Work Text:
As soon as he enters the guest quarters, Lindir knows he’s taken too long—their visiting prince has already slipped into his bath. The washroom door is open, but Lindir still hesitates to go inside and violate that privacy. But the towels are stacked high in Lindir’s hands, as is the bar of soap he needs to provide. A bath won’t be much good without those essentials.
Sucking in a breath, Lindir bravely crosses the room and slips through the open door. He keeps his eyes politely on the far wall, though he can see Prince Legolas in his peripherals, sprawled out in the white tub mounted in the center of the room. His golden hair spills out over the edge, his knees poking above the surface, warm steam billowing around him. Lindir doesn’t dare let his imagination fill in the blanks he’s missing. He carefully bends down to pile both the towels and soap on the nearby footstool, then rises, only to fall into a bow. With that done, he turns to leave.
Legolas asks, voice smooth and utterly charming, “Will you not stay?”
Lindir pauses. He swallows and asks, “My lord?”
“In my own halls, the servants wash me. It is not something I ask for, but, nevertheless, seems to always happen. Perhaps I am spoiled to expect the same in Imladris.”
Unlike his infamous father, Legolas has been nothing but polite to the Imladris staff, Lindir included. Lindir risks looking back, which is, of course, a terrible mistake: Legolas is incredibly handsome, and his beauty instantly captivates all who look at him. His silver-green robes have been stripped away, and nothing obscures his flawless skin—even his long hair is swept back, and the water isn’t hot enough anymore to be anywhere near opaque. Lindir can see every chiseled muscle and soft curve. He’s too mesmerized to continue the conversation. Legolas sighs, “Never mind. If you do not wish to, I will not ask. Thank you for bringing me what you have.”
Lindir can feel the blush rising in his cheeks. He murmurs, “It is not that I do not want to...” If anything, his hands itch to roam that perfect body. He suddenly longs to spread the soap over every nook and cranny, every voluptuous plane. But it would be dreadfully inappropriate. He didn’t know things were so... intimate... in the Woodland Realm. He licks his lips and explains, “I thank you for the offer, but I do not think myself worthy of that honour...”
Legolas chuckles, low and light. His blue eyes gleam like fallen stars. He murmurs, “Lindir, is it?” When Lindir nods, surprised that a prince would remember him, Legolas continues in practically a purr, “Lindir, I would be flattered to have your hands on my body.”
Lindir bites his bottom lip. He stares into Legolas’ gorgeous face, sculpted like something out of song or a painting, and there’s simply no resisting. Lindir nods, goes to close the washroom door, and comes to kneel by the tub, eager to serve.