eyefire | the light of crowns, the dark of dreams

[He obeyed without thinking, not needing to be told twice to draw closer to Sauron, knowing full well that that was not just where he wanted to be but often the safest place, as long as he was not angry.

He was not angry now, on the contrary, Adar felt like he was curled close to the fire on an otherwise freezing night. The fear that flickered through him when the ground fell away was immediately calmed by how solid his master felt through all of it. He could not be harmed while he was held so, none of the beasts or secrets of the earth would dare touch them. His heart still thunders, despite that confidence, and when the ground is solid again and real he has to fight a moment of dizziness before he can take in their new surroundings, or what of them he can see in the dark and without turning in Sauron's arms.

He does not need to see the whole room to know what it is. Nor does he find he cares, not when in leaning ever so slightly back to look at the room better he first sees Sauron. It was clearer in the dark, his radiance, his warmth, his beauty which even with those flaming, piercing eyes makes the black blood running through Adar's veins hot.

His mouth feels dry again when he speaks.]

Thank you, my lord. [A beat, then.] It looks like home. [He thinks. He assumes. He still hasn't managed to draw his gaze away from Sauron, fixated on the soft glow of his skin, the golden strands of his hair, and the very tempting length of his throat that he dare not do more than gaze upon.]

It is a home. A secret place, long lost for others.

[ Not all the halls of Angband could be rooted out by the Valar because, frankly, they had not existed where they thought them to be. Sauron drops a dry, soft kiss of reassurance on Adar's cheek, sliding away from him to wander the wide floor around the bed, eyes lingering on his guest. ]

Are you afraid?

[ He doesn't want him to be (or care especially if so), sliding a sleeveless outer-robe to the floor where it melts away, a puddle of molten gold when not held together by his will. It leaves a trail behind him to be followed. ]

[Though he stays in place, mindful of how little he knows of this room and how much it doesn't matter because wherever they were, Sauron would always have the upper hand over him, Adar still turns as his master leaves his side and his eyes follow him even though his body does not.]

No. [Yes, maybe, but not overwhelmingly so. An army of witnesses wouldn't change that Sauron would do what he willed, so the silky black of the room does not bother the Uruk the way it would someone who did not know his master from more than whispers.

When finally he takes a step forward, his boots feel painfully loud on the stone beneath them. He is aware, suddenly, of how graceless he feels in comparison to the light that draws him forward as he carefully sidesteps the gold, unsure if it would burn or if it was just an illusion.]

How may I serve you, my lord?

[ A deep and abiding love for wolves, for wargs, has his gaze set on Adar like the lead runner on a hunt, rarely blinking. He can See into his mind if he wishes but chooses to put it off, preferring the mystery of why Adar is so compliant; beauty is a compelling force that draws many into its net but Sauron gives the uruk the benefit of the doubt, being ... born in Angband.

His smile is all but cheerful in his eyes as he reaches for Adar's armour, reeling him in to find the latches and buckles around his chest. Deft fingers wheedle their way around them, metal clinking in the silence. ]

I want to look upon you, as you were made.

[Beauty certainly distracted Adar, more than he cared to admit–a weakness from a past self he tried to forget–but in truth, it would not have mattered much if the maia had stayed in his truer form, it was not his body that drew his general close to him. What he had missed of his master went beyond the trivialities of the flesh. He missed the feeling of his fire, his fëa, sometimes he even missed his anger.

Things felt more real under his touch than they did when Adar was out on his own, free, but alone even amongst his children.

When Sauron starts to unbuckle his armour, he follows suit, letting piece after piece of cobbled-together armour fall to the ground in quick succession. He was so used to doing it by himself that he almost seemed too eager to disrobe. When it comes to his chainmail he pulls it off over his head before it quickly joins the pile growing beside him. What armour of his is elegant is old and blackened with age, and the rest of it is roughly made, but it all served its purpose. Gave Adar some form of protection both from weapons and from the reminders of how much of him was altered all those centuries ago. It stitched him together and held him in place. In his padded shirt, he suddenly felt very aware of himself as he looked at Sauron and his words echoed back through his mind.

That was why his master wanted him, to retread old wounds that had shaped him from elf to Uruk. He takes a shuddering breath and simply turns his attention back to unlacing himself from the padded shirt.

He wanted this. And he didn't. It was like being both young and new to his service and old again all at once. Both eager to please and old enough to know better than to expect any long term good to come from this.]

[ Piecemeal armour drops, ancient and new, all of it battered by time. Uniform together, ugly and raw like the hacked parts of a dead creature where it lies at Adar's feet. Sauron watches, drinks in the sight, not needing his eyes to look deeper when hesitation briefly mars the disrobing. ]

Wait.

[ Circling around to stand behind, he brushes long dark hair over a shoulder so he might lean over it, then reaches around to slowly take over the unlacing. The same healing heat finds the corner of a jaw with a kiss, soft and warm-wet as he makes his way around a ruined ear with a curling lick, unhurried in his praise.

The shirt is parted but allowed to stay and he runs his hands up the bare lines of Adar's chest, a supporting weight at his back if he needs it. ]

[The single word works as well as if it had been a command on the battlefield, pausing Adar in mid-motion as he looks to Sauron again, only to watch his master move behind him. He waits, patiently, what is hardly even seconds seems to draw on forever until he is reunited with his warmth.

At first, he stands there properly, basking in the warmth and watching through his downward tilted gaze his master's much finer hands as they slowly work on the lacing he had been tugging at roughly and rudimentarily, as though he was still a soldier and was undressing after a battle. But the wet heat of Sauron's mouth on long untended flesh makes his posture melt, his body giving into the desire to lean back against him as his heart jumped in his chest. His hand twitched as if he would have reached up and back if he was more sure that he could. Instead, rough nails bite into his own palm, nearly hard enough to draw blood.]

[ They ate elves in Angband. Prisoners, usually, plated up for Morgoth in parody of a feast, their flesh as soft and tender as anything; best served with red wine, as was Sauron's preference. He smiles at the memory, nosing his way down Adar's neck to find a tendon to sink his teeth into, mercifully to do little more than send a bruising ache, holding him there with a hum before licking the reddened skin better. ]

My Arquenhuinë ...

[ Caresses slide south, fingers slipping a few inches beneath the band of breeches while another hand drifts further, a whisper's touch between the uruk's legs, not yet undressing him to see how he reacts. He imagines it has been a while since anyone (or thing) treated him so kindly. ]

Whom do you serve?

[Though his master's warmth drags his mind back in time, blessedly his teeth do not. He thinks only of how good even that sharpness feels, and then brief embarrassment at the soft moan it steals from his lips as his nails dig deeper into his palm until black blood wells slowly under his fingernails as he tries to control his urges.

Bodies, after all, did not forget what they liked even after long ages of their wants being ignored.

He wasn't ignoring a single touch, whether he wished to show it or not the evidence was clear as his master's hands shifted focus to his britches where he was already half hard and pressing into the too-tight fabric. He bits his lower lip, wishing he didn't seem so eager but also not caring. Any mortification had the rest of his life to settle on his shoulders.]

You, my lord. Always you.

[ A chuckle, as if the joke is shared, flutters over Adar's shoulder. ]

Good answer.

[ The kisses drag around that neck as Sauron steps in front, toasty nuzzles lining Adar's jaw with faux-tenderness. He guides a hand up to the pale robe he wears, heedless and uncaring of the black blood staining those palms, another to his hair that shimmers like metal made silk, lips ghosting over Adar's with a command phrased as a suggestion. ]

Undress me.

[ It's only his body, hröa bindings, but he does have great vanity in being the picture of elven perfection, unblemished and strong. ]

[Where his teeth had not felt like a threat, the chuckle makes Adar wonder if Sauron was planning something (he was always planning something, but what?) before the warmth of him nuzzling against his jaw washes the thought back out to sea as quickly as it had come in.

That Sauron would be the end of him wasn't exactly a surprise, only the when, and the why, and for now as his hands are placed on his master in both an order and permission to touch him, Adar makes himself focus on the task at hand, hoping he can avoid the destruction that would surely come if he followed his masters lips like he wanted to and pressed their bodies together.]

As you wish. [Even such a simple reply, said almost by rote, had heat to it. It flustered him how obvious it was, how plainly his master would have seen it even if he tried to put more effort into guarding himself.

With himself, he had taken no care, but with Sauron he did. Adar reluctantly moved his hand from Sauron's beautiful hair and he looked for every fastening on his raiment and carefully undid them, his movements smoother and more practised. Gentler on Sauron than he had been on himself, despite the fact that of the two of them he was the one far closer to fragile. When his robe is undone, Adar begins to help push it from his shoulders while heat rises to his cheeks as he is given more of that beautiful flesh to look upon.

They were not at all a matched set. Maybe a long time ago he would not have looked so out of place next to him but he is more and more aware of each ragged scar that distorts his flesh in a way he had not cared about since Angband the longer he stands next to Sauron. More self-conscious of his half-nakedness.]

[ How well-behaved and sweet-tempered his servant is, he wonders, far more attentive on the way Adar reacts. Unconcerned with his own nudity, he traces a fingertip down the centre of a scarred chest, tugging him in by his waistband so the bedsheets bump behind Sauron's legs, the thick fur of a dead werewolf draped across the silk sheets tickling his smooth skin.

Smiling, he nudges a nose with his own; kisses him briefly, then again. A third time, his lips linger, tasting the press of Adar's mouth, teasing. He finds he loves upending the uruk's worldview in myriad ways, so he asks mildly with eyes burning under long inky lashes, ]

How do you want this?

[ Lord of Gifts, they called him. ]

[Each kiss is received and briefly, chastely, even earnestly returned as if he is not wise enough to know that this is all just a game of a different sort. Maybe he doesn't care. He might even convince himself that it is true if he keeps repeating it to himself.

The question drags a soft noise from his throat, as though pleasure and frustration choked him at the very same time.

As generous as he could be, he was more like the Lord of Headaches. Adar did not have enough clothes on to navigate the potential minefield that this was, but also could not refuse him. Nor could he even stop his brow from raising, curious and concerned. Everything about him was slowly spinning out of his own control.]

I had no plan beyond pleasing you. [It's the most and least dangerous answer in one breath–most because Sauron could have anything in mind, and least because it was the truth, and not presumptuous. It really isn't a lie, either, for all the elves had passion, few of them gave in to the whims of the flesh with any regularity, and he had been no different once, and as an Uruk he had barely partook in pleasures beyond a good meal from time to time or a little murder for a good cause.]

[ All that elven sentiment was too hard to burn and cut out, it seems. A stubborn piece of it remains somewhere in Adar's very blood, soured though it is. Sauron tastes the banked passion and glories in having stirred it, helping that mindless lust along with a slow, firm stroke along the line of a hardening cock, mapping Adar through a thin layer of cloth. ]

Believe me, my prakhumash Arquenhuinë, I intend to be pleased.

[ Sauron grasps his way to a waist to draw him in, raking his nails down Adar's back hard enough to leave pressure lines. When he drags him closer by the ass it's to let him feel his own hardness trapped between them, hot as a brand despite the britches. Sauron does not gasp, though his lashes flutter and he steals an insistent kiss, licking his way into Adar's mouth with a growl. ]

Speak what you want before I seek it myself.

[Definitely not enough clothes to navigate these waters, yet also too many. A sigh flutters from his lips that wants to be more but doesn't quite manage to slip past his defences as his blood rushes straight to his cock, coming to full hardness under his master's hand despite the fabric that kept it constrained.

Prakhumash is such a simple sentiment but it makes his cock twitch.

He lets go of the control he was exerting to stop the little noises, hums of pleasure and warm sighs that only just mix with the slightest edge of pain as nails press against his skin.

The press of their bodies together was another surprise, his mind spins again, unable to think past how hot and hard he feels even with their clothes between them.]

Oh, [He sounds comically innocent and shocked even to his own ears as his hands come to rest on his masters waist, still torn between propriety (or fear) and his own desire, and wondering too what it would feel like to surrender entirely to his mercy in this way.] I just. I want. [He tries, though it is a struggle to force the words out in sentences that make any amount of sense.] I just want to touch you. Taste you. Learn every inch of this form you will allow me to. [And maybe melt into the floor from shame after, if that was okay.]

[ Delightful. The wanton fog stoppering sensible replies in Adar has Sauron smiling wider, charmed and flattered. While he has great, world-altering plans and always has, he has a busy mind and (like a flame) a consuming appetite, wanting and wanting and wanting distractions; those of the flesh (in all ways) are the best. It wouldn't hurt the prim elves, he used to say, to loosen up and indulge more often. Orcs do what they want. After men they are the lowest foot-soldiers, it's true, but he can admire their rampant desires that cleave to no lies of propriety. Indulgence is where honesty lives, after all.

Unlacing those britches and draping his arms around Adar's shoulders, he kisses him hard and draws him forward to the bed, nodding his assent. Wherever Sauron's vicious, sweet general wishes the night to go, he will help. Such gifts he could rain down on him ... he feels a thrill of excitement at the prospect of spoiling a new plaything.

Biting at a lip before he seals a kiss on it, he fists a hand in Adar's hair and pulls him down. ]

[That fog of desire is strong enough that it even tempers the shame that briefly rolls through him when his lacings are finally undone, the physical evidence of how much he wanted his master was as plain as the scars on his face. He follows his lead, letting himself be pulled toward the bed, his hands tracing strong back muscles that rippled with every movement.

Adar moans when he was bitten again, the noise lost between their mouths as he seems out a deeper kiss, not just taking what he is given but openly wanting more. Another moan falls freely from him when his hair is pulled, coming down to where his master wanted him on the bed which is shockingly soft and silken everywhere he comes into contact with it. In a less heated moment he might have even stopped to appreciate it after centuries of the floor or rudimentary cots but his interest is fixed on his masters lips, on his golden hair and fiery eyes as he goes to kiss him again, this time not simply waiting and accepting what was given but openly letting his desires show and control him.]

[ Elves have always had the strangest ideas about sex: only for those in love, purely to beget children (if blessed enough, he supposes), never treating it like what it is. A raw, carnal truth that every creature on Middle-Earth felt, the consuming hunger that doubtless drove even the vaunted sociopath Fëanor to father so many brats. When first indulging in the pleasures of the flesh (the non-edible kind) a surprised Mairon had wanted more and not even considered how it might go against Eru's design because it had all felt so good. Twisted as the uruk were by Sauron in later years, he nevertheless felt he was doing them something of a favour in laying all those stuffy old sentiments bare, and as a result the armies of Angband swelled in its bowels, because he was right.

There is no less pleasure in unbridled lust than the sweetest romance of the age.

Adar is beautiful as he lets go of any pretences, the crystal nails of Sauron running through dark locks to rake their way down ruined flesh of a back and seek out every scar, every mark that was not there in the former elf's beginning, the opposite of disgusted. No doubt elves, pure and pretty, would recoil, but Sauron pushes down the last scrap of clothing and arches his hips to feel him, hard and almost as hot, cock-to-cock in a heady grind that has the Maia's fana shuddering up for more. He tosses his head back and lets his elven body react as it will, riding the swell of pleasure. A brief thought has Adar's clothing whisk away like black smoke to drop on the floor, baring all of him, and Sauron kisses him urgently like he can't get enough of the taste. Against a jaw, he moans. ]

I know what you need, [ he writhes up against him, all smooth soft skin and yearning beauty, ] take it. You cannot break me, prakhumash.

[For Adar there was a sense of control in keeping his body to himself, some deep part of him wanting to steal back the agency that had been ripped from him in Angband, even if he would not have realised that was why if he was asked. It was not about prudishness or a lack of want, but another faucet of the freedom he had barely begun to be accustomed to having again.

So this tryst, this heated rush is unusual for him and strips him bare in more ways than his disappearing britches did (impatient Maia...). There is a hunger in him that now it was dragged to the surface made him feel like he could eat the whole world raw if that was what it took to continue on this path. As though he was one of Sauron's wolves and not his Uruk, not something allowed to keep (most of) its mind and use it in his service. A beast that was only riled further when nails trace every scar they can reach and their bodies press together, naked and needy. His hand reaches between them and strokes Sauron's cock, ignoring his own for the new novelty of being able to touch his master so brazenly. Their lips tangle in a kiss that shows as much urgency as he feels, their mutual want something primal and feral. When his master speaks, Adar actually smiles, because he can't break him, not like this. He never imagined he could. The idea was absurd, but then, so was all of it.

The Uruk pushed himself up with one hand, shifting until he could look at Sauron laid out on the bed and committing every inch of him to memory. His cock was hard and throbbing, leaking the evidence of his desire against his stomach. As much as his nerves wobble at the idea, he has never needed to be given an order twice when it actually mattered. The moment of hesitation Adar does have is one of his need fighting against his desire to do things properly. His hand, calloused from years of combat and hard work strokes Sauron's cock firmer now, taking time on each stroke to tease the head and searching for a rhythm that gets the most reaction out of Sauron as his other hand adjusts their position so he is more comfortably settled between Saurons thighs.

Kingdoms had sunk for less than the vision he saw before him now. The thought was sobering enough to almost make him reconsider his own pleasure, though he doesn't stop trying to please Sauron, and now his other hand joins in that pursuit as he teases that inviting, perfect hole that his master was surely alluding to before (and if he wasn't... it wasn't the worst thing Adar had done to be punished for).]

[ If fear isn't enough to keep a leash around Adar's neck, fucking will do nicely. Sauron has plenty of experience in both.

He lets his arms fall overhead on the dark sheets, golden hair spread out as he makes a show of basking under Adar's attention, the slender, pretty cock stroked in that gnarled hand slick with precome, creamy thighs blushing pink with the pressure of every touch spreading them. If his eyes didn't glow with his spirit of fire he could be any high elf lord that gazed upon the trees in a time before time, thrumming with radiance.

The way he arches matches a line of fire threaded throughout the floor, obsidian cracking as it heats up on the subconscious will of the Maia when Adar touches him so intimately. A hand slides down to cover the uruk's fingers and leave a smear of clear oil, only a little: pain isn't something Sauron balks at in the search for pleasure but he wants Adar to think back on this and have his guts melt with want. ]

[Name a more iconic duo than Sauron and using people's natures against themselves.

Adar is half convinced that the Maia has made himself more beautiful somewhere between their disrobing and the sweet sight of him there on the bed. He was so beautiful that all the names the elves called him seemed even more insulting than usual and he didn't even want to think of them. he had so many others, and one Adar didn't dare use, but master and my lord would suffice when his voice rediscovered language again.

The oil pressed onto his fingers makes the heat rise in his cheeks, the wordless encouragement, permission, perhaps even command finally taking root in his mind and easing the unconscious fear that had lingered over him. He continues to tease him there, then slips one well-slicked finger inside of him, spreading the oil and teasing him before adding a second finger, fucking him slowly and in time with how he stroked his cock. With each inward push his fingers crooked, seeking the nerves that would make even a maia see stars when teased enough.]

[ The flare of flames here and there across the floor marks the same moment Sauron arches up sharply, chasing a burst of sweet pressure deep at the ends of Adar's fingers. His mouth falls open on a soft moan and he settles his spirit more firmly into the cage of his body, laughing with a flash of a grin as if surprised (he is) by the sweetness of the sensation. It's been a while, after all. ]

Do not stop ...

[ If he can drag Adar down for more hungry kisses, conveniently muffling his own groans, he absolutely will. The fall of his thighs is slow as they spread higher and knees run along the uruk's side, every gesture gathering Adar to him, possessive and needy. ]

[Though he sees the floor's red flickers out of the corner of his eyes, Adar doesn't let it distract him from his task, one he meant to finish even before the command/request rung out in the hair between them. His strokes steadily pick up speed, fucking his master firmly and deeper, pressing every single time against that place that would drag anyone undone. His other hand keeps pace still, enjoying the velvety hardness in his hands.

When his master tries to pull him forward he almost tips over, not wanting to give up either prize but he lets himself be dragged down, keeping himself hovered over his master with only his muscles which flex and strain as he finds a good position that allows his hands enough freedom even as his mouth plunders and is plundered in return. The kisses no longer simply sweet but instead, devouring.]

Ah, ahh ... !

[ Whether trying to say Adar's name or his newly given one, Sauron bows off the bed as he drives down on those long digits, biting his lip as he grips at the uruk's shoulder, nails running over a scar to help ride out a powerful shudder. Precome smears across his belly from the erection he sports, stiff and red from being stroked to distraction. Oh, he remembers why he enjoyed having a body. His thanks to Adar are unspoken but lodge somewhere in the Maia's ribs, mildly resentful he feels so good but unable to forget in a hurry.

He won't let it be said he doesn't reward his most loyal followers.

Hissing amid a blend of Quenya and Black Speech curses, he nods with his eyes closed. Too overcome, almost. ]

Now. Now, I want you.

[Of all the memories he had of his master, this was certainly one he planned to keep and treasure. There was something warming that had nothing to do with his own aching cock to see him driven so wild in a way that didn't involve any wailing or teeth gnashing that weren't his own.

It's such a rare treat that Adar actually smiles when the Maia beneath him goes right back to being demanding. Clearly not well fucked enough to keep him from spouting off orders for more than a moment. And what can one do with their master but comply?

Adar actually gives it a few more strokes, teasing him like he wasn't going to do what he was told ~~again~~ before he pulls his fingers free of him and positions his cock at his entrance then pushes inside him in one smooth movement that nearly bows him over into his master's chest with an almost primaeval moan for how good it feels after so long of going untouched.

His pause is but a moment in length as he gathers his wits back to him and then he moves, not the slow and gentle fucking he might have done for anyone else but matching the pace his hand had kept before, his hand supporting him now as his hips roll ceaselessly, certainly not prepared to meet his own pleasure first, though keeping himself from it is a task that has his lip pressed white between his teeth and a drip of black blood falling in his own mouth.]

[ On the cusp of making clearer demands, he swallows his impatience when Adar sinks inside and fills him up, sending such heat through Sauron that the floors crack further and embers float through the room as he tries to match it. The hard, hurried pace is what he wants and has him moaning his approval to fill the room as he claws at Adar's shoulders and chest, legs wrapping around a waist to hold him prisoner.

His eyes slit open and turn their glow on Adar as Sauron guides him down into another kiss, licking the black blood off his bitten lip and biting into it to taste more, heels digging into the uruk's ass. ]

Good, you're so good ... Mine, you're all mine, ahh. [ Breath hitching as he rides him, Sauron works his hips with the intent of trying to make Adar come. ] Tor, fukishamash.

[The flare of embers catch his attention out of the corner of his eyes, but the uruk doesn't pay them heed. If they sink into the centre of the world because his master came, well it would be fitting. He barely has the brainpower to think of it anyway, not with the feeling of his body so tight around Adar's cock, his hands reclaiming old scars with fresh dark lines.

Then there is the kiss, and Adar's hand releases his cock to instead weave into his golden hair and hold him close. It tastes like copper and iron and an endless hunger that burns within him now. His hips roll, unrelenting, his body aching to release but still wanting to see the maia beneath him come undone. A game with his master he was surely losing, between his hips and his voice. He manages for at most half a minute more after that last encouragement curls encouragingly in his ruined ear and then he cannot hold on anymore. He loses himself, the ability to keep his hips at an even pace, the strength to hold himself up fully as his cock empties itself as he slams into his master. A mess of moans fall from his lips, words uttered in every language he has ever learnt as pleasure crashes over him.]

[ Triumph blooms as a shiver when Adar loses their little game, suffusing all through Sauron as he drags him in for his orgasm and pets him all over, Adar's hair and naked body from neck to hip and back again, cooing his encouragement ('There you are, you're so hot, that's my beloved'). He basks in the unique sensation of being sullied and nuzzles along Adar's cheek as he lets him settle down, enough to catch his breath. ]

My turn ...

[ It's nothing to invert their positions and push Adar to the side, rolling with him so Sauron sits on his lap. He grins, eyes bright in the gloaming bedchamber, and steadies himself on a marred chest as he starts to rock his hips so that Adar's oversensitive cock isn't left alone for a moment, daring him to complain with a look. It feels so, so good to have him hard inside. Permission certainly isn't given for him to change that, however difficult it may be. ]

[How warm and comforting he was, how sweet even. At least that is what Adar thinks, his mind drunk on pleasure as he kisses a lazy path on whatever part of his master he could reach as his breath evens out.

That sweet reverie doesn't last long. Before he can even string together a coherent sentence he finds himself now beneath his master, pinned between his determined hips and the silky sheets. The contrast of it would be tantalising if it had happened minutes before, but now it just makes him moan, every nerve in his cock still oversensitive to even the smallest touch.]

My lord... [Is it a plea to stop or a plea to find his pleasure with Adar's body? Neither his tone nor his mind seem sure about which one holds more weight. But he is sure he cannot look away, does not even want too.]

[ His cries reach for the out-of-sight ceiling with every rutting roll and he sits up to gather his hair, arms folded as he grips his locks and leaves the rhythm to his hips. Adar's plea makes him bite his lip (surely he feels pain, surely) and it prompts Sauron to flex his thighs so he can drive down properly ~~crying out in pleasure~~, the sinuous writhing of his hips a greedy, self-indulgent thing, working over his general. ]

Lat zaug kramp kuluk izg nargzab, [ fiery eyes focus on Adar, reaping their way into turmoiled thoughts, ] amukhparhor izg nargzab.

[ There, he gasps, driving down, mouth agape and caught on golden strands of hair. There, there, there, yesyesyes. Sauron bares his teeth, sharper than before, wolflike. ]

Rad skaat urzku ishi izish, izg frum lat can. Izg draagh lat!

[His master consumes his every sense as he fucks himself on Adar's still-hard cock. He aches at every touch, yet cannot bring himself to try to pull away or even look away from the bewitching image before his eyes. Every single visible bit of him, even the flaming eyes is captivating, he wants to forget nothing. He wants to drown in the glory of this moment, of the sight of him. Adar's moans and gasps rise with every grind of hips that makes him ache and feel overused.

Yet regret begins to creep back when his master speaks, the language not just falling easily to his misshapen ears but seeming to snake possessively around him and his mind. He tries to resist the words, because as much as he was Sauron's he was also his own being again, but every time he gains purchase back in his own mind he is overwhelmed again in body and can think of nothing else. His hands grip Sauron's smooth, firm thighs but do not try to impede him, nails just pressing almost hard enough to cut into that smooth skin.

Sauron had been playing with him like he was just a puppy before, but now the wolf was truly at the door, teeth and all.]

My lord, I couldn– [Except he could, he could, he could probably go a dozen times or more if that was what Sauron wanted because it was like his body was seized by the command and his hips rise to meet his lords, and in a few short thrusts after the command that might as well have grabbed him by the throat, Adar comes again, his body arching, toes curling, the entire overwhelming thing that tosses him into a state of openness, of vulnerability he didn't normally carry. His cries much louder than before. Nothing measured or ordered was left about him.]

[ His stare remains intense as Adar begs and moans so prettily like a wounded animal begging for the final arrow. Sauron wrings him dry, cresting his own orgasm as Adar lets out that brutal, wrecked noise and sends shivers all through his lord's bones. Yesyesyes, that's what he wants, total submission and subservience. His thighs clamp tight and he spills his seed all over Adar's belly and chest, smearing it high up to his throat where Sauron grips and holds him down until he's finished, panting like he might have raced a horse to lameness across the Anfauglith; fires roar to life around the room, simmering to the throb of his body.

He releases Adar's throat but leans down to kiss him in a slow, lazy tide of silent demand, wanting to taste his exhausted breaths. ]

[He shudders, his whole body full of a fine tremor as he came down from the high. The hand on his throat causes a confusing mix of feelings between delight and terror, along with a touch of shame that sinks in the second he begins to think more clearly and notices the sticky evidence of their misdeeds coating his torso.

Yet despite all of those mixed feelings, he kisses his master back. His hands coming from his thighs to tangle in that beautiful golden hair and cradle his cheek. Adar was breathless, stealing what air he could as their lips moved together. Sauron was so beautiful that Adar was half convinced Ilúvatar was having a laugh the day he made him. For even though he could assume so many forms, he certainly had a taste for fairer ones, a taste that seemed built-in from the start. And he was so beautiful, and so terrible all at once.]

[ Head lolling with the last shivers of pleasure, he climbs off Adar to flop down beside him and stretch out. An absent wave of his hand cleans up their spend and he rolls over, the golden hair Adar loves to play with spilling over a grotesquely scared shoulder, an arm warm as ambers draping across the uruk's middle. Sauron gets comfortable, cosy, and nips at Adar's neck where his pulse is slowing. ]

What a way to ensure favouritism ...

Edited 2022-10-21 13:32 (UTC)

[In which direction? Adar can't contain the amusement at the comment that wells in his chest, it comes out in just a huff and a crooked smile as he lazily strokes his fingers through Sauron's hair.

It was sweetly domestic, if you knew nothing about either of them.]

I never did enjoy failing you. [For several reasons, at first simply because of the pain involved but later, when he was properly reformed into a Uruk there had been a deeper urge that had little to do with the terror he could evoke.]

Mmm, I think you like this body more than I ...

[ He laces their fingers together, playing with Adar's hand on his chest. Much toastier than before, the shadows reclaim the room as a steady fireplace keeps itself in one place nearby, providing a dull golden light. ]

You did very well, I am pleased.

It is a beautiful form, one that has wooed almost anyone you set your mind to. [Annatar appealed to most, save the very wise and cautious. And this was basically that form, perhaps exactly that form. It had been a while.]

Thank you, my lord. [His smile softens a little to something more genuine.] For allowing me to.

[ A soft kiss is granted for the elf within; a nip on the lip for the uruk without. ]

Sleep now. When you wake, we shall dine.

[And peace settles over both sides of him, his fingers still idly playing with golden hair even as his exhaustion catches up with him. Just before he falls asleep he presses a kiss to Sauron's temple and nuzzles there.

And then he sleeps, easily for once. Without too many dreams (or nightmares). Just the warm comfort of not being so alone for once.]

the light of crowns, the dark of dreams

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject