[Within reason seemed to vary but Adar usually found himself comfortable enough to think for himself. Not always. But like now, in this space even with Sauron's naked body stretched against his he found himself thinking his own thoughts, following his own desires.] It isn't that I feel like you watch me, always. [He says, his tongue tracing along the curve of that perfect elven ear.] It is that I feel you, the memory, the reality, I don't know. You are always with me, even when your mind is elsewhere. [It's a dangerous thing to admit, perhaps, and a devoted thing for he doesn't sound disturbed or haunted by it. Just that it is something that is and cannot be revoked by time or distance or circumstance. Sauron's handprints would always remain on him, body and soul.

He would always think of him when the world got too quiet.

Adar moans when he is touched, each confession of love or devotion or acknowledgement of how much he really did belong here, to his master, seems to bring him closer and closer to the baser creature he had been sculpted into. All those delicate elven sensibilities put aside, no longer restrained from moving or reacting too quickly. He rocks into that smooth palm, teeth now catching at his ear instead of only gentle lips. Feeling the shift in position, Adar rocks even sharper into his hand, trailing one of his own down Sauron's body and memorising each line and muscle as though he did not already know them and have them charted with his lips. He whimpers softly.]

Only yours.