Mairon sipped his wine, settling himself more comfortably among the pillows in Melkor’s

bed. He had entertained himself with the wine and the book splayed across his lap for a
good long while. Towards the end of his dinner with Melkor a messenger had come
knocking, drawing his master away at the behest of the captain of a newly returned
expedition. Melkor had promised he would return as soon as he was able, and so Mairon had
stayed.

He was just wondering how much longer Melkor would be, and whether he would mind if he
finished off the bottle of wine, when the door opened.

“My lord,” he greeted with a genuine smile, setting both the wine and book aside and
turning his full attention to Melkor. “What news?”

“They think they’ve come across a secret path into central Beleriand bypassing the Noldorin
encampments.” Melkor took off his boots and shrugged off his robe to remain just in his
shirt and leggings. Mairon unashamedly stared: the wine had set desire simmering low in
his belly, and it was making it difficult to focus on military strategy rather than matters of
an altogether different nature.

“I will send out scouts tomorrow to investigate further,” Melkor continued, catching Mairon’s
eye, the hint of a smirk playing about his lips. He climbed into bed and leaned over Mairon
to pluck his wine glass off the bedside table, then settled himself at his side and reclined
against the headboard.

“That would be a timely opportunity for us, if it turns out to be viable.”

Melkor inclined his head in agreement, drinking deeply of the wine. “Let’s worry about it
when the scouts return.”

They lapsed into placid silence. Melkor nursed his glass of wine, seemingly lost in his own
thoughts, and eventually Mairon made to turn to pick up his book once more, assuming his
master simply wanted a restful evening after his meeting.

He was stopped in his tracks by Melkor’s hand on his thigh, nails raking over the thin fabric
of his trousers. Mairon openly shivered, book entirely forgotten, legs splaying wider in
invitation. He could feel the colour rising in his cheeks. His breath came a little faster as
Melkor’s fingers dipped inward trace the outline of his length, teasingly retreating after only
a couple of light strokes.

Mairon couldn’t quite stifle his sharp intake of breath as Melkor knelt up and straddled his
hips. Melkor’s fingers curled over the side of his neck, pulling him into a deep kiss. Mairon
eagerly parted his lips, sliding his tongue against Melkor’s own. He could feel himself
beginning to stiffen, a rush of arousal flowing through him at the warm feel of Melkor
pressed so closely up against him. And from the delighted chuckle against his lips, he knew
that Melkor could feel it too.

He broke off their kiss, pushing Melkor backwards ever so slightly so he could tug off his
shirt. He trailed his fingers down Melkor’s chest, savouring his gasp as he boldly brushed
over his nipples, slipping lower to trace the hard planes of his abdomen and the scars
clustered there. He was just about to burrow beneath the waistband of his leggings when
Melkor batted his hands away.
“Patience, Mairon, else this is going to be a long night for you,” Melkor chided, pressing a
deep kiss upon his lips to silence his noise of protest. He unbuttoned Mairon’s shirt amid
fervent little kisses, leaving Mairon to shrug it off as he withdrew to sit at his side. His hand
slipped between Mairon’s legs once more, giving him a squeeze that had Mairon helplessly
grinding his hips upwards. He started to pluck free the lacings on Mairon’s trousers, moving
deliberately slowly, steadfastly ignoring every hitch of Mairon’s breath, every little
beseeching roll of his hips. Mairon eagerly took off his trousers once he was done, letting
them drop to the floor along with his shirt.

Melkor guided him to lie down fully upon his back. Mairon busied himself with rearranging
the pillows, his master’s attention momentarily slipping from him as he rummaged through
the bedside drawer A length of rope was coiled in Melkor’s hands when he turned back to
him. There was the glint of a challenge in his eye; the smile on his lips was eager, roguish,
hungry, and it nearly stopped the breath in Mairon’s lungs.

“Give me your hands.”

Mairon complied. Melkor expertly bound his wrists together, pushing his arms up above his
head and securing them to the headboard. Mairon experimentally tugged against his bonds;
they did not yield an inch, and arousal flickered like a bright star in his belly at the thought
of his helplessness.

Long minutes trickled past as Melkor gleefully toyed with him. Fingers trailed feather-light
down the corded muscles of his arms, swirling in teasing circles over his chest. Melkor
leaned down and kissed him, more roughly this time, all tongue and teeth. A hand came up
to pluck at his nipple, deceptively gentle: over and over and over again until he was
writhing with the mounting intensity of the sensation.

Melkor’s lips left Mairon’s own to trail open-mouthed kisses down his throat. He sucked a
bruise into the sensitive skin there, then another and another, a trail of florid lovebites
standing in such brilliant contrast against his pale skin. His head dropped to his chest, teeth
closing over a nipple even as his tongue laved over it in wicked little flicks, drawing a
wanton moan from Mairon’s lips.

His master switched to his other nipple and Mairon strained against the rope coiled over his
wrists. He longed to bury his fingers in Melkor’s hair, tug his head upwards to kiss him
again, take him in hand and guide him between his legs and –

He yelped as Melkor suddenly dipped lower still, pushing his legs wide to lie between them
and kiss a bruise into the innermost flesh of his thigh. Mairon instinctively tried to close his
legs against the sting of the bite, but his master’s hands held him lewdly spread.

Melkor’s lips brushed down to the juncture of his buttock and thigh. His teeth sank into the
tender skin there, hard, leaving a dark bruise blooming in their wake. He whimpered with
the pain of it, he panted with the arousal still fizzing undimmed through his veins, and
Melkor finally, finally obliged, licking a hot stripe up his length. His head thudded back, the
hurt of the bites blurring into perverse pleasure, yes yes yes, wanting his master to take
him in his hand, his mouth, anything to relieve the pulsing need in his belly.

Melkor pulled away just before his tongue reached his tip.

A noise of frustration scored out of Mairon’s throat before he could stop himself.
Melkor delivered a vicious smack to his inner thigh in reprimand. “Hush, now. I’ve got a
surprise for you.”

“A surprise, my lord?” Mairon asked, curiosity jolting him out of the rancour of his thwarted
arousal. “What is it?”

“You’ll find out.” Melkor’s smile was depraved as he pushed himself up to kiss him on the
lips once more.

“Should I be scared?” Mairon asked playfully once their lips parted, making to press himself
back into the kiss.

Instead Melkor grabbed him in earnest, bodily flipping him over so he was lying on his belly.
He leaned over him, pinning him to the mattress, and Mairon squirmed beneath him as his
cock twitched in unbidden interest.

“Yes,” Melkor murmured against the shell of his ear.

“My lord –” Mairon began indignantly, but Melkor grabbed him roughly by the nape of the
neck and shoved his face into the pillows, muffling all further attempts at protest.

He felt Melkor shift his weight, heard him rummaging through the bedside drawer once
more. He could do little more except lie there waiting, heartbeat lodged in his throat,
mulling over endless possibilities of what Melkor may have had in mind. And then his
master was kneeling between his thighs, forcing them to spread wide. Melkor slid his hands
beneath his hips, urging him to draw his knees beneath him, leaving him deliciously
exposed. He gasped as Melkor cupped his bollocks, rolling them in his hand. He arched his
back, giving Melkor better access as he continued to tease him, his trepidation melting away
as Melkor’s ministrations sent brilliant flashes of pleasure through his nerves.

But soon enough Melkor’s touches upon him stopped being gentle. He grabbed him firmly
and Mairon felt something smooth and cold closing around him, felt it tighten, and he
whined with the growing discomfort of it. He tried to move, to dislodge that weird pressure,
but found that he couldn’t. The humbler – that’s what it had to be, he had seen one before,
he had used one before – extended across his thighs, forcing him to remain on his knees, to
remain spread and exposed and vulnerable.

“Oh, Mairon,” Melkor murmured, and the naked lust in his voice set paralysing need roiling
in his stomach despite himself.

Mairon flinched violently as the leather thong of a riding crop tapped against his trapped
bollocks. The thong was thin, designed for cruel precision. Blind panic scratched up his
sternum as he realised there was nothing, nothing at all he could do to stop Melkor from
whipping him raw if he so wished.

“My lord…” he began, unable to keep the dread from his voice, not quite knowing what he
wanted to say. He forced himself to breathe, desperately trying to convince himself that it
wasn’t going to be too bad.

“Shhh,” Melkor murmured and Mairon relaxed a fraction at the gentleness of his tone.
But a second later the riding crop slashed down against his bollocks.

Mairon yelped, instinctively trying to curl his hips inward, away from the blow, but the
humbler would not let him and he only succeeded in tugging painfully on his bollocks.

Melkor hit him again before he had a chance to draw in a steadying breath, a light smack
then another and another and another until Mairon lost count. The stinging impact of each
blow mounted upon the pain of the last until he was writhing, inadvertently yanking on his
bollocks, the sharp agony of it leaving a light sheen of sweat over his skin.

Suddenly Melkor broke his rhythm, hitting him with vicious, bruising force. A scream tore
from his throat; instinct overrode his thinking as his body thrashed wildly, trying to get
away from the riding crop, from the awful, constricting pressure of the humbler, but his
efforts only served to make the hurt of it all worse.

“Such complaint, little one,” Melkor tutted. “I’d almost think you weren’t enjoying it, but you
are dripping all over the sheets.”

Mairon buried his flaming cheeks in the pillows, not even bothering to bite back his moan
when Melkor took his cock in hand, thumb gliding through the wetness at his tip. It was
true: the soreness thudding through his pelvis only served to fuel the dark pulse of his
desire, leaving him achingly hard and wanting.

Melkor’s fingers slipped from him and he squeezed his eyes shut, bracing himself for the
next blow. But Melkor did not hit him again, not yet. He leaned over him, guiding a ball gag
past his teeth none too gently, buckling the straps tightly at the back of his head. Melkor
had coated the gag in his own stickiness and it trickled onto his tongue, filling his mouth
with his own taste, and he whined with the utter depravity of it.

Melkor’s hand returned to his cock, stroking him slowly and surely, even as he picked up the
riding crop once more.

Mairon couldn’t really tell how long it continued. The ache in his pelvis spiralled with each
fresh blow until it crowded out his awareness of all other things. He screamed and panted
and squirmed to no avail. He could feel his cheeks growing hotter with each passing
moment, a mortifying shade of purple bleeding even up to the tips of his ears. Each strike
seemed crueller than the last, and even though Melkor’s hand never left his cock the
pleasure of it barely even registered. A distant part of him knew that Melkor wasn’t hitting
him that hard, he wasn’t doing any real damage, but against such swollen, sensitive flesh
the blows were excruciating.

“Please,” he said over and over, distorted through the gag, until Melkor finally, blessedly
decided to take pity on him.

Distantly he heard the thud of the riding crop as Melkor discarded it to the floor. He bit
down hard on the gag to keep himself from shrieking as Melkor released the humbler and
blood flowed back into his abused flesh. Melkor smoothed a gentle hand over his bollocks,
cupping them lightly, and he choked as that sensation swamped him, brutally crashing
through his nerves, magnified into an intensity almost beyond endurance.

He hardly noticed as Melkor reached for a vial of oil with his other hand, liberally coating his
fingers in it, swirling over his entrance. Without preamble Melkor pushed two fingers up
inside of him, twisting past the tight ring of muscle, and Mairon flagrantly ground his hips
back until Melkor’s fingers filled him to the knuckle. For one glorious moment the pleasure
of it cut through the persistent, throbbing agony in his bollocks, pushing him far beyond the
point of caring that he was making a sordid display of himself.

All too soon Melkor withdrew from him. He shamelessly whined at the loss of contact,
arousal pounding like a physical ache through him. But Melkor was done playing his games,
and he didn’t leave him waiting long. He deftly slicked himself up, positioning his hips
behind Mairon and sinking into him in one long, slow thrust.

Mairon made a desperate little noise low in his throat. The stretch burned; Melkor had
opened him too hastily. But he welcomed it with savage joy, panting through his gag as
Melkor filled him utterly and nudged against that one spot that made his eyes roll back into
his head.

Then Melkor started moving inside of him and the world seemed to melt away. His master
set a firm rhythm that knocked the breath out of his lungs. Melkor’s bollocks were slamming
into his own with the force of his thrusts, the contact intensified tenfold by his whipping, the
pain of it bleeding through the pleasure and transforming it into something else, something
more, a violent, consuming sensation that he adored.

Almost deliriously he titled his hips back to meet Melkor’s thrusts, torn between chasing his
release and wanting to lose himself forever in this debased, exultant tangle of sensations.
He cried out as Melkor fucked him faster, harder, each press of Melkor’s cock up inside of
him becoming truly brutal. And when his master reached around to stroke rough fingers up
his cock in time with his thrusts, Mairon could do little more than grip into the sheets and
moan.

He spilled before he was even aware it was going to happen. He clenched hard around
Melkor’s cock as he came, drawing a curse from his master, trembling as his orgasm
crashed through him like a tidal wave. Distantly he was aware that Melkor reached his peak
too, grasping his hips with bruising force to keep him still as he rutted into him through his
own release.

His orgasm lasted for long, burning seconds. When the last tremors finally faded, Melkor
had already withdrawn from him and had shifted to sit down next to him, deftly undoing the
knots at his wrists and the buckle of his gag.

He felt that movement was a little beyond him. His limbs seemed filled with molten lead. His
heartbeat was deafening in his ears. Everything ached.

He settled for simply stretching his legs out, burying his face in the pillows as he willed his
breathing to return to normal.

Melkor busied himself with untangling the covers from where they had been kicked to the
floor. He settled himself at Mairon’s side, draping the covers over them both.

With an effort Mairon rolled onto his side, placidly blinking up at his master. Melkor gave
him a warm smile, drawing closer to him so Mairon could curl into his chest.

“Enjoyed yourself?” Melkor asked him, gently stroking the dishevelled mess of his hair back
from his cheeks.

Mairon nodded, raising his head to plant a soft kiss on Melkor’s lips. “Did you?”
He could feel the curve of his master’s lips against his own as he smiled. Mairon knew that
particular smile. Indulgent, but hungry. Full of dark promise.

“How could I not? You were exquisite like that.”

Mairon made a noise caught somewhere between happiness and mortification.

Melkor chuckled, cupping his cheek, caressing a thumb over his cheekbone so tenderly that
Mairon melted into the touch. “We’re definitely doing this again.”