Thranduil.
The name is a hiss—a demand for what Legolas must think is reason. His use of it is as unexpected as it is inappropriate. It is said in anger, his tongue pushing against gritted teeth. Perfect, even teeth.
Something coils low in Thranduil's belly. He dares not try to remember the last time he was addressed so informally, but the effect of Legolas' slip would likely be the same whether it was yesterday or a century ago.
Legolas' cheeks redden, and he lowers his gaze. "Forgive me, Adar," he says.
Thranduil turns away, for he fears his expression may already have revealed too much. "You may go."
Thranduil.
The name is a sigh of relief. Legolas presses his forehead against Thranduil's own, and his entire body relaxes. "I feared I might lose you," he says.
Thranduil allows his lips to curve into a delicate smile. He breathes in the scent of Legolas' hair—like the forest after a storm—and a warm tingle that has nothing to do with the wound he has suffered spreads through his chest. It is the second time Legolas has called him by his name, and he dares not say anything that might spoil the chance of it happening again. Instead, he lets himself be held until sleep pulls him under once more.
Thranduil.
The name is half plea, half purr. It rolls off Legolas' tongue in a way that makes Thranduil go still. He turns to see blue eyes looking up at him through dark lashes, and his heartbeat quickens.
Legolas means to manipulate him.
"Thranduil, please."
The repetition of his name leaves no doubt in Thranduil's mind: Legolas knows. He knows the effect it has on him.
To agree to his son's request now would be a show of weakness…but it might also be taken as an acceptance of his advances. Thranduil finds that some things are more easily communicated through actions than words.
"Do as you will," he says, and, in an effort to retain a sense of authority, adds, "it is time you start learning to deal with the consequences of your decisions."
He doesn't miss the smile that tugs on the corners of Legolas' lips before he bows his head and leaves.
Thranduil.
The name is a whisper in the darkness, like the rustling of leaves stirred by a light breeze. It's so quiet he might have thought he imagined it if he hadn't felt the dip in the mattress as Legolas lay down beside him.
A hand reaches out to brush his cheek, and he leans into the caress. It begins as an innocent gesture, but soon he has Legolas quivering with pleasure as he places wet kisses along his fingers and then sucks them into his mouth.
It goes on for a while before Legolas pulls his arm back and leans over him, leaving Thranduil no choice but to kiss his eager mouth instead.
Thranduil.
The name is a sigh falling from soft, pink lips as Legolas pushes inside him. It causes a fluttering in Thranduil's belly, but does little to ease the burn. Legolas isn't aware that it's his first time being taken. Perhaps he'll tell him once they have finished; if he knew now, he'd hold back, and Thranduil yearns to feel his lust.
His hands grip the sheets as Legolas drives into him with long, sharp thrusts. He begs to be bitten and cries out in pain and ecstasy as the teeth he has fantasized about for so long finally sink into his shoulder.
He has succumbed.