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Mairon will always remember the first time he saw snow.
It was supposed to be an ordinary day, by most accounts, if a bit on the colder side — something Mairon did not particularly enjoy. Yavanna always insisted that plants needed both warm weather and cold weather for optimal growth, but Mairon had dismissed that as needless inefficiency.
So many things in this plane of existence were littered by inefficiency. The way things took a long time to grow, the need for rest, the eternal waiting for the divine plan. It was only in his craft, or rather, in Aüle’s craft, he should remind himself to say, was there efficiency. He supposed that is where his devotion to his Valar originated, in Aüle’s desire to cut to the chase and do what needed to be done, even if it impinged on Eru Ilúvatar’s plans.
Mairon could appreciate that — and this is why Mairon chose to adore him.
There was an efficiency necessary even in love itself, as Mairon saw it. He could choose who to love, and be done with that. He didn’t quite understand why so many of his kind had so many disparate loves: Aüle’s love for Yavanna, for example, he could never understand. It seemed like a waste, for it served little purpose, since neither was dependent on the other.
He wrapped his fur cloak tighter around himself; he had no business being here in the first place.
He had been told there was some ornate metalwork detail in the eaves of Manwë’s palace. He wanted to replicate the designs for machinery he wanted to build: what better means of improving a purely decorative metallurgy technique into a practical application?
The done thing would have been to get an invitation and introduction from Aüle himself, but Mairon deemed that would be a long and involved process. He only needed to observe the detailing from the outside, nobody would mind.
He had assumed nobody would mind — he figured nobody would be sitting on the balcony drinking tea on such a cold afternoon. Suddenly painfully aware that he could be intruding upon the Lord of the Breath of Arda himself on such a private moment, Mairon hid behind a bush, hoping he had not been notice.
But he had noticed Manwë was not alone. Mairon almost let out a gasp.
He supposed Melkor was his brother. Maybe he was allowed to be here, as a result. Some form of love compelled him to host him, even if his purposes were counter to his — or even if, as Mairon had heard, Melkor had desired his wife.
This was another inefficiency of the world Mairon could not understand, desire. At least, yet.
Mairon will always remember the first time he saw snow.
The raiment he had crafted for himself did not help matters, as it did for some. He didn’t see the efficiency in his sexual organs, and seemed entirely superfluous except as some divinely mandated indication of his internal sense of gender. To others, these things were important, and they had fashioned their fana otherwise. He had been told, that desire helped form bonds of love, but Mairon had no need for that: there was nobody else he desired to love. The whole idea of arousal and sexual intercourse seemed like an entirely foreign imposition on the body, a curse which one would be unable to escape.
Mairon looked at Manwë and Melkor, sitting together, sipping their tea. He couldn’t hear what was being said, from a distance, and he had no desire to be perceived eavesdropping. And yet, he could not stop looking at the pair, transfixed as if a spell had been cast on him, even as the discussion between the pair grew more heated. Mairon felt like he was intruding, but could only stare at Melkor’s long fingers in his animated gesticulation.
Maybe he was under a spell, after all. He couldn’t at that moment put it past Melkor to have placed such an enchantment in the area.
Then something happened that took Mairon’s breath away. Melkor snapped his fingers, and it started to snow. There was such an efficiency of movement to the whole affair: the snow was icily beautiful and quiet, and forced Manwë to retreat back inside, effectively ending their argument. There was no noise, no fuss, just a clean and overwhelming imposition of Melkor’s will on the entire area, as he stood up in his long black robes to leave.
This time Mairon did gasp, and for a moment he was worried Melkor had seen him. He convinced himself he must have, because Mairon was overwhelmed with an urgency and a tension he was convinced came from outside himself as he watched Melkor walk away.
Mairon later recognized he had felt arousal for the first time as he sat alone in the cold snow.
For all of Mairon’s incessant complaining about the inefficiencies of growing things, he knew that the most effective way of modifying the built in effects of one’s raiment lie in the chemical properties of plants.
“I’m not sure I can help you with your problem, my sweet Mairon,” Yavanna told him pensively, as she wracked her brains for a solution to his dilemma. “Normally people ask for herbs that prolong an erection! I’m not sure I have had anyone request otherwise.”
Mairon privately shuddered at the thought of someone desiring to feel discomfort for longer. At least the cold of the snow had eventually calmed down his predicament. He was hoping to avoid a repeat of the unfortunate situation. He had no desire allow this weakness to be used against him, should the Enemy infiltrate Aüle’s domain one day.
“Mairon, are you sure you want this? Normally arousal is a way your body signals attraction towards someone special.” Yavanna explained this patiently to Mairon, as if he were a particularly naïve child.
Mairon frowned at her, “This was definitely not that situation. It was without cause, and disruptive to my efficiency.”
A light of discovery shone in Yavanna’s eyes at this moment, “Oh, this is for undirected arousal, you say? Well, I do happen to have something that might help.” She led him around the orchard until they found a cluster of unobtrusive white flowers growing low to the ground. She plucked a handful to give to him. “Ordinarily, folks use this plant as an aphrodisiac, you know. But it is called To-thine-be-true for a reason. Yet it has a paradoxical effect for anyone one doesn’t desire romantically. It is there to boost your desire for your beloved, and make all others undesirable. So maybe it will work for your condition?”
Since Mairon had no prospects and no desire to acquire any, he nodded in approval at Yavanna’s logic. “Thank you, Yavanna.”
“Take one flower brewed in tea, every morning. If the dose is insufficient, you can take two, but no more than four — some report a gloom and despondency when the dose is too high. And you should watch out! If you do start to develop romantic feelings for someone, you don’t want to end up with priapism.”
Mairon did not think there was any risk of that, but nevertheless shuddered at the thought.
After that day, Mairon drank his tea every morning, without fail. He had no recurrences of the unfortunate incident, and if anything, he felt he had renewed focus on his kinetic motion device than before. He had not been able to return to Manwë’s palace since the night in the snow, but given he had been stuck outside in the cold for long enough, his brain had retained plenty of details of the intricate metalwork to continue his work.
So engrossed was he with his project that he was completely oblivious to the sounds of someone entering Aüle’s forge that particular evening. He had been in the scrap metal closet in the mezzanine, rustling around for a large section of copper sheeting when he heard voices arguing downstairs.
Mairon found a spot to hide under a table near the landing’s edge, while still having some visibility to see the main floor below through the bannisters. He recognized one of the voices: Melkor. He wondered, not for the first time, whether he has some Maiar working on his side among them. How else would he have gained admittance?
The other figure was lithe and robed in black, slithering around the room without making any noise. Mairon could not recognize them.
He wondered if they were one of Aüle’s. Had his suspicions proved correct? Was Melkor indeed bewitching Maia to his side? He was thankful for the tea Yavanna had given him in that moment — he did not want a repeat of the night in the snow. So far, it seemed to be working. Nothing about Melkor whispering in the cloaked figure’s ear was particularly arousing; if anything it was enraging in his impotence to not simply confront them and break their treasonous familiarity.
Eventually, the cloaked figure departed, Mairon unable to ascertain their identity. At least, he had not been spotted, and Melkor had not attempted to bewitch him again. In some way, he wished he would have more to report about the Enemy to Aüle than the news of a late night rendezvous.
It was as if Melkor could read his mind — although Mairon was reasonably certain he would be able to tell if someone was trying to read his thoughts, he could not be sure — for he proceeded to wave a few of those long, clawed fingers with a quick flick of the wrist and the main bellows in the center of the room came apart as if it were made of putty, the slurry of hot glowing metal gushing from its innards being cooled down to a harmless black with a slow exhalation from Melkor.
It was as if he hadn’t taken any flowers at all for the last several weeks. Mairon could feel the steady pulse of his heartbeat localized in the heavy organ between his legs, his breath ripped away from his lungs with the rapidity with which his arousal returned.
At that moment, Melkor’s eyes caught his from the floor below. Mairon surmised that Melkor had surely noticed him and was taunting him, filling him with shame so that he would be unable to report on what he had seen, without explaining why he had been incapable of stopping him. What other explanation was there for the catastrophic failure of Yavanna’s treatment?
Mairon’s cock was throbbing insistently under his leather apron, and Mairon balled his fists until his nails dug into the palms of his hands to prevent himself from further embarrassing himself.
Melkor smiles at him before he proceeds to leave without a word, only raising his index finger to his lips in a bid for Mairon’s silence.
He could not get to his quarters quickly enough for his liking: the coarse canvas and leather of his uniform rough on his oversensitive organ, stripping and laying in bed with alacrity. He cannot wait any longer to take himself in hand, his arousal not diminished since leaving the forge and undamped by the to-thine-be-true serum. He would have wondered how Melkor’s influence could be so effective when outside of his immediate presence, if he had room in his mind for anything other than more and now as he frantically ran a hand coated in his own precum up and down his shaft, single-mindedly intending to reach a destination he did not yet know existed.
It was as if he were climbing a mountain, and he felt that if he went any farther he would come tumbling down and fall off. He was probably just a few strokes away of whatever it was — his testicles felt tight against the base of his cock — when he forced his hand away and made himself stop. This is the work of Melkor.
His cock was an angry red color and was twitching of its own accord, and in a wild moment considered whether he should bind his wrists to the bed frame to prevent himself from touching himself. But he knew he was stronger than this and could bear the exquisite delight of his cock throbbing at the very edge of his arousal until it subsided, his hips pantomiming a dance he was unfamiliar with, finally letting out a pained moan as his pleasure evaporated away from that elusive edge into a background of frustration until exhaustion deigned to overtake him.
Mairon decided to double his dose of the flower tea the next morning. He also did not tell anyone what happened, even though he realized he could not be held at fault. It was just easier to admit to leaving the forge unattended than to allowing Melkor to freely consort in their shared space, frozen in place by his own bodily functions.
He wondered whom Melkor had been talking to. It seemed like it would be important to know. Were they also bewitched by Melkor, the way he was? He supposed they probably were not cursed in quite the same way if they were still capable of subterfuge.
He wondered if maybe he should ask Melkor why he is so intent on tormenting him.
He didn’t need to wait a week before he got his wish.
Mairon was in a gazebo in the field, working on some mindless filigree. The forge was still being repaired, and he found the tea made it hard to focus on schematics. It was easier to just keep his fingers busy coiling fine wire into intricate mesh. He was lost in thought — thinking on the exact sequencing of the pattern and ignoring he world around him when he felt someone sit beside him.
Mairon would have been startled, if the flowers didn’t seem to dull his emotional reactions so. “Oh, its you again? Here to torment me some more?” The sober reality of his situation and his shame had not magically endeared to him since he had last seen him.
“I don’t believe I have seen you more than once,” Melkor laughed. “You are Mairon, correct?”
Mairon frowned at him.
“Tell me, why did you not tell Aüle I destroyed his forge? I would have enjoyed his anger.” Melkor sat back, far too close to Mairon for his liking.
He wondered if he should scoot over, but did not want to give him the satisfaction. “Why were you not afraid I would reveal your secret rendezvous to Aüle? Are you not afraid of the wrath of Tulkas befalling you once more and exiling you for good?”
“I am already exiled, Mairon, except when my brother gives me leave to converse with him. What would further exile do?” Melkor nonchalantly waved it away. “Plus, if my most recent recruit is that poor a spy that you could have divined her identity, she is of no further use to me, anyway.” He sighed, “No, no it is better this way. If you knew anything, I wanted to make sure you revealed everything upfront immediately, than pretend a spy is of any use maintaining when their cover is blown. And yet, despite the damage I caused, you kept my secret.” Melkor turned slightly to face Mairon, their robes nearly touching, “Why?”
Mairon could have answered with the truth, he could have asked what was the purpose of Melkor’s spell, but Mairon admitted something to himself in that moment, “I wanted to know what she saw in you.” And whether it was the same thing he had seen, that cold night in the snow.
Melkor’s eyes looked Mairon up an down. “You must have been told, a great host of Ainur have followed me, even since the beginning. And the more people hear my song, the more they realize that there might be a melody more complex than the one mandated to us by Eru Ilúvatar.”
Mairon knew this in his heart because he had a song of his own that he shared with no one. Loyal to a fault, instead, he said, “Order produces better song than disharmony.”
“And don’t you wish you had the power to effect order,” Melkor punctuated his statement with a snap, that filled the sky with a burst of light. “Just like that.”
The peals of thunder rang through the air shortly after, and rolled over Mairon’s skin as if they were physically stroking him from head to toe. It took Mairon’s breath away. He could feel his cheeks warm with flush.
The filigree in his lap disguised any other more noticeable bodily reactions. Or so Mairon hoped.
Melkor nevertheless smiles, and stands to move away. “I don’t want to overstay my welcome, now that I have announced my presence.” He then leans over to whisper in Mairon’s ear, “Just imagine what you could do with my power.”
And then he was gone before Mairon could so much as inhale.
This time, Mairon did not wait to go to his room before taking himself in hand. He couldn’t have waited if he had wanted to, just thrusting into the opening in his robes until he had himself firmly in hand, his cock red and angry and engorged.
Touching himself felt like drinking a glass of cold water on a hot day. His circled hand just slid up and down his cock in a desperate attempt to ease its throbbing heat.
He didn’t have the wherewithal to enjoy the moment, or time to stop himself out of guilt. He just thought of Melkor’s long graceful fingers wielding tremendous power, and within a handful of strokes of his palm he had coated the filigree on his lap entirely in white.
At least the gold filament would not rust when he rinsed it off.
Mairon doubled his dose yet again.
If this did not work, he wasn’t sure what would. The next few days felt like he was in a haze. He could barely work, and he snapped at anyone trying to reach out to him. His clothes felt like sandpaper against his skin, and the world seemed overly bright to his dilated eyes.
Maybe he should have spoken to Yavanna. Although he wasn’t sure what he would have even said. The flowers were working except when in Melkor’s presence, and how could he possibly admit to that? He had little interest in talking to others around him, and if it weren’t for the constant brain fog, Mairon suspected he would have had an incredibly productive week, because everyone else knew to stay away. It was not the flowers fault that Melkor was the exception to the rule.
He really should have realized sooner what was going on. He fancied himself much smarter than this, on a good day.
But he had not had many good days in the past month, except when in Melkor’s immediate presence. Everything was much clearer then.
This time, when he saw him in the shadows of the grove, he realized exactly what was going on. Melkor was not an exception to the rule. He was exactly what Mairon desired most of all, and the flowers were working as intended. He was ruthless, and efficient, and powerful, and Mairon would be fortunate to kneel in his presence.
And Mairon knew he should keep away but it was as if his feet would not obey his body and was drawn to walk towards him.
Approaching the most feared being in all of Arda from behind was probably not his brightest move, he thought to himself in retrospect. As he had reached out to touch him, Melkor turned around and effortlessly pinned his errant hands to a tree with one of his, immobilizing him so close and yet so far away.
He had thought it was simple arousal that had drawn him across the glade to seek out Melkor — he was wrong; he did not know what it was to be aroused before now, as Melkor leaned over him to whisper in his ear, “You really should not grab others without asking first.”
Mairon, wide eyed and breathless, would have replied if there was any blood left in his brain. All his restraint was focused on making sure he did not completely embarrass himself in front of Melkor at this moment.
“Did you figure out what you want?” Melkor asked him, his iron hand still firmly gripping Mairon’s wrists above his head, with no intention of releasing him.
He closed his eyes briefly and nodded. “I want you,” was all he could get out coherently once he had attained a modicum of composure.
Melkor frowned at him, and looked him over from top to bottom. As his eyes lingered on Mairon’s crotch — an undoubtedly noticeable erection — Mairon could not stop his hips from shallowly thrusting in response, consumed by the medicinal arousal running through his veins.
Blood suffused Mairon’s cheeks in shame.
He looked back up to meet Mairon’s eyes, “Normally, when I offer someone unlimited access to my power, I am not met with such lascivious overtures in response.” Melkor laughed, “You want me, you say,” Melkor ran the back of his hand down Mairon’s warm cheek, triggering a low moan in response from him.
“Yes, more than any thing,” Mairon replied, in a way he would never had said if he were of sound mind. His skin felt like it was lit on fire, and his linen robes felt uncomfortable over his bare skin. He struggled to free his hands, but he might as well have been shackled in a pair of manacles for all the good it would do.
Melkor’s other hand went to the ties at the top of Mairon’s robe, motioning as if to untie it, “May I see?”
Mairon nodded helplessly, and Melkor undid the whole length of the spiral lacing with a snap. Mairon’s robes fell open, exposing the ruddy skin of his chest underneath and his prominent erection leaked before him, throbbing and straining to curve towards his abdomen. Mairon’s hips moved futilely against the air in search for greater stimulation.
“Oh, you are beautiful, aren’t you? And you came so prepared,” Melkor said as he ran his fingers down Mairon’s chest, his nails catching on one of Mairon’s nipples.
He swallowed down a few screams as to not alert all of Almaren of his current predicament.
Melkor’s hand made its way downward, tangling his fingers in the short curly hairs of Mairon’s belly, and Melkor’s eyes stared into his as he leaned down to kiss him.
“Wait.” Melkor’s fingers were hovering over Mairon’s cock, so close to where Mairon wanted him that he could feel the warmth radiating from them on his skin, but he stopped himself. “You are severely intoxicated.”
Mairon could hardly process any thoughts right now, his entire world revolved around Melkor’s lips and hands, so close yet so far away. “What?” Mairon undulated his hips once more, hoping for a modicum of relief.
“Your eyes. They aren’t focusing. Did someone poison you?” Melkor pulled back, concern suffusing his face, but still not letting go of Mairon’s hands.
Mairon took a deep breath, then another one, before he was able to reply, “No, well, no, I took the medicine myself.”
“What medicine?” Melkor’s rough voice in Mairon’s ear was not helping him calm down. And he had never moved his hand away from where it was still hovering so close to touching Mairon.
“To-thine-be-true flowers. It was supposed to curb my desire,” Mairon blurted out, hoping this explanation would suffice to quell Melkor’s concerns, and he would resume touching him. Even without Melkor’s touch, he could feel his arousal growing just from his proximity. He could feel a single drop of precum flowing out the tip of his cock, a slick trail running down its length.
But Melkor only grew more agitated at him, snarling at Mairon, “It curbs your desire for others. Who are you betraying to be here with me?”
“Nobody, I want nobody but you!” Mairon pleaded with him, desperate to ensure he didn’t pull away, He tilted his head up towards Melkor, in a painful entreaty, “Please!” Mairon punctuated his pleas with a few futile thrusts of his hips, reaching nothing but air.
“But you don’t want to want me?” If Mairon had been in a position to notice, he would have seen Melkor’s anger morphed into a quiet sadness.
“I do now!” He no longer feared desiring Melkor, but he was hardly in a state to argue his case. In a quieter register, he implored him, “Touch me, please.”
Melkor could only shake his head in concern. “I can’t. Not while you are in this state.” However, Melkor still had it in him to be cruel, for he leaned in to whisper in Mairon’s ear, “As much as I desperately want to.”
His lips brushed lightly against Mairon’s earlobe as he spoke. That was all Mairon needed in the intoxicated state he was in, and he could feel himself crest over that edge of arousal with only the warmth of Melkor’s hands a sliver away from him and his lips against his earlobe. Mairon inhaled as he saw his cum splatter all over Melkor’s fingers, coating them like the filigree a week ago.
At that, Melkor finally lets him go, running the cum on his fingers in his other hand before Mairon has a chance to catch his breath. “Stop taking that swill Yavanna gave you. Come find me when it is out of your system.”
The next day, Mairon stopped taking the tea and the whole world felt brighter. He wanted to go find Melkor right away but he knew he needed to wait.
It wasn’t like he knew how to locate Melkor anyway. For all he knew, he left Almaren altogether every time he left.
Maybe there were others who offered their bed more willingly than him. Because Mairon knew there were others. And how could they not desire Melkor like Mairon did? It seemed unthinkable to Mairon then.
But as the week progressed, he went back to being his old self again. He was still interested in Melkor, but not in the frenzied haze of lust that had consumed him since the first night in the snow.
He could pretend it was a better way to love, as he had thought not so long ago. It wasn’t better or worse, but the focus and dedication he had always associated with his love for Aüle had shifted permanently to a new target.
What was the purpose of all this labor for Eru Ilúvatar to suppress his Master’s works? Were centuries of toil necessary only to build so little? Maybe there was a better way, and he had finally found the answer. He could weave his song into a new harmony, where he would not have to keep secret.
His resolve did not do him much good without Melkor. It would be ten days before he finally found him again, not far from the woods near Manwë’s house, where he had first glimpsed at him from a distance. “Are you not afraid you will be caught?”
“This is the one place I am actually allowed to be. Manwë had me over for tea. I can usually sneak in a hour or two of unsupervised time before someone tries to ensure I am gone.” Melkor explained. “You seem better.”
Mairon just shrugged. “I can think clearly again.”
Melkor looked him up and down, as if to confirm. Mairon stared back, unamused. “And?”
“I want to join you. Only you possess the power I seek to achieve my ends.” Clarity had returned to him. There was so much more he wanted to do with Arda, and he wanted to adore someone who would understand.
But Melkor seemed skeptical. “You would help me destroy Illium and Ormal with the knowledge only Aüle’s followers would possess? You’d spy on your Vala for me, betraying that whom you adore?”
This was the first Mairon had heard of Melkor’s plan. He wondered if this was some sort of test or a red herring. Aüle’s creations had struck Mairon like a waste of his time — Ainur could see just fine in the dark. “I would adore nobody by you, my Master.”
“Is that all? I am just more expedient than Aüle to you?” Melkor replied, stiff, with a tinge of disappointment in his voice.
“Must there be more?” Mairon wondered, as he often did, at the other Ainur’s fixation with mating.
“Maybe it was just the flowers after all, that night.” Melkor ran the back of his hand across Mairon’s cheek. This time it did not flush at his touch.
Now that the flowers were gone from his system, sex and arousal had gone back to seeming like an inefficient waste of time. But he had to admit to himself that without them, he would have never sought out Melkor. He would have been stuck in the same rut with Aüle for all eternity. It had helped clarify things, for him, and highlight what he had wanted. So it had served a purpose. “You were right to stop, the other night. The flowers were clouding my better judgement.”
Melkor withdrew his hand from Mairon’s face, “That is a shame.”
Now however, Mairon’s cheek felt cold. He remembered the night in the snow, and those same fingers tearing the forge apart as if it were paper. Powerful touch that he had missed out from experiencing. Maybe he was not as unaffected as he though. Mairon bit his lip lightly and said, “I am curious, however…”
“Oh?” A light lit up in Melkor’s clear blue eyes.
Mairon smiled at him, “Maybe I can dispense with the better judgement, just for one night.”
Mairon initially goes to grab a kettle to make some tea, but Melkor just grabs the mortar and pestle and grinds a single to-thine-be-true flower and ground it up to a fine paste. “Here, stick this under your tongue for a minute, then swallow.”
“Will that still work?” Mairon is skeptical, but obeys anyway. Melkor watches as he licks the sticky residue off his finger.
“Mmm, I’ve done some research into the matter. Absorption will be greatly accelerated,” Melkor explained, matter-of-factly.
Mairon couldn’t help but ask, “Why do you know this?”
“As you are aware, He places limits on what we are able to create, if at all… In order to command legions I will have to get creative as to how I expand the numbers, at some point.” Melkor waved this off, “It is not important, right now. It will be a while until the Awakening.”
He nodded somberly at Melkor. This was also a subject that had always frustrated Aüle, when he spoke about it, and part of the great cruelty of Eru Ilúvatar. At least, Mairon thought, Melkor was already planning ahed. Mairon sought to distract Melkor, and took his hands and brought him to sit on his bed.
They started out kissing, which Mairon found pleasant enough, and absently wondered if any of the flower residue would affect Melkor at all. He picked at the laces in Melkor’s clothing methodically and slowly divested them of all their clothes, mostly out of a curiosity to see what Melkor looks like. Melkor let him explore, although his erection revealed he wasn’t as unaffected as his patience with Mairon’s deliberate exploration would imply.
The flower hasn’t quite kicked in yet, but he could tell something was making him bolder than he otherwise would be. Mairon asked if he can touch him, and Melkor nodded. He moved his hand experimentally and smiled when Melkor finally makes a noise. There is power in this, too. Mairon thought to himself. But then also, You should suck on it with your mouth, which didn’t feel like something that would naturally come to him. His skin was feeling warmer, and he felt a telltale heaviness in his groin.
Not waiting to ask Melkor, he just leaned in and swirled his tongue around the head. That definitely elicited a response. Not long after, Mairon took him entirely in his mouth. Well, as much as would fit, he thought to himself.
Mairon found that he quite liked it — he could feel a sense of dissociation with his arousal. He could tell his cock was hard and his arousal grew, but it also felt outside of him. He, Mairon, was busy being devoted to his Master, and if the arousal allowed him this clarity of mind, it wasn’t a waste of time. It wasn’t about him at all; his own pleasure would have to wait and be subject to his adoration.
He must have been more dazed than he thought, however, because soon Melkor was pulling him off his dick. “Hey, Mairon, slow down.”
“Why?” Mairon asked naively.
“Because I don’t want this to be over before I get to have my way with you,” Melkor said, motioning Mairon to lay down.
Mairon felt awkward at first, but Melkor guided him through it and enough of the medicinal properties of the flower were slowly taking effect for him to ignore any residual effects of impropriety. Melkor laid on his side beside him, his fingers playing every which way with Mairon, touching him in all the places he wished he could have touched him the night by the grove. He smiled at Mairon every time he made a particularly enticing noise, which only encouraged Mairon to be free with his exclamations.
The very nature of the compound he was under meant this could not go on indefinitely, however, and soon Mairon felt he was getting closer and closer to that edge of the precipice. Melkor’s hand was stroking him just so that his thumb rubbed firmly against his frenulum in the upstroke, and it wasn’t long before Mairon could not hold out any longer and exploded all over Melkor’s hands and on his own belly with a long exhaled moan.
Mairon felt a sense of overwhelming release and calm for just a moment. It was different than the other times, because this was due to Melkor and Melkor was still here. Mairon looked into Melkor’s eyes in wonderment, and was about to motion him to come up and kiss him. Instead, he closed his eyes and groaned — in that moment it was as if a switch had flipped inside of him and all his arousal returned to him in one fell swoop.
“Hmm, isn’t that interesting…” Melkor mused, running his fingers up and down Mairon’s oversensitive organ as he yelped in overstimulation. “Does this normally happen to you?” His fingers did not let up from stroking Mairon’s newly erect cock, despite the delicious noises he was making in response.
“Hmph, no! I don’t know what is going on.” Mairon despaired at him.
“I have an idea, do you trust me, Mairon?” Melkor asked as Mairon nodded in response.
Mairon watched as he licked two of his fingers and reached underneath Mairon’s balls and rubbed at his hole down there. Mairon had not expected this to feel so good — but it was pleasant in a way that didn’t involve his overstimulated penis. Eventually, he felt himself pushing for more, much to Melkor’s delight, whom was able to smoothly penetrate him with his two long fingers. It was all fascinating to Mairon, but it was doing nothing to ease the intolerable arousal caused by the flower medicine. Before he could ask what the point of all of this was, Melkor crooked his fingers up inside of him and Mairon gasped in realization. “More,” was all he said, and Melkor smirked at him.
Melkor stroked him from inside over and over again, alternating a come hither motion with strokes in and out of passage. Mairon was openly moaning at Melkor’s ministrations, clutching the sheets around him to avoid touching his cock that was begging for just a little more to get himself over the edge once more.
He seemed to have gotten the hint, because soon after he bent his head down to suckle at the head of Mairon’s dick, swirling it around with his tongue just lightly enough for it not to overwhelm Mairon.
In combination, that was more than enough. Mairon felt rather selfish at that moment, having cum twice before he got to satisfy Melkor at all, but the chemical adulterants had made waiting feel like an impossibility. And regardless of how selfish Mairon was feeling, it did not overpower the sense of relief and pleasure he felt watching Melkor swallow his cum right off his cock as if it were ambrosia.
Melkor released him, and withdrew his fingers from inside of him, moving to thoroughly kiss Mairon in his afterglow. Mairon’s bliss only lasted but a moment, however. As Melkor loomed over him to devour Mairon’s lips, his cock brushed against Mairon’s, and it was as if that had reminded Mairon’s internal body chemistry that his work wasn’t done, that he could not be satisfied until his partner was satisfied. The feeling was so much worse that before — it felt as if he were simultaneously at the very brink of orgasm yet far too sensitive to acquiesce to any touch.
Before Mairon could fall into despair, Melkor took his face in his hands and gave him one last kiss, “Relax, my precious, I know just what you need.” Mairon nodded at him, beyond words at this point.
Melkor took himself in hand, and slowly started pushing into Mairon’s stretched out hole below. Mairon gasped, and thought to himself, this is too much. Instead, he focused on what Melkor needed, and let himself be open to him.
Instead of thinking of his pleasure, he thought of the movement of Melkor inside of him. How Melkor slowly sped up as his pleasure was building, as his motions were not perfectly even and stuttered as it almost was too much for him as well.
Mairon wondered if Melkor would ever use him like this to seek his own pleasure, even if Mairon was not aroused, just so that he could fully enjoy Melkor’s reactions vicariously. And wasn’t that just a completely self indulgent thought.
It wasn’t as if the act was not pleasurable for Mairon, as well — by his sheer size Melkor could not help but hit Mairon’s prostate in almost every stroke, even if he wasn’t trying. But everything was a haze for Mairon at this point, at the height of his intoxication and arousal.
And then, he felt Melkor give one last deep thrust into him, followed by the strangest feeling of something pulsing inside of him as he emptied himself inside of Mairon. Melkor bent down to kiss him as he rode the last few thrusts of his pleasure, taking Mairon lightly in his hand.
That is all it took for Mairon to come tumbling down over the edge, this time truly for good, relief suffusing his being knowing his Vala was as fulfilled as he was.
Mairon was surprised to wake up alone shortly after.
The next to his bed, the wall was completely covered in a note written in fiery letters:
My precious, I have tarried for too long as it was and have to leave Almaren. I feared if I woke you I would be too tempted to extend my stay. I don’t know when we will see each other again, but separation will not be forever. There is a plan in motion for what comes next. I shall put you in touch with my messenger, I have no doubt you shall remember her from before, and she will fill you in with details of your mission. The intelligence you will gather is essential for this part of the plan, and I cannot wait for you to join me at my side in Utumno. We shall accomplish all the great things you desire from there.
Once Mairon was done reading, the message faded into nothingness, and he could only run his fingers against the wall to feel the residual warmth and ash it had left behind — all that remained other than his memories of the evening prior. It was as if nothing had changed. He expected to feel lonely, or hurt, but he had a clear head and a purpose for the first time in weeks.
Yet, nothing would ever be the same again.