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Veryanwë; [Quenya noun] meaning ‘wedding’. (Elements: the root √BER; ‘man/wife’ and yanwë; ‘joining’).
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The merrymaking between the dwarves and the elven smiths has begun to seriously grate on his ears. He is standing leaned against a table visibly apart from the gathered group, staring mutely at Celebrimbor as he celebrates with his so-called ‘friends’. They do not have the precious time to waste for such a gathering when they have not even started on the Ring for Men yet! Besides, Mairon absolutely does not want the smith to be touching and joking around with other people, least of all that cursed dwarven craftsman! He abhors it! The very sight boils the black blood within him.
He grits Annatar's teeth once again as the dwarf brings their goblets together, toasting to the ‘friendship’ between their realms. Mairon has half a mind to fling himself upon the creature to cut his irritatingly eloquent tongue off for making Celebrimbor laugh so sweetly. He wants to slaughter them all. He wants to—
“My Lord, you seem to be in dire use of a drink and some company, and I have brought both.”
It is Mirdania, the other creature in this room who will surely drive him to madness before long! With a smile, she hands him a wine-filled goblet, lifting her own up to her lips to take a sip, all the while watching him with those unnervingly blue eyes. She is obviously fond of him. He can see it in her not-so-secret glances and the way she will not leave him alone to stew in peace! Always clinging to his side, trying to drag him into senseless dialogue, or touching him friendly when he desperately wishes he could bite her hand off for it.
It is strange and unfamiliar for a female spirit to want to get close to him like this. For some unknown reason and entirely unintentionally, he has always repelled them; besides dear Thuringwethil so long ago and the latest one being Galadriel (at least for a short while), he has never managed to befriend any other ladies upon Arda. And now this… Mirdania seems rather adamant in forcing him to be her 'friend’.
He is partly in the wrong and he knows this; he has not discouraged her behavior or rejected her, thinking her attempts at camaraderie might come in handy later, but, oh, how he wishes he could just shove the damned lady from one of the parapets upon the city wall, sailing down to meet her doom.
Narvi, that thrice-cursed dwarf, has now revealed their joint masterpiece: the Doors of Durin, Celebrimbor's Mithril runecraft marvelously carved into a huge block of stone. They laugh and jest, trading celebratory touches. Mairon is forced to suppress the sudden urge to transform into his true shape to burn the dwarf to cinders.
Hiding his clenched fist inside the wide sleeve of his robe, he lifts the wine goblet to Annatar's lips and drinks all of the liquid in one go. This fana is elven and thus, he will surely feel the numbing effects of the alcohol soon, which is exactly what he needs right now. Although… He smacks his lips, frowning at the odd aftertaste… Inspecting the edges of the goblet reveals traces of dark red liquid upon the glass, near indistinguishable from wine, but he has never tasted a wine like this before. Not that it was necessarily bad, but different, not at all how he would expect elven alcohol to taste like—
Mirdania suddenly gasps beside him, almost crumbling against the table by her other side. The goblet rolls from her hand across the tabletop, spilling the dark drink across its smooth stone surface.
“Mirdania…?” Annatar tries but does not move any closer to help her.
She lets out a pained moan, clutching at her right forearm, her whole body suddenly tensed up.
"Mirdania?! Mirdania, are you alright?" It is Celebrimbor, the smith rushing forth towards her.
"Elf, what did ye do? Did ye drink from this flask?!" Narvi shouts, grabbing a tall but distinctly dwarven bottle from the main table and waving it about. "This is not for ye to consume!"
Annatar’s gaze slowly flickers down at his own empty goblet, feeling dread grip him as his blood freezes inside his veins.
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"Mirdania, did you not listen at the start!? I told you to only drink from our own wine!" Celebrimbor berates with a shake of his head, having reached the smith at last.
"N-No… W-What 's happen-ning—?" Mirdania's face is twisted in fear and pain as she gingerly holds onto her arm. A single tear has escaped down one side of her cheek.
Sometimes his smiths are far too curious for their own goods. Curiosity is of course a highly valued trait in his apprentices, Mirdania the chief among them, but other times it can prove quite dangerous if one does not know when to take a step back! Celebrimbor sighs and leads the Mírdain some steps away to sit her down on a stool.
"Whatever that cursed drink is, it is poisonous for the Eldar. It induces sensory hallucinations,” he explains patiently. “One is forced to recall all the physical hurts, every pain, ache, and sting one has suffered over one's lifetime. Which is clearly a very long span of time for us." Celebrimbor cannot help the grimace that overcomes his features as he remembers just how he gained this knowledge. Narvi seems to decide to answer the burning question in Mirdania’s eyes.
"We discovered the effects on yer kin when Celebrimbor here drank with me. Terrible terrible time it was," the dwarf utters gravely, shaking his head.
Mirdania looks down at the arm she is still clutching to her chest and seems to understand at last.
"Oh… I b-broke this a-arm as an e-elfli—"
Suddenly, a goblet crashes to the floor, breaking with a mighty shatter and shooting glass all over the ground. Annatar, who is standing by the table a short distance away, has let out a strange wail, a piercing sound of distress. In shock, Celebrimbor watches his face morph into one of agony, mouth twisting open in a soundless scream, his tense body appearing to twist in on itself.
"Annatar— Annatar, did you drink—"
But Celebrimbor is interrupted, because Annatar begins screaming, screaming terribly and ear-deafeningly loudly, as he collapses to the floor. All of the elves and dwarves try to cover their ears while Celebrimbor rushes to him, but even he cannot help but flinch at the sheer volume.
Annatar's shrill screams sound tortured, like he is in immense constant unbearable pain, body bowing and twisting on the floor. When Celebrimbor reaches him, falling to his knees and taking the Maia's contorting body into his arms, the tinted glass windows of the forge suddenly break, the colored shards raining down upon them all.
Several of the Mírdain shout out in surprise, the dwarven craftsmen cursing loudly, but all of that cacophony is drowned out by Annatar's endless cries. Celebrimbor tries to hold him, to soothe him in vain.
"Annatar— A-Annatar—"
Annatar's face is twisted in complete agony, eyes shut forcefully, mouth wide open, cheeks wet with his endlessly flowing tears. His blonde hair is disheveled, the golden circlet gripping his temples coming loose and landing with a clang on the stone floor.
It is some time, maybe close to half an hour, before the Maia's voice has turned terribly hoarse, sounding like he is almost choking, not able to produce that previous volume. He is gasping, letting out a constant low moan of pain, face appearing more slack, yet tears still flowing. The other elves and dwarves have thankfully fled the forge.
And Celebrimbor had thought his own experience with the drink had been bad… It had by far not been this severe. What unspeakable horrors has this beautiful being in his arms suffered through? This wonderful Maia who lies here in Celebrimbor's lap with his limbs still tense and his breathing labored? Celebrimbor strokes gently down Annatar's hair and face, holding him against his chest as he hushes him.
"Shh… Shh, Annatar, it is alright. You are alright now. You are here now, not in the past. It will be over soon…" he promises, hoping his words are not rendered false.
It is some time yet before Annatar finally opens his eyes, seeming to be free of the poison's effects at last. He blinks twice, gazing up at him, then promptly turns to press his face against Celebrimbor's chest, starting to sob loudly. Celebrimbor tries to soothe him, to caress him comfortingly down his hair and back, circling his arms around the Maia, all the while Annatar clutches at him and weeps brokenly.
After what must be another hour, when the exhausted Maia has turned quiet and still, Celebrimbor begins to speak, even as he continues to gently stroke his hair.
"You are not an emissary of the Valar," Celebrimbor states simply. "I believe I knew this, deep down, from the very start. I think… To have endured such pain… You stood on the opposite side to my kin in the last war, did you not?"
Annatar has tensed up in his arms and Celebrimbor looks down on him.
"No, it is fine. I believe… Everybody deserves a second chance. You are very dear to me, Annatar. I care for you so very much,” he says, trying to meet his eyes but Annatar stubbornly, or maybe fearfully, keeps his face hidden against Celebrimbor's robed chest. “I understand your fear, why you hid your true identity from me. But Eregion welcomes all. You can live here in peace. You will not suffer any longer, as you have evidently done before." But Annatar does not seem to relax in his arms, to the contrary, his limbs appear to stiffen even further.
"Y-You… d-dont know… w-who—"
"—Who you are? I can guess." He manages to gently push Annatar away from his breast, coaxing his damp face out to read his features. As he thought, they are mostly drawn in fear. "You must have been one of Morgoth's vassals. One he captured and turned. Only the greatest evil could inflict such pain upon another being.”
Annatar shakes his head, still keeping his gaze averted.
"N-No… He did not c-capture me… I… I went, w-willingly…" It comes out in a broken whisper and the words turn the blood inside Celebrimbor’s veins to ice. He can feel his eyes widen as he finally meets Annatar’s tearful ones.
"Who… Who are you?”
"I… am He, who you c-call—” The Maia swallows heavily. “…S-Sauron."
Celebrimbor freezes, mouth falling open and eyes widened as far as they go. Annatar shuts his own, twin tears escaping through his closed lids, body tensing up as if he is anticipating a blow.
"D-Do not h-hurt me… P-Please…"
The pitying tremble in his voice breaks through Celebrimbor's shock, aching somewhere deep inside him. As much as he searches for it, he cannot seem to find any anger left within himself, nor hate or disgust, only unexpected empathy…
"I… I will not hurt you. I am not Morgoth," he returns softly, lifting his hand to tentatively stroke down Annatar's— no, Sauron’s hair. The Maia flinches near imperceptibly at first but then seems to slowly accept his touch, even starting to lean his head into it.
“This… This is why Lady Galadriel told us not to treat with Halbrand ever again, should he return? She found you out…”
“Y-Yes,” Sauron says, carefully nodding as he opens his eyes anew. “And tried to kill me, so I fled.”
Celebrimbor contemplates his answer as he strokes through the soft stands, then pauses to ask a sudden burning question that has risen to his mind.
“Why did you return?”
“I… I wanted to craft more Rings with you, and…” Sauron averts his gaze again, biting his lower lip as if somewhat reluctant to part with his next sentences. “I missed this, I… missed you.”
Celebrimbor combs his fingers free from the luscious blonde locks and lets them trail down the side of Annatar's perfectly sculpted face.
“You are truly… beautiful. Is this your true face or did you craft it to seduce me?”
“No, and… yes.”
Celebrimbor chuckles, still caressing his features, running a finger down the nearly straight slope of the Maia's rather delicate nose.
“I am sure your name is not Sauron, is it?” Celebrimbor asks, not sure if Sauron will even answer, but the Maia takes time to carefully study his features, seeming to find what he is searching for, parting his lips to answer.
“My name was… Mairon.”
The admirable one… Celebrimbor smiles, partly in surprise at how cooperative he is being. It is as if he has surrendered fully to Celebrimbor, lying limply in his embrace, not trying to flee, nor strike him down or deceive him. He looks to have been utterly broken after enduring all of that terrible pain for a second time, appearing exhausted, as though he has fully given up, leaving himself to Celebrimbor’s sole mercy.
“I sense that you are being very honest with me right now, answering all of my questions truthfully. Why is that?”
“I am tired, Celebrimbor…” the Maia exclaims with a deep sigh. “I am tired of deception. Of suffering and pain. And I never truly lie. Not directly.”
Celebrimbor traces his thumb across his lips, over the dip of his cupid’s bow, along one fair eyebrow, and down his pointed elven ear as he keeps holding the other's deep gaze, and the Maia lets him do this freely, his breathing having turned perceptibly shaky.
“Then, let me be honest in return… You need not have crafted this shape of Annatar to ensnare me, I was rather attracted to your Halbrand from the start.”
“You…were?”
Annatar— Sauron— no, Mairon, watches him wide-eyed, head still resting against the crook of Celebrimbor's arm, cheeks still glistening with his previously shed tears.
“Thinking you were mortal, I was rather reluctant to act upon it, but… yes, I confess, I have wanted you from the very moment you walked into my workshop.” Celebrimbor hears how his own voice drops into a low timber as he caresses Sauron's cheek. “Your eyes, your face, your shapes, yes, they were quite pleasing to me, but that is not all… See, your brilliant mind, your admirable drive, and ambition, how it ignites my own, how our ideas mingle and grow ever the richer as our thoughts align… That excites me. You excite me, Mairon.”
“Oh…”
Sauron seems to falter at his true name falling from Celebrimbor's lips, his cheeks tinged pink and lashes fluttering as they gaze up at him. At that moment, Annatar is so beautiful that Celebrimbor is instantly disarmed. Why should he not indulge himself? Why should he not feast on this Maia, his Maia, lying freely here in his arms? Sauron, former servant of Morgoth, having humbled himself for Celebrimbor, and Celebrimbor alone? Is this not victory at last? Should his kin not be proud of him, Celebrimbor, Lord of Eregion and greatest elven smith of the second age, who has subdued one of their greatest foes, not with strength of battle nor with sword, but with soft touches and the sweetest of words?
Celebrimbor curses Morgoth, curses the voices in the back of his head that screams for him to strike this creature down now or flee (they sound rather alike to his father and grandfather's angry yelling), sends a plea asking for forgiveness of the Valar and a fleeting prayer to the One, before he tilts his face down, capturing Annatar’s sweet lips with his own.
Celebrimbor has not been with a partner before; he has been kissed chastely once in his life but he has in fact never truly kissed anyone before. That is evident now, because this is something entirely else. Pure inherent instinct and raw want guide him as he presses his mouth to the Maia's, reveling in his taste, at the heartbreaking softness of his lips, gripping fistfuls of his blonde hair, and placing a hand at his nape to lift him even closer.
Sauron moans and Celebrimbor notices that he has somehow captured the Maia's lower lip between his teeth which seems to be very arousing for the Ainu, judging by the desperate sounds he produces. There is a bright flash of divine light behind Celebrimbor's closed lids and Sauron’s moans turn different, the lilt of his voice slightly changed, as if speaking in a different accent, one Celebrimbor recognizes all too well.
He opens his eyes and leans back, taking an opportunity to breathe, and in his arms lies Halbrand, hair deliciously disheveled, lips swollen, and his stubbled jaw and cheeks flushed pink. Celebrimbor can feel his own body responding to this highly arousing image. Sauron as Halbrand seems to know exactly what effect he produces for a satisfied little smirk graces his features.
“You elicit in me rather un-elvish thoughts, Mairon. I… I want to hold you down and ravish you.” One half of Celebrimbor cannot believe what he is saying, but the other half is egging him on, urging him to fulfill these lustful wishes, damned be it all.
“Please, my Lord, I am yours to ravish. I am yours to do with as you please,” Halbrand, Sauron, says, as he slides down Celebrimbor’s lap and drapes himself across the soot-covered floor.
This is complete madness, utter unexplainable insanity, but with those words, no amount of screaming Fëanorian phantoms can stop him now.
“Celebrimbor, take me here, in the forge, in the one place both of our spirits have found a home—”
Celebrimbor cannot bear it any longer; he captures those lips again, Halbrand's lips, more chapped than Annatar's but still rather soft underneath. The feel of the short stubble against his own bare cheeks feels scandalous, feels heavenly. He twists his hands into the soft brown curls and lets his body drape over the Maia's. Sauron's legs have fallen open as much as Halbrand's dark dusky-blue tunic allows and Celebrimbor uses that gap to slot their bodies together. The Maia must feel Celebrimbor's excitement against him because he lets out a low moan in Halbrand's voice and lifts himself to grind up against him, pulling at Celebrimbor’s robes.
Celebrimbor dislodges his desperate hands and sits back, observing the trembling Maia on the floor of his smithy who keeps reaching for him.
“Celebrimbor— Tyelperinquar, Tyelpë, please…”
This is the first time Sauron has used his Quenya name. He decides he very much likes the sound of it and his nickname uttered in that sweetly wrecked Southlander accent.
Celebrimbor leans over the delectable Maia to pepper kisses down his throat as he grabs the hems of Halbrand’s tunic, pulling it up and over his head, and tossing it aside. So much skin is revealed and he finds himself terribly delighted at the scattering of soft curls across the expanse of Halbrand's chest, down his navel, and beyond the edge of his trousers. The thin but numerous hairs covering his arms shine like golden threads in the light of the forge. Such a difference from elven standards of beauty but Celebrimbor has always harbored deviant tastes, having received many mockeries and jokes at his expense from his peers for this perceived flaw. Once in his youth, he had naively expressed fondness for beards, which he had observed on the dwarves his father frequently befriended in those early years, but Celebrimbor's ‘friends’ had balked upon hearing this and had shunned him, teasing and ridiculing him mercilessly.
Now, that is all in the past, and frankly, Celebrimbor cannot understand how one would not find the sight before him breathtaking. Feeling rather hot, he pulls his own robe off and drapes it over the floor, beside Halbrand's ravishing form. Sauron seems transfixed by the sight of his nude chest and torso; Celebrimbor knows that he is rather bulky and muscular for an elf, but the Maia’s gaze is hooded with lust, not the subtle frown of dislike he knows to expect and brace for from one of the Eldar.
“Move over here and help me divest you of the rest of your clothing,” he orders and marvels over how Sauron instantly obeys, hurriedly pulling off his boots and shuffling to lie on top of the velvet elven robe.
Celebrimbor assists him in pulling down his trousers and undergarments, the Maia lifting his rump and legs up to facilitate the process. He leans away to shove them distractedly aside and freezes at the sight that awaits him when he turns back. Halbrand's nude form is pure perfection in every way: his lean but strong body, his pale skin that could surely be marked pink with any pressing touch, hard kiss, or mere rising lust, his long toned legs, the thick bush of curls upon the mount where his thighs meet, and the glaring difference from what Celebrimbor had been expecting in the valley beneath.
“Oh…” he cannot help but utter in surprise even as his heart starts galloping much faster than before.
He must have frozen too long, for a hand interrupts his unblinking stare; Sauron has covered himself from Celebrimbor's gaze, limbs appearing to have tensed up slightly as if bracing for something.
“Am I no longer to your liking then, my Lord? Have you changed your mind?” He sounds resigned, voice flat and unaffected, but his eyes betray a dejected look.
“No… No, Mairon. I merely lost my breath there for a moment. I… I believe you are the most beautiful sight these eyes have ever beheld on this side of the Sundering Seas…”
Ah, it is as he had guessed: Halbrand's pale cheeks, throat, and even the upper parts of his chest blush rich with color, very visible against his complexion. It is somehow both endearing and mighty arousing!
“Tyelpë, your words turn me mad with want! Please, I crave your touch, your hold. Must I beg—”
Celebrimbor is surprised to hear himself produce what could almost pass as the growl of a fell beast as he very nearly pounces on Halbrand, pressing their bodies together, kissing the Maia hard on the mouth before he moves down to his downy chest. He shivers in delight, relishing in the unfamiliar but entirely pleasant feel of those silky curls against his face.
Halbrand is practically mewling, fingers twisted into Celebrimbor’s locks as he endures the ministrations to his deliciously pink nipples. Celebrimbor sucks and gently bites, loving the sounds this elicits out of the Maia. He has wrapped his long legs around Celebrimbor's waist, trying to pull them flush together but Celebrimbor is still wearing undergarments and this seems to frustrate the Maia.
“Mmm, Tye-elpë… Want to…see you…” he says, in between moans, pushing Celebrimbor's face away from his chest to tug at his remaining clothes. That adorable pout on Halbrand's flushed face could truly convince him to do anything.
Celebrimbor swiftly unrobes, flinging everything aside to climb over Halbrand's inviting body again. Those forest-tinted eyes are widened and fixed upon him as the Maia's fingers touch him tentatively. Celebrimbor feels a shudder go down his body at the contact, at the feel of those slender but deceptively strong fingers wrapping around him. His chest vibrates with the unsuccessfully stifled moan and the sound seems to fuel the Maia, for he speeds his fingers, but Celebrimbor grabs his wrist, dislodging his grip and pushing the hand up and down beside Halbrand's head which causes Halbrand’s breath to stutter momentarily.
"You have not done this with anyone before, have you?" the Maia asks breathlessly. Celebrimbor tries to suppress the imminent blush that he senses rising to his own cheeks.
"I have not," he admits, forcing himself to hold Halbrand's warm gaze.
"Celebrimbor, you should know… this body is untouched."
And now they are both blushing.
"Oh."
"Yes," Sauron confirms with a little smirk and a raised eyebrow, the intended effect somehow diminished by his yet flaming cheeks. Celebrimbor feels himself smile in awe as he uses his free hand to tenderly caress Halbrand's side down to his slender waist.
"I shall be gentle, for the both of us," he promises in a near whisper, but Halbrand's brow furrows at this.
"You do not have to. I am not some fragile elf maiden. I can take—"
Celebrimbor leans forth to place a finger over Halbrand's lips, effectively silencing his words, and shakes his head in answer.
"No. No more violence. No more pain… Let me love you," he pleads almost reverently, moving his hand to gently cup the Maia's face. "Let me love you, Mairon."
Halbrand's lips tremble, his face threatening to crumble.
"Yes…" he whispers, the word breaking in the middle as he nods his acceptance.
Oh, he is so beautiful like this, utterly bared before him. Celebrimbor wants to take this precious gemstone, this rough diamond, to cut and polish it into perfection, his very own perfect jewel, his Mairon. He whispers as such into Halbrand's ear, in between the little kisses he places all over his lovely face, and the Maia moans loudly in answer.
Halbrand's pupils have nearly engulfed his irises now and he writhes under him, widening his legs and letting his thighs fall further apart, urging him closer with the heel digging at Celebrimbor’s lower back.
“Tyelpë, ah, take me. Take me now! Will you, uh, hurry, or shall I be forced to beg for—”
His impatience is sweet and Celebrimbor has half a mind to pause their activities to hear that lovely breathless Southlander drawl pleading for him, but Celebrimbor himself is feeling rather too stiff and impatient at the moment to wait any further.
He lifts Halbrand's other leg, pushing both of the Maia's thighs against his belly to expose him fully to Celebrimbor's gaze. The glistening folds peeking through those dark curls, wet with his evident arousal, very nearly turn Celebrimbor feverishly mad with lust. The Maia gasps at his first tentative touches and then moans as Celebrimbor pushes a cautious finger into his core, bowing his back with his eyes forcibly shut. He clutches desperately at the robe he lies on when Celebrimbor introduces another finger, speeding up his movements and curling his fingers.
As Celebrimbor listens in awe at the delightful moans and watches transfixed how his wetted fingers repeatedly disappear into Halbrand's hot tightness, he suddenly notices a small but flushed bud at the crown of the Maia's folds, glimpsing through the bush. A strange impulse grips him at the sight of it; he wants to take it into his mouth. It sounds quite odd a thought but Celebrimbor is already too far gone. At any rate, it appears to be the exact right thing to do because Halbrand lets out a near scream, almost bucking him off with his violent shiver, and his moans gradually turn higher, his fingers moving to grip almost painfully in Celebrimbor's hair.
“Ty-Tye-elpë—”
Halbrand seems to shudder under him, the grip of the searing walls around Celebrimbor's fingers tightening impossibly, his thighs nearly suffocating Celebrimbor as they press against the sides of his face, keeping him flush against the Maia, nose buried in those musky curls. Halbrand lets out almost a keen, shaking beneath him, before his whole body suddenly relaxes under Celebrimbor, seeming to fall limp.
Celebrimbor leans back and licks his tongue over his own lips, savoring the Maia's lingering taste, and wipes the rest of the dampness from his chin and cheeks on his hand, intending to use the gathered moisture to see to himsel—
“Mmm, in me… Celebrimbor, want you in me now,” Halbrand voices in a whine, glancing down at him with wet pleading eyes, effectively freezing the hand inches from Celebrimbor's aching self.
Celebrimbor is quite (pleasantly) surprised at the quickness of this demand, thinking Sauron would have needed some time to recover yet, but maybe this is a benefit of coupling with an Ainu…
Celebrimbor leans over him, embracing him and kissing him deeply before he lowers himself flush against Halbrand's body, those long lean legs and wiry arms wrapping tightly around his back and shoulders, as Celebrimbor aligns himself to carefully sink into that heavenly heat. They both groan as Celebrimbor breaches him, Halbrand's nails clawing down his back as he very slowly lowers and seats himself fully, pausing there to let the both of them breathe.
He feels like crying, so wonderful is the sensation of their bodies merging at last, and he hopes the Maia will feel the same soon. Celebrimbor knows that his girth is not meager, sees it in the lines that have appeared on Halbrand's face. He kisses them softly, touching his lips against every frown line and tensed up muscle on his face and neck, coaxing him to relax.
When Halbrand's hitching breaths have calmed somewhat he starts to move gently, up and down, slowly resheathing himself in the Maia's searing embrace. He captures Halbrand's whines with his mouth, kissing him deeply and passionately while moving their flush bodies against each other. Sauron has started to meet his slow but deep thrusts, using his crossed ankles to push Celebrimbor down deeper into him, as if gently spurring on a horse. They trade kisses and moans, clutching at each other and moving in tandem as if caught in an undulating dance. It is exquisite, far beyond his most wildest dreams, everything he could ever have hoped for and more.
Sauron is weeping; Celebrimbor can taste Halbrand's salty tears as they trail down his flushed cheeks, mixing with the saliva smeared from Celebrimbor's open-mouthed kisses. In turn, Celebrimbor can feel his own tears gathering behind his lids, threatening to spill at any moment. It is overwhelming, what they are doing. They are united as close as one can get, yet it is not enough, not enough at all.
He has sped up his thrusts now, both of them moaning and trembling, and gripping each other as they draw near to the precipice, yet the only thing Celebrimbor can think about is how he needs them to be even closer.
He wants to pull them together, to bind the Maia to himself, to each other, permanently and irrevocably. Celebrimbor yearns to sink beneath this flesh and bone husk of Halbrand, to crawl into him and push their very spirits together. He wants, no needs to merge himself with Halbrand, with Sauron, with Mairon, forever and ever, unbreakably, unyieldingly, eternally—
Their cries echo in harmony across the forge as Halbrand shudders underneath him, around him, and he in turn spills inside that torturously sweet heat, the Maia's quivering walls drawing every last drop out of him.
As Celebrimbor collapses on top of Halbrand's form, there is a single mantra chanting inside his mind, drowning out the accusing shouts of his forebears:
He is mine. Only mine. I love him. Mairon. Sauron. Annatar. Halbrand. All of him. Every piece of him. I love him. I love him. I love hi—
I am his. Only his. I am in love with him. I love him. I love Celebrimbor. Tyelpë. My Tyelpë—
The answering words, spoken in a different voice from Halbrand's or Annatar's, but all the same very much familiar, cause Celebrimbor to suddenly lean back on trembling arms, hovering above the Maia, to meet his curious eyes with his own widened ones.
“Grach…! Halbra— Mairon. M-Mairon…” He can hardly get out the words, his shocked voice shaking too much and still breathless from before. “I t-think we… I think I just… wed you.”
He carefully pulls out of Halbrand and falls to the side, coming to lie beside him, turning towards him, but not before getting a good glimpse of the mess he has left between the Maia's legs. The image of Celebrimbor's seed dripping out of him, the streaks painting the base of his buttocks and thighs a milky white, staining the robe laid out underneath him…
Uh, I have made a mess of him. Yet why did that look so madly arousing?
Ah, I can feel him leaking out of me. He should have kept it inside longer. I miss him. I want to have his children—
Celebrimbor can feel heat rapidly rise to his cheeks at that. He wants to bear my children—? He very nearly chokes inside his own thoughts and decides to ignore it all, filing it away for much later, because pondering on it now might very well bring forth far too many emotions for his already swelling heart to bear.
“Oh, is that what it is? Those are your thoughts I hear?” Mairon says, turning Halbrand's nude body so that they lie side by side, faces inches apart. “I have only distant knowledge of elven marriage, but I know of mind-speak, although not the involuntary kind.”
“It is ósanwë, with the thoughts we have for each other, but the connection is very fresh. In time we will adjust and learn to control it…” Celebrimbor carefully explains, studying the Maia's beautifully disheveled features, eyes trailing the sweat droplets drying upon Halbrand's brow. (Is he mad for wanting to lap at them like a hound? Grach…)
Elven marriages are planned for years upon years, with both parties able to prepare for this link and ready to savor it to the fullest during the long honeymoon phase, when pouring endless love to one another through the mind would be something to cherish. Elven weddings are not supposed to be sudden, impulsive, and unprepared, like what he has just foolishly done. Celebrimbor can almost hear the berating shouts and lectures of his father echoing in the back of his mind, but he ignores them, focusing instead on the Maia he has inadvertently forced into a bond.
“Are you not… angry?” he asks, frowning at the odd look in Halbrand's eyes. It is not angry, no… it looks almost sad? “I have accidentally bonded our souls, our spirits chained together for all of time. There is no way to—”
Halbrand's voice interrupts him, the Maia having wrapped his own arms loosely around himself as if he is cold, or like he is attempting to give himself an embrace…
“Why should I be angry? Does this displease you? To be eternally bonded to me?” His fluttering gaze flickers away. “To Sauron?”
Do not leave me, Tyelpë. Do not cast me out now. Please, I cannot—
Celebrimbor moves his hand to place it against Mairon’s cheek, gently caressing the delicate skin under Halbrand's eye with his thumb.
“No… I know it sounds utterly mad, but no, it does not. On the contrary, I feel quite happy that you are mine now. Truly mine… If you accept this, it shall gladden me.”
A little gasp escapes past Halbrand's trembling lips and he surges forward, burying his face in Celebrimbor’s chest, pushing his head under Celebrimbor's chin. Their bodies slot perfectly together when Celebrimbor wraps his arms around him, as though they have been crafted for each other.
“I believe… Tyelpë, I believe this is the best thing that has ever happened to me,” Mairon says softly, sounding like he is weeping. “For the first time in ages, maybe since the Music, I finally feel at peace… Thank you.”
I love him. I love him. I love—
He does not know whose thoughts those are, both of them perfectly echoing the other.
“Oh, my love, my Mairon. I thank the Valar for whichever power brought us together, for the fate that made me find you at last. I shall love you for an eternity and more. You are mine,” Celebrimbor whispers into his rounded ear and feels Halbrand's body shudder against him.
“Yes. Yes. I am yours, my Lord. My Celebrimbor. Never let go of me. Hold me forevermore.”
The skin over the base of his throat is damp with Halbrand's tears. Celebrimbor presses him even closer inside his embrace, kissing the top of his head and stroking down his back and through his curls.
“I shall never let you go, I swear it. Even if I have to stand against the rest of my kin, against my very king, I will never let you go.”
The Maia clutches at him tighter in response to this oath. It feels like a doom. Like the words are weighted with more than love as he speaks them. And maybe they are… Celebrimbor has not been gifted in apacen, in foresight, and he knows not what the future holds, but he does know this: whatever happens, whoever stands in their way, will lose, for Celebrimbor is wedded to Sauron, and Sauron is wedded to Celebrimbor now, and no power in all of Eä can tear them apart, for they are now one and the same, same and the one, and will be thus for all future ages upon Arda and all that lies beyond.
━━━━━━༻⊰FIN⊱༺━━━━━━