The Throne of Angband by Haeron

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Chapter 1

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The throne of Angband was tall and wicked, standing alone in the dark hall and casting a long shadow. Morgoth suited it or perhaps it suited him. He was sat upright as he always was, he looked harsh dressed in sharp black garb that made him appear as a monument of cruelty, a statue carved into a mountain face. He was certainly still enough and his eyes bore into those of the maiar that approached.

But Sauron was not deterred. Each step rang out across the black marble and he worked hard to keep them timed and steady despite the delicious anticipation he felt in his gut. He looked at Morgoth who looked back as resolutely as ever. He did not look particularly happy, Sauron wondered which poor fool had disappointed him this time but did not especially care. It would make things more interesting, perhaps, if his master were in a dark mood.

Excitement. Lust. Sauron felt both in equal measure and he smiled. Morgoth did not. He looked at his favoured servant, come to stand before him, and inclined his head ever so slightly.

“You wear a fair form.” he said, it was more observation than inquiry.

“Don’t I always?” said Sauron and he smiled again. There was something to be said for gold and silver and sparkling stones, fair hair and smooth skin. The elves had gotten something right, he had to admit, namely their vanity and affection for shiny things. It was hard to believe such a vapid race were causing so much trouble.

“Tell me what happened.”

Straight to business then, his master was direct. Sauron wetted his lips.

“Nothing happened.”

“Nothing?”

“Nothing at all,” Sauron shook his head, relishing the flash of annoyance in his master’s eyes and knowing he was the only one who could conjure it and still draw breath afterwards. “The spies are still embedded and the orcs stray not from their path. Nothing has happened or at least nothing that will hinder your plan.”

“I see.” Morgoth’s grasp on the arms of the throne lessened somewhat, Sauron saw the slight flexing of fingers and felt his body respond. “And where is Thuringwethil?”

The wicked smile became a grimace and want turned bitter. As capable as the she-demon was she was also a terrible mood kill. She knew it too. Sauron shrugged and made a dissident face. “Think not of her.” he said.

Morgoth made a noise that might have been a huff of indignation but it sounded as though it had come from the lungs of a volcano.

“Too much rides on her,” he said, reclining into his throne. Sauron tried not to balk at the incredibly appropriate turn of phrase but allowed himself a sneer. “I’d know where she is and what she is doing. Her part in all this will come soon.”

Sauron didn’t have an answer, he didn’t know where she’d flapped off too but he knew she’d come slinking back to Angband sooner or later. The later the better, in his opinion. But he hadn’t come to the hall to talk of her or even turn in his report. Sauron pulled off a glove and threw it at the foot of Morgoth’s throne before doing the same with the other. The Dark Lord shifted his weight and Sauron knew he had him. He wasn’t thinking about the demon woman now, a delectable victory.

“Let her part come and go. I have something else to occupy your thoughts.”

“Do you really?”

Sauron shrugged off the long cloak and let it pool about his feet, he removed the pins from his hair and let fair locks tumble about his shoulders. He approached the throne and took Morgoth’s extended hand.

“Or perhaps you’d rather not think at all?”

Morgoth smiled as he pulled his lieutenant onto his lap.

The throne of Angband was not a comfortable thing. Sauron, in his lithe form, fit neatly atop Morgoth but even so his knees dug into the metal of the seat. But he hardly seemed to notice. It was hard to focus on anything that wasn’t Morgoth. His face was young yet ancient, beautiful and so very malicious, his chest was broad and close to Sauron’s own and Sauron wanted more than anything to push himself closer, to kiss the lips that had given breath to curse and death.

And so he did. Sauron lent forward and kissed his master, a Vala whose mouth opened under his and responded with fervour. He smiled as he tasted Morgoth’s eagerness on his tongue, he took his face between his hands and rested his thumbs in the hollow between jaw and neck, all the better to feel all the deep noises Morgoth was making. Morgoth’s own hand had Sauron about the waist, gripping him none too gently but the sensation of nails desperately scraping at his sides as though they meant to tear the tunic from his back was worth the dull ache. Sauron gave voice to his pleasure, it always sounded louder here in the hall. Morgoth liked that.

Their kiss was not as fast and lusty as it might have been in the dawning of their relationship but their passion for one another had not cooled, the centre was still aglow and hot. Morgoth would bite Sauron’s lip and raise his hips, trying to coax out the mewls from his servant, he’d tug at the flaxen hair and hum into the kiss; it was all a game to see who would break first and beg for completion. Excitement gripped Sauron as tightly as the fingers at his waist, it was a game he knew well and played better. Sauron teased Morgoth’s tongue with his own but he always gave back the ground he seized, this was his master’s game after all, and Morgoth would be the one to set the pace.

A hand found its way under Sauron’s longshirt and fingers brushed the curve of his spine, the touch was confident and bold and achingly short-lived. Sauron opened his eyes and broke the kiss, Morgoth was looking at him and his eyes were black and shining. He wanted to be touched again, he wanted the hands of a God upon him...

“Shall I take it off?”

Morgoth certainly thought about it.

“No,” he said. “Time is not in our favour.” his voice was deep.

Sauron huffed and leant in for a lazy kiss. “You’re probably right.”

“Nobody else would get away with the cheek you show me.” said Morgoth, huskily. Sauron grinned and felt his spirits lifted once again.

“That makes me feel all warm inside.”

Morgoth laughed and it was a deep, earthy sound that seemed to hollow out Sauron’s bones. He felt it deep within him, a dull vibration, and just like that he was awash with desire once more. Morgoth kissed him and this time their embrace was more frantic, the dark lord would tug at his maiar’s lip when he felt he wasn’t receiving enough passion and most of the time Sauron let it happen on purpose. He wanted Morgoth to use him, to explore his body, his prowess, his loyalty...

Make demands of me, Sauron deepened the kiss and tried to pour into it all the sensuality he could, and see how well they are fulfilled. Morgoth’s hands were stroking Sauron’s back, his nails he dragged down the smooth skin and Sauron smiled into the kiss, riding out the shivers of pleasure. But it wasn’t enough, he needed more. He needed to work harder.

Sauron readjusted himself (and was rewarded with a sharp groan) and pressed hot kisses to Morgoth’s neck. He smelt of cold stone, metal and tree bark and to taste him was to taste Valinor at the time of the Trees. Morgoth reclined slightly and turned his head so Sauron could lavish attention in just the right places.

Morgoth’s heavy chest rose and fell beneath Sauron’s own and they fell into a terrible harmony. One worshipping and the other basking.

But it still wasn’t enough.

“Move with me.” Morgoth said. Sauron didn’t quite catch his words. He sat up and had to blink a few times before the wanton haze faded from his eyes. Morgoth repeated himself, his gaze was steely. He waited for an answer and got it in the shape of a wicked grin.

Such an easy order to carry out. Sauron kissed Morgoth’s lips but no smouldering embrace followed, he remained close in order to let his breath ghost over Morgoth’s mouth but concentrated on starting a slow, sumptuous rhythm atop his master. Morgoth made another deep noise and his pleasure became apparent, his hardness rose to meet Sauron’s own and with each undulation they were brought into contact. Sauron gave up trying to restrain his voice and let himself groan as he worked Morgoth’s hips, he slid his hands down to a hard chest and pressed, applying himself more heavily to Morgoth’s crotch, watching his face and revelling in every flash of desire that crossed it.

His back arched with every thrust, his voice sang out and he felt his desire start to rise in his stomach, a tickling sensation that worked its way up his spine. He’d lose himself, he knew, riding Morgoth thus. He could spend himself doing this and only this, there was something so gorgeous about feeling Morgoth’s concealed erection pressing into the softness of his thigh and the hot breath on his face, even the way he was being looked at - so casually, as one might stare at a particularly aesthetic statue.

But that wouldn’t do, he was more than a statue. Sauron wanted to know the touch of a Vala, to know what it was to become one with one of Eru’s own. To have one once so holy, so beautiful within him, moving inside him, one who was the greatest power on Arda...

Sauron closed his eyes and bit his lip but Morgoth seemed to have read his mind. But then his master was nothing if not perceptive.

“Let me have you,” he said, still meeting the bucking hips with his own. Sauron opened his eyes, Morgoth held his gaze with eyes that were dark and utterly intense. “Mairon, I must have you.” he added in a whisper that made the maiar laugh languidly, his own pleasure was threatening to overcome him. He kissed Morgoth but knew he was waiting for an answer.

It had been a foolish question, one he needn’t have asked.

“Shall I call you Melkor?” he teased, undulating particularly slowly.

“Only you would dare.”

“Only me.” Sauron breathed, claiming those lips again.

“Only you,” Morgoth replied, smiling briefly as he let Sauron press kisses to the corners of his mouth. “Now hurry up.”

 

***

Sauron was laughing as he tried to free Morgoth’s manhood from his breeches. Dozens of chains and clasps and buttons might make for a good, evil fashion statement but they were a terrible hindrance to foreplay. He was laughing into the languid kiss they were sharing, he could feel Morgoth growling with impatience but the sound only turned his laughter to a moan.

“Do I need to do it myself?” Morgoth bit at his lip.

“That’d be no fun for me, now would it?” Sauron undid another clasp and then another, his hands were growing clumsy and every so often he’d accidently brush against the hidden sex and make Morgoth’s breath hitch. His own cock had gone woefully without attention and ached miserably at the front of his leggings, he’d attempted to use his free hand to sate himself somewhat but Morgoth had returned it back to his chest with a surly grunt. The fact that Morgoth evidently wanted him all for himself did nothing to soothe the burning.

“Ai, there we go,” Sauron whispered when finally he’d been able to put a hand on the stiff flesh, coaxing it free and brushing his thumb over the tip, utterly enjoying the way even the Vala could not resist that particular trick. His hand seemed to wrap around the length perfectly.

“We’ve even less time now, thanks to you.” Morgoth said but his words lost most of their fierceness when Sauron stroked him and his eyelashes fluttered.

“What, does Thuringwethil do it faster?” Sauron grinned and kissed his master. It lasted longer than he’d intended, Morgoth’s tongue delved into his mouth, as bold and reckless as the being himself. His hand instinctively began to work the rigid stiffness but all too soon the embrace was broken and Morgoth was muttering something under his breath.

“Lift yourself, let me take you.”

Morgoth’s words put fire into his stomach and shortened his breath. He relinquished his hold and did as he was bided, rising and pulling down his own leggings. He did it slowly, partly to lengthen the moment and partly to make sure he caught every twitch of anticipation in Morgoth, every glint in his eye, every baited breath. The moment his erection bobbed free Morgoth was readjusting himself under him, his hands on Sauron’s back. The maiar knew his intent well enough...

But then everything stopped.

“It will hurt.” Morgoth was saying.

“It will won’t it? But you said yourself, you wanted me.”

“Kiss me, first.”

Sauron smiled and closed his eyes. He put his arms around Morgoth’s neck and kissed him slow and deep, he added his groans to Morgoth’s and could smell fresh tree bark and wrought iron again, the skin under his fingers was hot and damp, the breath mingling with his own was flustered. Sauron took joy knowing it was because of him. But then the kissing stopped. Sauron was wretched with anticipation and the delicious nervousness that came with it. If only the elves and dwarves and men knew the only thing that made him fear for even the slightest second was the prospect of getting taken by one of the Valar. He might have laughed.

Just when he thought the waiting would kill him, he felt a blunt, white pain and he would have complained about feeling as though he were being torn in two had he not suspected Morgoth would take it as a compliment. He screwed his eyes shut and breathed in and out as Morgoth began his rhythm, all the while seeking and searching for that one...

“Aah!” Sauron’s eyes flashed open and he felt Morgoth’s laughter rumbling through his chest as thick lava through the bowels of a volcano. There was a hand in the crook of his hip and one on his back, the one on his hip gave a slight squeeze. It was an unspoken question that Sauron could barely answer, he wanted to move and to feel the sheer length inside him. He buried his face in the hollow of Morgoth’s neck and put a kiss there. An equally silent reply.

And then Morgoth was moving within him.

Sauron’s own body fell in time quickly, the thrusts were somewhat more rushed than their usual slow encounters but with each one Morgoth won a gasp or a moan from his maiar. Sauron bit at Morgoth’s earlobe as he struggled to keep his head above the tide of bliss but the waters were rising fast and he could feel a dreamy smile curving his lips. Morgoth was within him completely but sought to reach deeper and deeper until Sauron was nothing but a mess of nerve endings, he knew the spot he had to hit and what all of Sauron’s little gestures meant.

We fit together perfectly, Sauron mused to himself yet he could barely put the thought together. Morgoth had begun to make his own guttural noises, they were low and earthy and harsh, as ice breaking off into the sea, but they were Sauron’s lifeblood and he knew he must wrest more from his lips, it was their little game again. So he set about working his own body with heightened fervour. The flexibility of the form he wore he put into full use, reclining back in order to let Morgoth see what he did to him, to show him the face of a true servant. He wound a hand into his own hair lifted his chin. He heard a long, drawn out moan and knew he’d done well.

Fingers brushed the sensitive skin on the inside of his thigh and Sauron cried out.

“Touch me.” he managed to say, desperately. He opened his eyes. Morgoth’s face was utterly divine in it’s ecstasy, his mouth agape and his eyes half-lidded. He smiled at Sauron’s request but as he exerted himself, striking deep and true within the writhing maiar atop him, it turned to a growl.

“Then kiss me.” was his answer.

Sauron descended on his master as a vulture to a carcass. The kiss was clashing teeth and biting and pulling but it worked, it made Morgoth wild and Sauron squirm. He had his hands either side of Morgoth’s face once again, feeling the jaw under his fingers and pulse beneath the skin. It was as erratic as his own, Sauron laughed.

But the laughter stopped as soon as a hand curled itself around his sex. Sauron whimpered as Morgoth began stroking him, none too gently. They rested brow to brow, Sauron had to work hard to keep from spending himself in Morgoth’s hand, he bit his lip and panted and mewled like an elf in heat but he couldn’t control a lot of the things he was doing anymore. Morgoth had won, Morgoth had him completely now.

And he knew it.

They’d moved to a faster pace. The hall completely receded from Sauron’s perception, even the throne beneath his knees faded away until there was naught but the pair of them, two minds as one. There was sweat on Morgoth’s neck. Sauron tried to fulfil each of Morgoth’s desires as they arose, shifting himself at times or applying pressure to his chest or stroking a hot tongue with his own. He did everything requested of him yet there was more Morgoth needed of him, Morgoth wanted him to be as rough as he was, to play dirty and mean and so Sauron had. Yet there was a kindness to it all despite Morgoth’s sharpest thrusts and bites. He’d lifted a hand to wipe the hair from Sauron’s persperating brow, he’d knew exactly how to make him hit those high yelps and he’d laughed when Sauron had uttered an oath to the Valar under his breath.

And when Sauron mumbled incoherently something about his climax coming soon he’d drawn him close and stroked the back of his neck, tangling his fingers in mussy hair. The maiar came in his master’s hand with nothing more than a gasp. Morgoth found his own release a dozen or so more strokes later, ample time for Sauron to simply enjoy the raw intimacy with the sudden awareness that comes with orgasm. Morogth had made a noise like nothing he’d ever heard, like a fire roaring and the slow turning of a grindstone. It wasn’t a noise he was like to forget, nor was the face he was wearing.

They were both panting then, searching one another’s faces.

“I bet the good Vala don’t do it like that.” Sauron said, his grin was somewhat weak as he struggled for breath.

“Don’t ruin the afterglow.” said Morgoth, and kissed his golden maiar quiet before he could respond.

 

***

Sauron had pulled up his breeches and was smoothing his tunic down. It felt terribly odd standing up again, his knees ached as he shifted his weight. He’d found his gloves and was pulling those on, looking for the hair ties would be folly, he knew. A shame, really. He hoped the next lot of prisoners would have some more baubles for him.

“I’ll be back later to report my... report.” he said with a smirk. Morgoth was still sat in his throne, slouched now and sated. His own breeches were still largely unfastened and loose but there wasn’t a soul alive that would be foolish enough to point such a thing out to the master of Arda. His skin still had a sheen to it and his chest rose and fell rather rapidly.

Morgoth stood.

He approached Sauron and stood a good head taller than him. His eyes went from Sauron’s eyes to lips and the maiar smiled again as he was pulled into a last embrace. He prepared himself for something scolding, some aftershock of their fervent sex but the kiss Morgoth placed on his lips was tender indeed. His hand he trailed up the pale flesh of Sauron’s throat until it came to his chin, which he lifted with a finger.

“Go and raise hell.” he said, and he was Morgoth Bauglir once again, the living mountain. But Sauron was not deterred, he laughed as he had done so many times that day and reached up to steal another kiss.

“Why,” he said, “I thought I already had.”