Galion frowned at the parchment in his hand. The numbers just didn't add up. He was a cask short of three different wines. It served him right, he supposed, for trusting a couple of young tosspots to maintain records of the cellar inventory. He would have to resume doing it himself and keep a watchful eye on those pilferers in the future.

Just as he was about to close the books, he heard the soft fall of footsteps behind him and smiled knowingly. "Sorry, I don't have anything for you today," he said, without turning to look at his visitor. "We're running dangerously low on the good stuff."

A pity, too, he thought. It had been a long day, and he wouldn't have minded a quick blowjob before retiring for the night. But the uncharacteristically quiet footsteps indicated that it wasn't one of his favourites who had come to call, and he wanted to make sure he had some of the king's wine left to spare for those whose mouths he enjoyed the most. Feren, with his wicked tongue, was always welcome, as was Meludir, who made up with enthusiasm for what he lacked in skill. And Elros... Galion often resorted to singing the praises of the finest wines in the cellars in order to tempt him. Sometimes it even worked.

"And if you were not running low?"

Galion froze, rooted to the floor with the weight of sudden dread. He knew that voice well.

The visitor had closed the distance between them and was standing right behind him now. "What would I have to do in order to get some?" he asked.

Swallowing over a lump in his throat, Galion turned slowly to face Prince Legolas.

"Nothing, my lord. You are always welcome to whatever you desire." It was a silly thing to say. Legolas could request anything he wanted brought to him at all hours of the day; he didn't need to make a trip down to the cellars. But Galion was at a loss for how else to respond.

Legolas lifted an eyebrow and appraised him in such a way that he felt as if he were being mentally undressed. He squirmed under the scrutiny, instantly regretting his choice of words.

"And if I were not the prince?" Legolas asked. His voice became lower, huskier as he added, "If I were a lowly guard—what would I have to do?"

Galion hesitated, wondering if he could get away with lying. Judging by Legolas' unusual behaviour, he was well informed about the goings on in the cellars, but Galion may simply have been reading too much into it.

The silence stretched between them until Legolas broke it with exasperated sigh. "It has been brought to my attention that the cost of restocking of the cellars has been higher than could reasonably be expected these past few years," Legolas said. He trailed his fingers thoughtfully across the top of a nearby barrel as if it held the answers he was seeking. When he looked up to meet Galion's gaze, his eyes twinkled with mischief and determination. "If you show me how the others barter with you, and I like it, I might turn a blind eye on your dealings. Otherwise, I shall report my findings to the king."

Of everything Legolas had said, two words stood out starkly from the rest. "Show you?" he asked, apprehension mingling with excitement.

"Yes, show me."

More silence followed as Galion wondered if his legs were steady enough to carry him to the bartering closet, as he liked to call it. At last, sensing the prince's impatience, he drew a fortifying breath and said, "Follow me, my lord."

He took a torch from the wall and led Legolas to a small room stocked with rags, buckets, and an assortment other supplies. By the time they entered, Galion's heart was pounding so hard he could hear the rush of blood in his ears. He placed the torch in the sconce and turned back to his visitor, who was eyeing him with mild curiosity.

They stood and stared at one another.

"Well?" said Legolas.

"This is, er…" Galion cleared his throat; his mouth was incredibly dry. "This is where I have them suck me off."

When he dared to look up, Legolas' eyes were sparkling in the warm light. "Then suck me off."

The room spun as Galion approached his beautiful prince. Somehow, by Eru's grace, he made it to his destination without tripping over his own feet. He was close enough now that when he reached out just a little, his fingers brushed the skirt of Legolas' tunic.

"Dartho," said Legolas, catching his hand in strong fingers. Puzzled, Galion sought his eyes again. "Remove your shirt."

"My lord, I do not ask them to disrobe before—"

"But I am asking you to."

It was a tone that booked no room for argument—unless Galion wanted to waste this opportunity to recompense for his wrongdoing. He wasn't sure what Legolas was expecting to see. A butler's work didn't hone muscle the way archery and sword fighting did. But he obeyed the command. He took a few steps back and, with trembling fingers, loosened the ties of his shirt until he could pull it over his head. When he was done, he tossed it aside and awaited further instructions. He shivered as blue eyes swept over his form.

Legolas beckoned him forward with a repeated curl of his fingers. Galion's heart was still hammering in his chest as he resumed his former position, so close to the prince he could feel his body heat. Legolas took some of his hair in between his fingers; it shone like dark honey in the torchlight as he lifted it to his nose and breathed in its scent. Galion was mortified. He'd spent the last couple of hours in the cellars, moving barrels and taking inventory, so his hair probably reeked of stale wine and dust. Legolas gave the strand a sharp tug, and when Galion's head fell forward he caught his mouth in a kiss.

Warm, dry hands moved over his bare skin as their tongues slid together. He arched into the touch, still dizzy with the realization that he was kissing the prince—something he hadn't dared to imagine even in his wildest fantasies. He gasped against Legolas' mouth when merciless fingers clamped down on his left nipple, and received a gorgeous grin in return. The fingers then travelled back down his torso until they reached his breeches, opening them with a few deft tugs on the laces, and curled around his shaft.

Galion was so giddy with the idea of what was happening that he didn't fully appreciate the expert strokes and twists until he willed himself to relax. But by then the heat was pooling in his groin and his balls were drawing up. Legolas stopped to smear the precome leaking from the tip of Galion's cock over the head, and then resumed his ministrations, which created a lewd, rhythmic squelching sound from the added wetness. Galion grabbed hold of Legolas' arms for support, fingers digging into hard muscle as he came with a strangled moan. He watched, elated, as his come spilled over the prince's fingers in copious spurts.

Legolas picked up a nearby rag and wiped off the mess, including a splatter of seed on his tunic. Galion had barely finished tucking himself back in his breeches when Legolas took his hand and pressed the palm to his erection. It was rigid and hot, and upon exploring its length, Galion found the material covering the head damp and sticky.

"Show me," said Legolas, letting go of his hand.

Galion sank to his knees. It had been a while since he'd had his face this close to another's crotch. Usually, he was the one being serviced. He fumbled a little, tugging hastily on the laces of Legolas' breeches, but finally managed to free his cock. It arched beautifully, the head level with Galion's lips. He parted them while wrapping his fingers around the shaft, and darted out his tongue to taste his prince. The bitter-salty flavour whetted his appetite. He dove right in, sliding his mouth hungrily up and down Legolas' cock. After a few minutes if this, Legolas took a handful of his hair and held him still.

"What's the hurry, Galion? Are you not enjoying yourself?"

It was a fair question. Indeed, Galion had not previously considered that the sooner he brought his partner off, the sooner their encounter would come to an end. He pulled back and swirled his tongue around the head a few times, then pressed the flexed tip of his tongue to the slit, lapping at it until he heard a shaky exhale above him. He grinned, cupping Legolas' balls to roll them around in his hand as he licked a stripe up the underside of his cock. Then he sucked the head back in his mouth and resumed his previous efforts at a more measured pace.

Whenever Legolas began to tense under his ministrations, or when his breathing grew ragged, Galion either slowed down or pulled back to tease him with his tongue again. After a few rounds of this, the prince was flushed and panting—a quivering mess in need of release.

"Let me come," Legolas breathed, and finally Galion relented. He hollowed out his cheeks and sucked, fast and hard, until he heard a hitch in Legolas' breath and his mouth was flooded with seed faster than he could swallow. When he finished, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He was painfully aroused again. As he retied Legolas' breeches, he couldn't help but try his luck at getting an encore. "Shall I come to your chambers later, my lord?"

Legolas was quiet for a moment, as if considering the proposition; then he said, "No."

Galion had expected as much, though he thought he heard a tone of regret in Legolas' voice. His face fell a little, only to be lifted by the gentle touch of fingers under his chin.

"But thank you for this," said Legolas, and his lips curved into a smile as he wiped a bit of come from the corner of Galion's mouth. "I will keep your secret safe."

The End.

Sindarin translations:

dartho - wait