Gimli. His big blue eyes stared back at Thranduil, completely scarred at what he had just had to witness from under the duvet. Legolas stretched, peaking his head around to blink down as their poor, distressed little kitten. He gazed at the cat for a moment, before he burst into laughter, his body vibrating and pleasuring his king’s flagging erection that was still buried inside of him. It only took a few seconds for Thranduil to join in the laughter, chuckling gently at the scandalised look that the ginger kitten wore on his little, furry face.

“We’d better give him an extra doughnut,” Thranduil laughed, tracing his hands up and down his son’s strong sides, sliding low to clutch at Legolas’ pert ass. The king gave it a gentle squeeze, tilting Legolas hips to slide against his own. “Let’s have a shower, and then I have a present for you.”

“For me?” Legolas cooed, smirking and capturing his father’s lips. He also had a gift for his father; one he knew would drive the king wild.

§§§

Legolas was lounging on their couch, eyeing up their Christmas tree – and the presents beneath it – when Thranduil made his entrance into the living room. The king was dressed casually, as was his son, in sweatpants and a sweater, but under his arm he carried an ornate, intricately decorated box.

Gimli was feeling better, and was joyfully licking away at his first doughnut of the day. He was rolled up on the coffee table, oblivious to anything around him. All his little mind could focus on was the doughnut. He had missed them so very much, and he was in kitten heaven. Though the events of the morning had frightened him out of his wits, his pointy-eared human masters seemed to have made it up to him with his Christmas gift. The tiny ginger kitten could forgive just about anything should doughnuts be offered as an apology.

Legolas frowned at his father as he sat down, his eyes darting back and forth between the box and Thranduil’s blue eyes.

“Ada? What’s in the box?” Legolas said, confused.

“The gifts under the tree are mere trinkets, ‘Las, mostly ordered to enhance our… bedroom exploits,” Thranduil smiled as he recalled some of the gifts that lay in wait for his son. He hoped Legolas would not think his kinks too outlandish – he could not wait to see his son’s face when he opened the small leather whip he had acquired. “But this is special,” Thranduil’s eyes slipped down to the box in his arms, “This has no place amongst sex toys.”

Legolas gulped and his eyes look apprehensively to his present. The box looked old – far older than he was – and was decorated in gold and silver, punctuated by the finest green gems. It looked as though it was from their days as the royal family of Mirkwood, and Legolas’ heart began to pound out of his chest. He hadn’t seen the magnificent finery and skilled craftsmanship of his race for many thousands of years. It tugged him back into the past, yet he wasn’t sure it was quite where he wanted to be. The past held so many hidden feelings and repressed desires that Legolas became worried at what the box might mean.

Thranduil sensed his son’s apprehension through their bond and he quickly surrounded the prince with all the love that he had to give in his heart. When Legolas cracked a smile, calmed by his father’s reassurances, Thranduil held out the box to him. Legolas received it with two trembling hands. He gazed at the intricate pattern and work of the inlays, marvelling at the skill that was required to produce such a thing. He wondered what could possibly deserve such a magnificent vessel to house it and his heart started pounding once more – this time in sheer excitement.

The moment Legolas lifted the lid of the box his eyes filled with tears. A roaring white noise filled his ears, and his senses were dulled to anything that was not housed in the ornate box. There, lying draped over soft emerald velvet, were the white gems that his father had been so eager to acquire from the Lonely Mountain during the Battle of the Five Armies. They were gems that occupied a large space in Thranduil’s heart – they held his love and his longing and all of their history together. Legolas had no idea that the Elvenking still had them in his possession, and he couldn’t believe that he was being gifted such a thing. His people exchanged such white gems, diamonds, to mean… to mean… Were they what he thought they were? A traditional offer of betrothal?

Legolas met the king’s eyes timidly, and what he saw startled him. Thranduil was sat, his hands clasped and his eyes wide, and he was nervous. He gulped and bit his lip, trying to make sense of the array of emotions that Legolas was transmitting through their bond.

“Of course, the tradition has little meaning now,” Thranduil babbled before Legolas could speak, “All of our people are gone or lost to the ravages of time, but I thought… I thought you still might want to… since we are bonded it matters little… but… I thought…”

“That I may want to marry you?” Legolas said softly. He was completely blindsided by the sincerity – and the utter sweetness – of his gift.

Thranduil stared at his son like a deer in the headlights, and then he swallowed hard and nodded, feeling a little foolish. Perhaps it was silly? Perhaps his son thought him a sentimental old fool? What did it matter now, thousands of years after they had left such a life behind?

Legolas thought he might die of happiness, right there on their couch.

“Of course I will!” Legolas beamed, and Thranduil’s face broke out into a huge, lopsided grin. He lurched forwards, moving towards Legolas, and the prince blinked in surprise when his father’s lips smothered his. Thranduil poured himself into their kiss, nipping and licking out tenderly at Legolas, trying to show him how much he meant, how very much he loved him.

Legolas was left gasping and panting when they finally broke apart, yet he followed Thranduil, aching for another taste of the Elvenking’s lips. He would never get enough of those sinful, delicious lips. He would never find enough ways to worship the curve of Thranduil’s top lip, or the tiny, faded freckle that flecked his skin just below his mouth. He would never get enough, even if they both lived for eternity.

Legolas’ face scrunched up in shock when a sudden realisation hit him, pulling at the depths of his stomach, “Oh… gods…” Legolas gasped, embarrassed in the extreme.

Thranduil frowned, confused as to the worried exclamation, “What is it, ‘Las?”

“I can’t top your gift Ada, I can’t even come close. My gift to you is silly and worthless… oh gods…” Legolas could not believe that he had been so stupid as to think he would be able to compete with his father in gift giving. Thranduil had always known the exact right object to bequeath, and this day was no different.

But the Elvenking chuckled and shuffled forwards, taking his prince’s face into his large hands, “It doesn’t matter what you gift to me, my leaf. If it is from your heart, I will adore it.”

Legolas grimaced; “I have a few kinky gifts of my own under the tree, but this one…” Legolas produced a small, flat box from behind his back, “… this one is special.”

Thranduil grinned down at the immaculately wrapped gift and took it into his hands, grasping it reverently and with great happiness.

“Thank you, iôn-nín,” The king smiled.

Legolas bit his lip as Thranduil undid the extravagant bow around the box and slid the lid away, exposing his Christmas gift.

The king blinked down at the contents of the box, his eyes skimming over it multiple times as he tried to make sense of it. It was a manuscript, thin but carefully bound, with the title of the work emblazoned over the front cover.

‘The Throne of the Elvenking’
a Thrandolas Fan Fiction by ThePrinceOfMirkwood69

“If you like it, I thought I may post it on Archive of Our Own today,” Legolas whispered.

Thranduil’s jaw unhinged itself for the first time in his long life and he stared, unblinking, at his beautiful son.

“You… wrote fan fiction? For me?” Thranduil asked, unbelieving.

“I thought you may want to read a piece that was historically and culturally accurate,” Legolas explained, twisting the hem of his sweater between his fingers.

Thranduil gaped, wide eyed, at Legolas. And then the carefully bound work was sliding to the floor, Thranduil lurching across to pounce on his son. He smothered Legolas’ lips with his own, climbing on top of his prince as he invaded his mouth and drew gasps from his lips.

“You… you like… it then?” Legolas smiled between heated, ravenous kisses. Thranduil continued to devour him, imaginings of Legolas sneakily writing smutty Thrandolas fan fiction invading both their minds. Legolas gasped and thrust up against his father’s ass, his cock filling out even though their frantic lovemaking had sated his need.

“Tell me what it is about,” Thranduil demanded, sucking on Legolas’ neck and writhing around on his lap.

“You…”

“Mmm…”

“…And me…”

“Mhmm…”

“…Fucking each other on your antlered throne.”

Thranduil gasped and shuddered and attacked Legolas’ mouth once more; “Legolas?” Thranduil growled.

“Yes, Ada.” Legolas was almost delirious from oxygen deprivation and the taste of Thranduil.

“Best Christmas I’ve ever had.”