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Annatar found, one evening in Eregion — when he had only a few minutes before Celebrimbor rejoined him in his rooms after their outing had concluded — that the face in the mirror looking back at him was not his own. Or rather, it was, but one of centuries ago. Mairon lingered in the reflective surface, in his prime and proud; never humbled. Never softened. Not pretending anything.
Annatar lifted his hand to his jaw; Mairon’s followed, frowning when Annatar did, though his expression held a hint of mockery. Annatar was, he confirmed, wearing the correct face. The braid hefted in his palm shimmered like starlight, not blood.
“How much longer do you plan on watching me?” his reflection asked.
Annatar’s mouth had not shaped the words along with it, but he let it curl into a sneer now. Unfamiliar on Annatar’s face, but easily formed all the same. “How much longer are you going to lurk?”
He remembered this experiment, though not well. He had attempted to scry across time and never quite managed it. It had fallen to the wayside as the years had passed and other projects had taken priority. Little wonder, then, that his old self had been drawn to Annatar’s current success in Eregion.
Mairon put his hand to the glass and pushed. “You can’t be here,” Annatar told him, thin-lipped. He could feel the warmth of him when he blocked it with his own. The surface of the mirror distorted.
“Afraid you’ll be replaced?”
Annatar scoffed. “This is a delicate operation which you have none of the knowledge for. You’ll destroy us both in your first interaction — and I am expecting company.”
“Well,” Mairon said, stepping down to the floor, “we’ll certainly see about that.” The mirror rippled behind him, then froze. The still image captured both of them. It was too late to send him back.
“You are a Maia of Aulë and no one else,” Annatar informed him testily, not liking to lose ground. “You have never left Valinor; you do not speak Sindarin. You have never met Melkor and would be horrified if you had. Say nothing of him. Your name is Annatar Aulendil; if anyone asks, you will go by Aulendil to avoid confusion. You are not to frighten anyone here. You are not to contradict me.”
“Absolutely not,” Mairon argued, though he said it in Quenya.
“I will cut out your tongue and say you have taken an oath of silence.”
“Not Aulendil.” There was fury in his voice, badly hidden.
Annatar was spared from further argument by a knock at the door. He did not answer it for a moment; he considered killing Mairon, but it would like as not affect him as well and he would certainly not stay dead for long. Always the inconvenient thing about Maiar. And there was nowhere to stash a body. “Do not frighten him,” he repeated fiercely as Celebrimbor let himself in.
Annatar did his best not to look guilty or stressed. For all Celebrimbor knew, there could be a perfectly innocent reason why a second Maia had come to Eregion without telling anyone and sequestered himself in Annatar’s private rooms. He might not even think they were the same person. Certainly they did not look alike.
Celebrimbor handled himself with grace. “Have our plans changed, Annatar?”
“No,” Annatar said, and resisted the urge to smooth his clothing. He did not have nervous habits. In Quenya he said, “He’s leaving.”
“And going where?” Mairon asked.
“Somewhere not here. I’m busy.”
“With him?”
“With him.”
Celebrimbor was looking between them, considering. “Is he you?” he asked, as if it was a perfectly normal question to have.
“Apparently so,” Mairon said. He smiled in a way which showed a few too many teeth.
“Well,” Celebrimbor said, apparently mistaking it for flirting — though Annatar could not be that bad at it. He looked Mairon over, head to toe. The most striking difference between them was hair: Mairon’s, hanging loose, was far brighter than Annatar’s and thicker, too, with a metallic sheen. But he was also a head taller than Annatar, and his nails were not blunt. He took no pains to hide his strength. Each aspect in itself was passable as reflective of smithing and Aulë, but taken all together the connotations were different. Darker. At least his black robes had gold embroidery. Annatar’s cover story might be salvageable, if Mairon behaved, but only just. He needed to move them away from the subject. Luckily, Celebrimbor's next words provided an easy opportunity. “You always were beautiful, then.”
Mairon tilted his head; Annatar was simultaneously ashamed and deeply proud. He wanted Celebrimbor to recognize him, and Mairon was a truer reflection than Annatar could ever manage to be. “Is this one yours? He seems familiar.”
“I am,” Celebrimbor said, smiling politely. “I am Curufinwë Telperinquar. Fëanaro’s grandson,” he added after a moment.
“Ah,” Mairon said; he focused more intently on Celebrimbor, clearly drawing conclusions which had not been wrong to start with, but were well out of date now. Annatar had not chosen Celebrimbor as a lover for any reason but himself.
“And what should I call you, if not Annatar?”
“Mairon,” Mairon said firmly, ignoring the warning Annatar stabbed into his mind.
“Mairon,” Celebrimbor echoed. “Splendid.”
Mairon’s mouth quirked, tolerantly amused.
Annatar had never expected to hear his true name from Celebrimbor — or at least, true as Eldar could pronounce. It made him feel sick. There was nothing he could do to prevent Mairon from answering Celebrimbor’s questions or keep Celebrimbor from asking them, for all he did not usually pry. Celebrimbor called him variants of it, sometimes. Usually during sex, because Annatar responded strongly to them and they were compliments, technically. He would wonder why Annatar had not brought it up before.
Three hundred years and it would come down to this, Annatar thought. What a waste.
“If you don’t mind…?” Annatar asked Mairon, gesturing at the door. He could feel that his body was demonstrating stress responses; he meant to alter them and could not quite manage it with both of them looking at him.
“He can stay,” Celebrimbor said. “Unless you’d rather he didn’t.”
“No, that’s fine,” Annatar lied. He did not remember the precise circumstances he had been under when working on this project, but he knew Mairon would not take their dynamic well. Annatar had bucked at it more than once himself. “I simply get to spend time alone with you so rarely, dear.”
Celebrimbor kissed him lightly when Annatar leaned in. Annatar did not look at Mairon or let his hands tremble.
“Would you like to stay?” Celebrimbor asked Mairon, which was infuriating.
“Fine,” Mairon echoed drolly; cruelty glittered in his eyes. Annatar could do nothing but hope Celebrimbor would not understand it.
He must not have, because Celebrimbor smiled and asked, “Would you like to touch?”
“No,” Annatar interjected before Mairon could agree and break Celebrimbor. Annatar’s desires had very specific and heavily defended borders. Annatar liked to be touched softly; he liked to be complimented. He liked to be taken care of and bitten a little and to be anchored in his body. He liked to orgasm.
All of these were things Celebrimbor wanted to give him. The things Mairon might want varied by the day and how spiteful he felt; Annatar could not afford their expression.
“Alright,” Celebrimbor said, and smoothed a hand down Annatar’s tense back. “You can show off.”
That was a better proposition than Annatar had expected. He did not particularly want to display his body to Mairon, but it would offer clues to what their role was here. Annatar’s form had not been designed for intimidation. He was beautiful but approachable. Someone worth trusting.
Celebrimbor did not put him on the bed or the floor. Instead, he walked to the small table in the corner of the room holding a vase of dried roses. He offered one to Mairon, who took it with a bemused and indulgent air. He rolled it between his fingers, indifferent to the way the thorns pricked him. The vase Celebrimbor put on the floor, and brought the table over. Annatar was sickeningly glad; he did not want to be backed into a corner tonight.
“Hands,” Celebrimbor said, and Annatar gave them. He tried to find the delight or calm he would usually have, and could not manage it. Celebrimbor squeezed gently before he let go. “It’s alright, Annatar. Back up and touch the table. That’s all I want you to do.”
Annatar retreated without turning around. He found the surface; his robes pulled tight over his chest.
“Mairon, you’re going to sit in the chair until I tell you to move,” Celebrimbor said. Firmer, yet not so much as to seem desperate. He was showing off a little too. His tone said he knew he would be obeyed eventually.
“Am I?” Mairon asked, tilting his head. He wanted to play with him, but was not willing to yield without effort.
“You are,” Celebrimbor said, “or I’ll ask Annatar where he wants to put you.”
Mairon sat gracefully, crossing his legs at the ankle. He put the rose in his hair and folded his hands in his lap, projecting attentive boredom.
“Good. You follow direction well,” Celebrimbor said, and turned his attention back to Annatar. It meant he missed the slight surprise in Mairon’s face and the way his hands tightened on themselves ever so slightly.
You let him speak to you like that? was the first insistent question when Annatar allowed the demanding thread of ósanwe through. Mairon was not content to be ignored.
It’s useful. He likes to be in charge. Annatar tilted his head as Celebrimbor kissed his neck, closing out the sight of Mairon as he leaned back. And it was useful. There was no point in explaining to Mairon that it was also more.
Celebrimbor began to unpick the ties that held Annatar’s many layers in place. He slid each off deliberately, with far more touching than seemed actually necessary; they puddled around his wrists, still pressed to the table. It weighed him down more than it should have.
Each slid off his shoulders and was caught by the layer below it. Annatar looked like a flower himself, one in the process of being opened up. Celebrimbor slid his hands across the full breadth of Annatar’s chest and down his arms each time he touched new fabric, nurturing his arousal slowly. All of Annatar’s skin became gradually sensitized. He ached to be touched.
Mairon found nothing unnatural in it at this point, Annatar thought, or at least nothing interesting. He was not prodding at the heat leaking into their connection.
I don’t want him to see you, Annatar said into Celebrimbor’s mind when he was in his innermost layer and Celebrimbor had slipped his own heaviest outer robe off.
“Jealous,” Celebrimbor breathed against his neck, but did not go any further in undressing.
“He can seduce you on his own time,” Annatar said as Celebrimbor lifted his hands, allowing Annatar’s discarded robes to slip to the ground around their feet along with his trousers. He felt amusement from two directions, one kinder than the other.
“I just might,” Mairon said. It was a threat, though only Annatar heard that. How long do you think it would take me to break him in?
Annatar did not dignify the question with a response. Mairon felt nothing for Celebrimbor; he had never seen him in his element. He did not know the wealth of his mind, his hands, and his curiosity.
Celebrimbor was wearing shades of it now as he walked behind Annatar, fingers trailing lightly over the thin fabric of his last layer in a deliberately imperfect circle. Annatar resisted a shiver, which he usually would have let through. He met Mairon’s challenge impassively. Pay attention, he thought.
Celebrimbor’s hand settled over Annatar’s where they were clenched on the table. Reassurance flickered against Annatar’s mind, mixed with affection. Soppy, Annatar thought. He was soothed by it regardless. He had already been Mairon — what did his opinion matter, when Annatar was the one of their pair who had done what was needed to survive?
Celebrimbor’s fingers swept up his spine until they reached his scalp, pulling his braid to fall over his chest. No stray hairs escaped from its confines, but Celebrimbor behaved as if they did anyway, tucking them behind Annatar’s ears. He kept touching him like that, little corrections which they both knew Annatar did not need, all over his body until Annatar was fixed firmly in place.
Only then did he reach for Annatar’s cock, stiff and leaking between his thighs. Celebrimbor cupped him gently through the fabric; he was standing in front of Annatar again, so Mairon could not see. Annatar tried not to show him how this touch was different. Celebrimbor did not seem to mind his resistance; he massaged Annatar firmly and well, until Annatar’s hips began to twitch forward into his touch. He was forced to focus on how to keep his body upright and against the table with most of his weight on his hands. He was calming despite himself. Celebrimbor would see him taken care of.
“There you go, precious thing,” Celebrimbor murmured. “Just relax, that’s it. So good for me, aren’t you?”
Abruptly, Mairon’s attention dug sharply into Annatar’s mind. Annatar cried out at the intensity, hips jerking uncontrollably. Celebrimbor petted his flank until he settled again. His touch on Annatar’s cock was lighter but no less lingering.
Celebrimbor continued to draw his arousal out as he slipped Annatar’s last layer off. He only let go once he needed to guide it away from his body entirely; it allowed Mairon to see him.
As the fabric fluttered free, Mairon laughed; a sharp bark. “He’s needy,” he said to Celebrimbor. It was the first time he had not been addressing Annatar, which spoke to his discomfort. Or how far Annatar had fallen in his estimation.
“He’s lovely,” Celebrimbor countered, and stroked his bare cock fondly. Annatar arched up into it, rocking on his toes, but his hands did not come off the table. Celebrimbor was looking at him, not Mairon, and he was wearing his favorite indulgent expression. He liked having Annatar this way.
That thing is permanent, I suppose, Mairon said, sounding disgusted. You wired yourself into the body and now you’ll just take anyone.
Hardly anyone, Annatar countered. He’s clever; he likes to serve me. And Annatar liked having sex with Celebrimbor, which was easier when he didn’t have to rearrange his body every time. That was what he had been expecting to do this evening, after all, not entertaining his erstwhile double.
You’re deluding yourself.
“You’re still sitting where he put you,” Annatar said out loud, as Celebrimbor knelt, hands smoothing down his blank thighs. Mairon could not respond to that, which meant Annatar had won.
The connection between them was still open when Celebrimbor put his mouth on Annatar. Annatar wanted to shove down his throat, but kept himself still. Embodied sex was always messy and inefficient; that was the point of it. Annatar was already beading fluid at the tip of his cock. Celebrimbor licked it up unrelentingly before he began to suck in earnest.
He was skilled at it; nearly as much so as Annatar.
Annatar’s hands flexed on the table as he met Mairon’s stare. He was definitely still in Annatar’s thoughts, though he had pulled back a little. He was feeling this, too.
Isn’t he good? Annatar asked. Being the focus of this particular act felt so indulgent; there was no point at all to it, when he could come in so many other ways that would stimulate Celebrimbor directly. And yet Celebrimbor continued to work himself deeper, stroking Annatar’s shaft and thigh in the same rhythm. He had complete trust that Annatar would stay where he was put. Paradoxically, it made Annatar want to thrash, so Celebrimbor would be forced to hold him down. He wished for solidity at his back — chair or bed or floor — so he would not have to focus on standing. He could simply let Celebrimbor do what he wanted and melt under him.
Mairon made a considering noise, quickly covered by a startled, muffled moan from Celebrimbor. Annatar held himself even more still than he already was, so Celebrimbor would know it had not been him poking through his mind.
“Don’t,” Annatar told Mairon. Ósanwe would feel too different coming from himself and Mairon; he was always careful with Celebrimbor. There was so much he couldn’t be allowed to see. To Celebrimbor, he continued, “More. Please.”
“Should I count that as you misbehaving?” Celebrimbor teased. His nails pricked the thin skin over Annatar’s ankle, scratching lightly.
“That’s not fair,” Annatar protested, at the same time Mairon said, “He isn’t truly me.”
“Well, as long as you’re in agreement,” Celebrimbor said wryly, and resumed.
His orgasm was going to come fast, Annatar realized. It did not help that Mairon had turned the focus of ósanwe on him; he pressed their thoughts together until they created friction and bounced off. He wasn’t looking for anything except to stimulate the two of them, because he was picking up Annatar’s surface descriptions of the moment and doing it thousands of times a second. Annatar had always liked that barrage of pleasure, as opposed to the deep intimate twining which most beings defaulted towards. Annatar was inhabiting his skin more fully than Mairon was, so he knew he looked more aroused by it. He couldn’t help but writhe, even as he locked himself in place. His hands slipped to grip the edge of the table instead of the surface.
The only sign of arousal from Mairon was the increased intensity of his gaze; he was not blinking as he watched Annatar and Celebrimbor, and his eyes had darkened. Annatar grabbed him on his next pass, dragging their thoughts together until they turned from concepts to color, stretching between them like ribbons of candy. They pulled and folded again and again, until they belonged to neither and both of them; there was no content in them at all, just lust. It was hard to focus on the physical and mental sensations at the same time; Annatar could hear that he was panting softly. His mouth was wet.
Annatar thrust roughly into Celebrimbor when Mairon stabbed him through with a bolt of crimson, which was perhaps excusable. The hands that grabbed at Celebrimbor’s hair to pull him down were not.
Celebrimbor pulled back and off. Annatar, furious at Mairon, let him go. Celebrimbor kissed the inside of Annatar’s knee, watching as his cock jerked despite the lack of stimulation. It dripped fluid even as they observed it; Annatar tried not to groan. He bent backwards, forcing his spine into a curve and staring at the bedcovers to calm himself.
“Too much, I think,” Celebrimbor said mildly. Forgiveness and judgment all in one. He knew Annatar was overcome.
“What does that earn him?” Mairon asked mockingly. Annatar straightened, letting his fingers loosen around the edge of the table. He could be done right now; he could just wrap his hand around his cock, come on Celebrimbor’s face, and then let himself face the consequences.
“Yes, fine,” Annatar said to Celebrimbor’s questioning look, a little spitefully. Anything else would be worse to receive in front of Mairon. Especially if it was one of the nights Celebrimbor wanted Annatar to become so entwined with his body that he lost control of it when he released. Oddly enough, Annatar’s body had a tendency to cry, which Mairon’s had not, even when it had been similarly pushed.
He put his hands back where they were supposed to be, so Annatar was properly anchored.
Celebrimbor used Annatar’s rigid frame to clamber to his feet. “Punishment,” he said, and strode towards Mairon.
He kissed him less sweetly than he kissed Annatar, but there was heat in it — and Mairon was responding. Annatar hissed even as he enjoyed it by proxy, wishing he could kill Mairon. That mouth should never taste Celebrimbor. Mairon did not deserve to reap that reward. Even if it was Celebrimbor’s hand on his jaw and in his hair, bringing him forward.
The feeling worsened when Mairon pulled Celebrimbor down into his lap.
Annatar could have done this when he was Mairon, if only he had known where to look and for whom. And why. He could have had Celebrimbor with him for centuries longer and not had to share his attention with two cities and many undeserving representatives, as he did now. But he had not. Only as Annatar had he earned it, and how he had worked for it!
Celebrimbor was not taken off guard by Mairon’s impertinence; Annatar had done similar things initially, when he still pretended he wanted to be in charge. And especially just afterwards, when he had wanted Celebrimbor to prove he could hold his own. Sex between them was rarely violent — Annatar would never permit himself to want it, and while Celebrimbor tended towards firmness he would not come to Annatar when he was truly angry — but it could be forceful. Mairon had no reason to be gentle with Celebrimbor aside from incurring Annatar’s wrath, which was as much incentive as deterrent.
As Celebrimbor took Mairon's hands off his waist and held them down, Mairon’s eyes went wide and furious. He was attempting to fight Celebrimbor’s dominance over him, but had forgotten to pay attention to Annatar’s.
Mairon’s mind recognized Annatar as belonging to it. One of the vulnerabilities of ósanwe — and the reason Annatar told Celebrimbor he did not use it much — was that if two people were particularly compatible or otherwise had ill-matched power levels, resistance could be swept aside and the body temporarily puppeted. Mairon knew this as well as Annatar did, but had not thought to expect it here; it was pleasing to see him taken off guard. He worked to keep Mairon’s body in place, so Celebrimbor could move him where he wanted.
Annatar would not mind, he decided, if Celebrimbor wanted to play rough with Mairon. But for now, Celebrimbor simply pinned him down and rubbed off against him. Marking him in a way that was incarnate and impermanent yet which Mairon would never forget. Jealousy and arousal mixed confusingly; Annatar did not like that he could not tell if he wanted Celebrimbor to come back to him or to find his orgasm against Mairon’s recalcitrance and then touch him when he would not be distracted from tormenting Annatar.
After a few seconds, Annatar pulled back into his own body. The table beneath his palms was an anchor; the wood was cool and smooth. Regretfully, he was not any less hard. Mairon, free to move, did not pull away from where Annatar and Celebrimbor had trapped him. He liked it, Annatar thought smugly.
“He looks like he wants you,” Mairon said, watching Annatar’s flushed cock. Annatar was not sure which of them he was addressing.
“Keep them here,” Celebrimbor said, placing Mairon’s hands flat on the armrests, then pulled away. Annatar shifted as Celebrimbor kissed Mairon once more. Mairon’s hands were flexing, but he did not turn their deadliness on Celebrimbor. Instead, he held still and let him do what he wanted. When Celebrimbor praised him, Mairon hissed, tongue behind his teeth, but he didn’t move even as Celebrimbor rose off him.
Annatar smirked at Mairon. I don’t think I’m the only one who wants him.
“Don’t be mean,” Celebrimbor reprimanded playfully, catching the look. He pulled lightly at Annatar’s braid. “Remember how hard it was for you? Now look at you.”
It hadn’t been that hard, Annatar thought. All he’d had to do was decide he was fine with submitting to someone who wasn’t a Vala and ruthlessly murder every thought to the contrary. “Can we continue, then?”
Celebrimbor wrapped his fist around Annatar’s cock and tugged; Annatar moaned, trying to draw him in. “You can have my hand, I think. I can tell you’re having trouble focusing.”
“He’s not, mm, poking around in your mind.”
“Is that any excuse?” Mairon asked. “I’ve never had difficulty with it.”
“Should we test that?” Celebrimbor asked, but continued to stroke Annatar steadily. Celebrimbor touching him like this was somewhat humiliating in front of Mairon. At least when it was his mouth on Annatar, he was equally physically occupied.
“No,” Annatar groaned, wanting attention.
Celebrimbor laughed. “So demanding for one so obedient. Go up on your toes, it’s hard for me to reach.”
Balancing took most of his focus when he did, which was of course what Celebrimbor intended. There was a real possibility he would fall if he shifted his weight too much on the table; he whined against Celebrimbor’s mouth.
“Such a pretty color on you,” Celebrimbor said, tracing the flush that had apparently slipped Annatar’s control and splotched his chest and face. Automatic responses were harder to overwrite when he was pulled in too many directions; first and foremost in his mind was the desire to come. He wanted to roll over for Celebrimbor and give up to him completely. To do whatever it would take to earn an orgasm.
He could not bear to look at Mairon; he kept being pulled up short by his presence. It was not conducive to relaxing.
Annatar could feel that Mairon had slipped out of standard ósanwe and begun to rifle through his memories by the pain that came with it. Whatever he was looking for did not matter; he would not find it. As Annatar’s back arched, he broke the connection between them, allowing his mind to snap closed on Mairon’s with its full power. If Mairon did not want to drown in it, he would be forced to retreat.
“Be good and you’ll get an orgasm,” Annatar told him, pushing into Celebrimbor’s hand.
He felt Celebrimbor grin at the familiar phrase, interrupting his mouthing at Annatar’s throat.
“With what,” Mairon asked flatly.
Celebrimbor thumbed over the slit of Annatar’s cock and initiated ósanwe. It was in the shallow way he always did, big enough for emotion and sensation but not concrete thoughts or traitorous memories. He had done it with both Annatar and Mairon; Annatar could feel Mairon doubled in his mind. Celebrimbor pushed pleasure through the connection in the same rhythm he used to stroke Annatar’s cock; the context was lost, but not the joy at Annatar’s unraveling. How good, it probably meant, how lovely, how obedient, how handsome. And all mine.
Annatar quivered with it, and added his own specifics with the experience of physical sex. Warmth and wetness and welcome sparking through his nerves and muscles. The way his body would ache with the force of it. He pushed them exclusively towards Mairon; Celebrimbor did not need the incentive.
He cracked an eye open to judge Mairon’s response. Over Celebrimbor’s shoulder, Annatar could read arousal in Mairon, even though he was resisting the contact. Not blocking it entirely, just narrowing the way it could connect to him, so the same amount of pleasure was forced more strongly into him. From a Vala or fellow Maia, it was irresistible. Even from an Elda like Celebrimbor it was heady.
Annatar remembered once believing that flesh could never compare to it.
“That’s low and filthy,” Mairon said viciously. Had he forgotten Celebrimbor could hear him, or did he not care? “What are you, an incarnate?”
Celebrimbor abruptly stepped back, pulling away from Annatar. Any incarnate in his position would have fallen before readjusting; as it was, the table swayed alarmingly before Annatar steadied it. Celebrimbor crossed the room to Mairon much more quickly this time. He was swifter in punishment, too. Celebrimbor pulled Mairon up by his hair and pushed him down onto his knees before Annatar. His mind was still connected to theirs — Mairon did not move in the long seconds between when Celebrimbor sent the image and when it became reality. His back straightened; he leaned into it. Tacit permission.
He did like to be forced.
“Suck him,” Celebrimbor said, hand still in Mairon’s hair. It wasn’t enough to hurt, but enough that they had well violated standards of propriety. Mairon tossed his head, giving in to the impulse just once; Celebrimbor held on. Once Annatar had come only from that. “I know you can.”
Mairon stared up at Celebrimbor with burning eyes. He made absolutely no attempt to stand or even adjust his position.
Annatar felt quite smug when Celebrimbor returned to his side. He lifted Annatar’s cock, smearing his arousal over Mairon’s lips. That inspired a flash of defiance, but Mairon opened his mouth.
“Put your hands behind your back or touch yourself for us,” Celebrimbor ordered. Mairon chose the first option; sensible, given he probably had nothing physical to stimulate. Or at least he thought he didn’t. With Celebrimbor, Annatar had learned that determination and creativity could achieve a fair amount. He still liked that, sometimes, when he wanted to be pushed to work for his orgasm.
“Look at you, sweet thing,” Celebrimbor cooed, carding through Mairon’s hair. His tone was overwarm from a stranger, but he did mean it. He never had minded what reaction Annatar had to his praise so long as he had it.
“You can move,” Celebrimbor told Annatar, and he did, pushing forward into Mairon’s lax mouth. “You’ve been so good for me tonight.”
Celebrimbor was a conduit touching them both; Annatar let the praise wash over him without paying too much attention to the words. Celebrimbor had a tendency to repeat himself, particularly as he neared orgasm. It was enough to hear that he was good and Celebrimbor was pleased and Mairon was not good except for how he was trying, which would one day make him Annatar. The latter may not have been precisely what Celebrimbor meant, but it was what Annatar wanted to hear.
Mairon’s mind fell open under the torrent of it; affection was not what he was used to defending himself against. Annatar carefully nudged Celebrimbor away from the places he should not find as he slid into Mairon’s throat. Though Celebrimbor did not seem to be looking, caution was always warranted.
Feeling desire with his mind and body at the same time was disorienting. In the physical world, one of Celebrimbor’s hands was around the back of Mairon’s neck, stroking the skin there and keeping him close. The other was around Annatar’s waist, holding him pressed against Celebrimbor’s body.
In the shared space between their minds, dawn crested. Mairon’s desire was strongest, making up for how his body denied it. Blue and teal curled through his thoughts, staining the entire space. It had been a long time since Annatar had formed his arousal like that, but he let wisps of it escape. Against Mairon, Annatar sparked yellow and orange and red. Each successive flare drove him into another. Khazad-dûm had firework shows annually; Annatar was reminded of them now, turned pornographic.
Celebrimbor made a low, punched-out sound, curling against Annatar’s side. He could feel it too, Annatar thought, despite the lightness with which he pressed against their minds. Touching the connection but not quite in it. Maybe Annatar could sanitize himself enough to try something like this when Mairon was gone. It would be tricky but doable, and the reward would be worth it. He wanted to tug Celebrimbor into their dance of light and color, but resisted. There was too much Mairon did not know he could not give up to risk it.
“Good,” Celebrimbor said, scrunching his hand through Mairon’s hair affectionately. “You feel how he likes that?”
Mairon’s thoughts were a dancing fire, burning hot and not at all deadly to Annatar. He had engulfed the entirety of Annatar’s cock, forehead pressed against his belly. His throat fluttered each time Annatar touched his mind. The rose scratched Annatar's thigh.
Annatar felt the muscles of his stomach tighten; he flared brighter, building to something.
“Stop,” Celebrimbor ordered.
Mairon whined, but he stilled, even as his thoughts continued to churn in ever-expanding shades of blue. Annatar had no choice in it.
Celebrimbor tugged Mairon backwards by the collar of his robes. He left the tip of Annatar’s cock in Mairon’s mouth. Mairon’s warm tongue teased compulsively at his slit. The contrast intensified the seeming chill of the air. Annatar could not stop rocking back against his hands. Celebrimbor saw it, and took pity on him.
“Whenever you’re ready, Annatar,” he said. Finally!
Annatar strained, but even with all the teasing he could not manage to tip himself over. He was pulled between too many things; he could not figure out which he should pay attention to. “A little help?” he asked.
Celebrimbor gave in easily. Pleasure at that was hard to separate from the arousal of Celebrimbor stroking him again. In the mixture was glee, too; Mairon hated Annatar’s weakness and yet he craved it. Mairon sank against it, taking it within himself so he would know what it felt like. As Mairon was less determined to keep them separate, Annatar had increasing difficulty reinforcing his end of the barrier. He was sliding between states, unable to contain himself.
He could not tell if he was Annatar or Mairon or even Celebrimbor, if he was standing or kneeling or grinding against Annatar’s hip.
And yet it did not matter, because they were all of them locked in it together. Annatar exploded in a burst of warm yellow light, swamping Mairon’s teal. He spilled over his own tongue, too, thick and gooey. Hooked into his mind as they were, it kicked Celebrimbor and Mairon through their own orgasms.
Celebrimbor wrapped his arms more firmly around Annatar’s waist, trusting him not to fall as Celebrimbor weakened. He had let go of Mairon entirely; Celebrimbor had difficulty maintaining his balance when actively coming. At their feet, Mairon went rigid, mouth clamping shut. Physical orgasm was strange without genitals, Annatar knew, especially when not expecting it.
Mairon did not pull away until Annatar made him go, sinking against the thick carpet and unable to tell the body what to do. Celebrimbor followed after him; he always wanted to be affectionate once they were done. Probably he would demand they move to the bed after another moment. So cruel to make them cross the distance!
As he reasserted control over his body, Annatar realized Mairon had not yet done anything with the spend in his mouth. “Spit it out,” he demanded. He could not be allowed to keep it. Yes, Mairon likely could construct Annatar simply from the visual and tactile references he had been provided, but that did not mean Annatar was going to make it any easier on him.
Mairon did not do as he was ordered.
Annatar shoved his tongue into Mairon’s mouth and licked his spunk out. Mairon parted enough to let him in, but he was a wild and disobedient thing. He made Annatar fight him for it. It was not a hardship — both of his bodies were pleasing, and he did not have to be careful with Mairon as he did with Celebrimbor — but it was irritating. Annatar could not manage to pin him with how his body was trembling, but neither could Mairon push him off.
Finally, Annatar bit him, hard and deep. It drew blood, which mixed with the traces of semen in his mouth. There, he thought smugly, now he had Mairon.
“Alright,” Celebrimbor said, when Mairon hissed and spat Annatar’s prize onto his thigh, “I do not have a second round of this in me and I’m not going to leave you two unsupervised.” He seemed unfazed by the actual violence, though, even before the gash in Mairon’s lip healed itself. He knew things were different between Maiar.
Marion had his hand pressed to his throat, though Annatar had not bitten him there. He had forgotten he did not need to breathe; his lungs were heaving. So that was what that looked like. It must have been soon after the disaster with Lúthien, Annatar realized, if he was still having such trouble. Luckily fright did not look entirely different from arousal.
Celebrimbor touched his elbow — a tactic Annatar would not have recommended — and Mairon’s head snapped towards him.
“I’d invite you to join me to eat again, but I think both of you will hate that,” Celebrimbor said. He had noticed Mairon’s slip, Annatar saw in how his eyes flickered, but Celebrimbor did not draw attention to it. “Humor me and stay for a bit.”
Annatar fished for his inner layer in the pile of clothing, draping it casually over his fleshiness. “Not on the floor,” he said. “It’s not good for you.”
“Such care for me, Annatar,” Celebrimbor teased, but pushed himself up with a grunt. Mairon strode to the settee rather than the bed; Annatar and Celebrimbor followed. Celebrimbor laid out over the length of it, hooking his legs over the end. Annatar sprawled on top of Celebrimbor, greedy now that he could touch him freely. He took care of the mess he had caused, drawing it away from Celebrimbor’s skin and clothing while vaporizing it. Celebrimbor kissed his forehead, letting himself be embraced.
Mairon watched with bright eyes and said loftily, “I suppose I can see the appeal.” He perched on the other armrest, legs tucked in the space left for him near Celebrimbor’s head.
Celebrimbor glanced up at him with no sense of the danger he could be in. “Did you have fun?”
Mairon wrinkled his nose, but said nothing to disagree. “So this is what you do?”
“Not most of the time,” Celebrimbor said, amused. “Most of the time we work.”
“On what?”
Annatar let Celebrimbor explain the majority of their experiments with ringcraft. It was easier to let Mairon read between the lines there. Annatar, meanwhile, took the dried flower from Mairon and pushed a little of himself inside it; more difficult than Celebrimbor would have thought, but he made it look effortless. He restored it to full bloom, plumping the petals and deepening the color. It was a good example of what they might achieve. At the end of Celebrimbor’s explanation, Annatar reiterated the benefits they hoped it would bring to the land and added, “Celebrimbor has been invaluable.”
Celebrimbor did not even have the decency to act flattered; he knew he was.
“How is Valinor?” Celebrimbor asked Mairon after a moment. There was a careful edge to his voice, at odds with his relaxed posture, which meant Mairon needed to answer perfectly. He had never asked the same thing of Annatar. By the time they had been on intimate enough terms, Annatar had already been in Ost-in-Edhil — and theoretically away from Valinor — for decades.
“How is it ever?” Mairon asked; a decent enough stalling tactic. He sniffed the flower when Annatar handed it back to him. The perfume was not natural but would not seem out of place. Annatar fed the next sentiment to him, though he let Mairon’s own boredom carry the words through. The dissatisfaction was useful for shoring up Annatar’s more tactful previous explanations of why he had chosen to settle in Eregion. “There seems to be little point to perfection, when you who we sent away struggle so valiantly. We hear tales from your dead. They come in great numbers. My efforts are not directed where they should be, though that is not how my lord feels.”
“Yet now we are exiles no longer,” Celebrimbor said, “and your favor has returned to us.” He stroked Annatar’s back tenderly; Annatar snuffed out the flicker of guilt in his chest. Celebrimbor very rarely spoke of what Annatar’s presence meant to him.
Mairon watched him, considering, for a long moment. Annatar knew the sentiment. Finally, Mairon asked, a little reluctantly as if he respected the flow of the Music, “Do you have a message?”
“I would not wish to burden you,” Celebrimbor demurred. Little liar, Annatar thought.
“Your recipients will hardly be difficult to find, Curufinwë.” Mairon twisted the rose in his fingers.
Celebrimbor sighed. “What is there to say? We are well. I am well. I am not coming back.” He paused, and continued more seriously, “For the first time we are out from under the Shadow and we prosper. Yet there is still so much here to do to heal the damage in our peoples. I cannot abandon it now.”
“I look forward to that day,” Mairon said, so convincingly that even Annatar could not hear the lie in it. “Evil is gone forever?”
“Gone forever,” Annatar agreed solemnly. “Morgoth is in the Void until the end of the world and his servants scattered to the winds. Our lords and fellows marched upon him when our aid was finally all that could check him.”
“Is that when I came?” Mairon asked.
“No,” Annatar said. He took Mairon’s hand into his own, squeezing it reassuringly; useful in selling it. “Not right away. Aulë needed us still.”
“And now?”
“And now we are free to aid those who we wish. Certainly our work here is not pointless.” He plucked the flower from Mairon's fingers and tucked it behind his ear; it would allow him an anchor to this time, if he ever did need to flee suddenly.
“And we are thankful for it,” Celebrimbor said. “I take it you are not staying, Mairon?”
“I am a dream,” Mairon said, taking his hand back. He shared a look with Annatar. “I will fade with the morning.”
He did not like that, Annatar saw, even as he did not believe it. Mairon would go on gathering information to take back for as long as he could manage. When Celebrimbor was dismissed to his own rooms, they would have words about his plans. Annatar did not think convincing Mairon to be careful with Celebrimbor would be difficult after this, but Annatar did not know all of the places he had been during the war, particularly after Nargothrond’s fall. Celebrimbor never spoke of anything before Ost-in-Edhil. It would be so terrible to kill him accidentally, if Mairon sent out a sortie or Glaurung at the wrong time.
“You’ll come back,” Celebrimbor said easily. Too easily; he did not believe it. “And the city and I will be waiting when you do.”
“Yes,” Mairon said, watching Celebrimbor. “I’m sure you will.”