[ 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, ]
no subject
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. ]