A Cunning Deceit by Sleepless_Malice

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Chapter 1

[Written] – for My Slashy Valentine 2016

[Request] – Mairon/Maedhros. It must be at the time Maedhros was a prisoner of Morgoth. Could include also non-con, angst. But not necessarily physical violence. It would be better if Sauron use some deception. AU Mpreg is totally forbidden! Effeminate men also. OTP (I mean my otp from Silm is Mairon/Melkor and I don't want for Sauron to fall in love with sb else nor do I want Maedhros to love someone else than Fingon). So sex and everything okay, just don't make them fall in love.

[Inspiration] – The same Mairon/Maedhros fic the receiver of this gift-fic has certainly used as inspiration for the prompt has served as inspiration for writing this, something which was discussed with the author of said fic beforehand.

I also cannot deny that theeventualwinner’s Mairon-based stories, especially ‘Sins of Our Fathers,’ which I have read a while ago, have left a certain impact on both my brain and writing style.

[Beta] – Thank you OohLaGalion for all the help, including plot discussion and erasing all my mistakes :)

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 A Cunning Deceit

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Several unnamed creatures entered his dark cell at once, and before he could react, two of them grabbed him by the arms and pulled him upwards. Maedhros didn’t know if he had been unconscious again or had merely been sleeping on his soiled bed of straw; all he knew was that his limbs felt heavy and sore.

“The master has requested your presence,” snarled the orc who was apparently the leader of the small group.

Along the endless corridors they dragged him and Maedhros found it impossibly hard to keep up with their pace; the matter at hand was an urgent one, it seemed, and threads of fear began to fill his drowsy mind. Everything around him seemed too bright, too vivid for the grim place he was caught in for longer than he could remember; his senses were dull and his vision blurry. Slowly, memories of what had happened before he had lost consciousness returned; darkness had surrounded him, had swallowed him, and to the gods he didn’t trust in any longer he had prayed as the needle had pierced his marred skin.

Someone had been there. A shadow lurking over him, Maedhros remembered, and with this, first flutters of memory came back. He remembered how he had thrashed upon the stretcher he lay on, arms and legs secured to it tightly with heavy chains; still, he didn’t know whose voice it had been that had spoken to him with such maddening softness.

‘Oh Maitimo, do not struggle so—it would not do you and your health any good.’

Had it been Morgoth’s ever smirking lackey, the Black Foe himself, or just another one of the numerous thralls that filled the dark halls? No matter how hard he had fought with all strength that remained in his abused body, the syringe had still pierced through his skin into the vein of his arm. All he remembered were the vivid colors that exploded shortly after warmth had flooded his body, the fractals dancing across his closed eyelids, the odd state akin to floating in an endless sea, at last devoid of hunger and pain. Briefly he had even considered that Námo had finally answered his silent pleas and had summoned his ruthless spirit into his halls of death, because certainly they could not be more unwelcoming than this miserable palace. Maedhros was not entirely certain whether or not the drug still lingered in his blood.

In a second of unawareness two of them sized him by the arms (not that he had any opportunity to flee with the heavy chains wrapped around his ankles and wrists), whilst a third creature held up an ugly gag made out of black iron and filthy leather straps. A tremor went through him as yet another memory came rushing back — snippets of long forgotten days of joy and happiness. Not very often had he used such a device in the innocent tumbles of his youth, and usually it was not him who had had to wear it, but his overly loud beloved who could not remain quiet.

A silent tear ran down his cheek, elicited not by the metal that bit so cruelly into his skin but by the memory.

Findekáno.

How many lonely nights he had thought of golden ribbons and curly black hair, Maedhros could not tell; once before he had already assumed he would never see his cousin again— in the moment his father had set the ships ablaze. He had felt like dying, as if parts of his soul and heart were being ripped apart.

Feeling as if he were in trance, lost within a world that no longer existed, he was pushed along yet another dimly lit hallway; the dragon-shaped torch holders, the blackest of stones, things he had seen countless times already passed by without him taking any notice. With little struggle Maedhros climbed the spiraling stars that lead he knew not where, because he had not been in this part of the fortress yet, he noticed at last. He was brought by the snarling orcs onto a high alcove with a balcony, the view below covered by heavy velvet curtains.

In the darkness Maedhros blinked, not understanding why he had been brought to this odd place — not until the curtain fell down right before his eyes. The sight that greeted him made his breath freeze in his lungs, and in sheer disbelief his eyes widened in shock.

This cannot — must not be real, and for the first time he hoped that the drug was still affecting his mind. A trick — yes, yes, another shameless deceit like the many he had witnessed the past months. It must be so, Maedhros tried to convince himself. With shock and horror he stared downwards, and his entire body began to tremble. Findekáno was miles away, left behind on the shores of the Blessed Realm with his family by those who have betrayed them.

It must be so.

He was not here in these dark and grim halls; he was not even in this forsaken land, but had remained behind where the grass is lush and green, where it is safe again now that the Black Foe had taken residence on the hither shores.

Yet those golden ribbons were unmistakable. No other wore such elaborate braids adorned with shimmering threads woven through them, at least none that Maedhros knew. Nothing, absolutely nothing made any sense, and heavily his heart bet against his ribcage when dread finally seemed to overwhelm him.

At the end, it was the heavy and most filthy grunt from below that disrupted his train of thought.

Melkor blinked languidly, head tilted to the side as if he was entirely pleased with the performance of the elf between his parted legs. Relentlessly the head, adorned with golden ribbons and black curls, bobbed up and down; what this suggested was clear. Maedhros hated himself for the thought alone, but he was not entirely certain if this was happening by free will or if the ashen hand resting on the back of Fingon’s head was forcing him. What was he even thinking? That sweet Findekáno has taken residence in Angamando? Certainly not. The thought itself was ridiculous, that much Maedhros knew. But how, then? Why was his cousin here? For seconds his gaze was diverted by the iron crown adorned with his father’s precious jewels, sat upon the Black One’s brow, laughing at him, mocking him with their otherworldly light before his eyes fixed on the elf again.

‘Gods no!’ Realization hit him hard once more, because that was exactly how his cousin used to pleasure him with his divine mouth; the arrangement of his hands, his little finger splayed far off the rest, was as unmistakable as his braids. Countless had been the hours in which Maedhros had witnessed exactly such, and where at first he had doubted that this was his beloved cousin indeed, now he had the final and bitter proof.

‘Findekáno.’

“Finno!” Maedhros tried to scream, but the gag hindered him from uttering a single syllable. He doubted his sanity, he doubted all and everything around him, because still he dared to hope that this was nothing more than a surreal projection of his corrupted mind. What cruel madness was this? What drug still ran through his veins? Why, oh why, was his cousin at their mercy, trapped in this hostile place, when he had thought him safe these many months?

Shock and anger hazed over Maedhros’ drowsy eyes, yet unable to tear his gaze away he found himself; too familiar was the sight of sweet Findekáno on his knees, fingers lying deathly still across muscular thighs.

When Fingon briefly withdrew his mouth to catch his breath, Melkor raked his nails harshly down his back until the elf before him visibly flinched from the pain that certainly soared through him. “Down with you again, elf scum,” admonished the Vala, “or I will force you. You shall endure until the bitter end.”

Maedhros’ heart seemed to stop the moment the words spilled across his enemy’s wine-stained lips, because he had no doubt that Melkor was completely serious.

The proof came not a second later, as without warning, he lifted his hips and simultaneously brought Fingon’s head down.

This was worse, worse than all the beatings he'd had to endure, worse than his own starvation, worse even than the cruel experiments that often followed throughout the many years; by now, Maedhros could not even tell anymore what his worst punishment had been. The seemingly endless labor in the mines with all the other captives, chained together until one by one they all collapsed from exhaustion? The time when Angband’s second-in-command had served him delicious venison and rich wine, which at the end Mairon had announced with a fey laugh had been the arm of one of his own kin? The whip and burning irons that had assaulted his freckled skin? With a shudder Maedhros remembered the stench of burnt skin filling his nostrils. And this—all of it—was to be his cousin’s fate? Maedhros felt like crying, as the rape of Fingon’s mouth was an unbeknown cruelty to be added to the endless list of humiliation.

How on earth did it come to pass that Findekáno found himself between Melkor’s spread legs, sucking his cock with such indulgent frenzy? HOW? Although Maedhros knew very well that his cousin’s mouth was being used by force, fierce jealousy arose inside him. Fingon was his, and his alone, never meant to find himself before such a vile creature. With horror he now noticed the trembling hands of Fingon, who apparently was robbed of his breath.

“I think we have a guest,” whispered the Vala, loud enough for Maedhros to hear, and for a moment the figure on his knees froze. “You know of whom I speak, I daresay.” Melkor’s lips were curved in bold amusement, and briefly he looked up the exact spot where Maedhros stood, hidden in the shadows—mortified, shaking, struggling for a life that wasn’t his own.

For seconds it seemed as if Fingon froze upon the remark. In response, Melkor’s eyes narrowed, scolding, and Maedhros’ breath caught in his lungs.

‘Do not do anything stupid, Finno, please,’ he whispered against the gag, afraid that a raging outburst was soon to follow, as the Vala’s temper was easily sparked.

Maedhros knew that cruelties from Melkor’s hand could follow and that nobody was exempt from it; from time to time he had been forced to witness Melkor’s rage as a ‘special guest,’ as Melkor’s lieutenant had once titled him with mock amusement. Most of the time it had been ordinary servants who had been the victims of his gruesome beatings — orcs, uruks and other vile creatures that were bred in the darkest pits deep below the earth. However, one time he had accidentally witnessed something he certainly should not have seen. Odd and unexpected were the only words that had come to him then, as Melkor had violently backhanded his second-in-command for nothing, with such strength that Mairon had stumbled backwards. “Get out of my sight before I lose control,” the Vala had screamed, words upon which hurt and disappointment had flickered through the Maia’s golden eyes, emotions Maedhros had doubted that Mairon was capable of feeling.

‘Finno, please—' prayed Maedhros to all what was dear to him. Did Fingon just nod? Maedhros was not entirely certain if his drowsy mind was not playing another trick on him; nevertheless, and despite his jealousy, a wave of relief washed over him when repeatedly Fingon’s head bobbed up and down again.

“Look at me when you pleasure me with that filthy mouth of yours,” demanded Melkor, and the dreadful note to the Vala’s voice made Maedhros shiver. He hadn’t seen him often during the many months of his captivity. Mostly orcs or other foul servants of the Black Foe dealt with him, and from time to time and on special occasions Mairon, second-in-command in these dim halls.

Findekáno obeyed. What choice did he have with Melkor’s hand in his hair? The hand that forcefully held him down, made him swallow until all the air had left his lungs.

Filthy sounds of gagging and choking filled the air as mercilessly Melkor rolled his hips in a firm and steady rhythm against the certainly abused mouth without any traces of self-restraint. The golden ribbons in his cousin’s hair glowed in the dim light of the flickering torches, strangely mimicking the Vala’s eyes.

As much as he hated to admit it—and as much as Melkor’s foul deeds called for it—his appearance was neither repulsive nor by any means ugly. Long thick hair the color of obsidian framed a rather fair face with high cheekbones and prominent eyebrows, not so unlike his own father’s face had been, taut muscles flexing beneath the glowing skin.

“Such talent,” the Vala crooned, and Maedhros’ heart sank in response. This … this was as wrong as anything could ever be, yet his body reacted to the sight before him, and with wide eyes he stared down at the dreadful sight with a twitch of agitation. Fingon’s talents with his mouth were not limited to singing, Maedhros knew, and with generosity his cousin had offered exactly this service to him.

“Move!” rasped Melkor, almost choking out the word, his voice heavy and quivering with wanton need. Maedhros wondered what game the Vala was playing, gaze gliding across his cousin’s bare back. His cheeks burned as, despite the hatred that filled him at the knowledge that Fingon was their captive now too, used as yet another thrall in Angamando’s dungeons, the sight aroused him. Rock hard he had become whilst watching the filthy display with narrowed eyes, and in silence he cursed his body and himself.

How could he even?

The rough voice of one of Morgoth’s servants tore him out of his stare. “You've seen enough,” drawled the creature and pulled him violently backwards, so that he nearly lost his balance and stumbled into the orc’s arms. “Get off me,” the creature hissed.

‘No!’ Maedhros wished to scream; although it was such a humiliation to watch the dreadful scenario unfolding before his eyes, at least he knew that Fingon was ‘well,’ was alive still and not already beaten to death as others before him.

Again, Maedhros was roughly dragged along similar hallways towards a part of the fortress he was not certain if he had ever set a foot into before; at first he had violently struggled against the creature’s hold because he had to, NEEDED to watch over his cousin. Of course, his fight had been a poor attempt with his arms and legs still bound in heavy chains. After a while, somehow the corridors grew brighter, and the chambers they passed through warmer, but Maedhros did not trust his own cognition anymore.

At last they reached an impressive chamber, sparsely used and rarely cleaned, Maedhros noticed as dust swirled through the air, shimmering like iridescent diamond dust, sparkling and glittering in the low light of the torches above. A massive table with countless chairs around it stood in the middle, hosting at least twenty people, but only one end of the table was set. Maedhros narrowed his eyes as he took in the sight before him.

Food. So much food, actual food — mostly fish and meat and vegetables, plus a carafe of red wine—no comparison to the watery gruel that was his daily ration. Absently he licked his lips as the divine smell of smoked fish tickled his nose. Maedhros had not eaten properly since he knew not when, although his stomach turned when his gaze fell onto an absurdly shaped piece of meat.

What novel cruelty is now to come? Maedhros asked in silence, and the horrid scenario of the Black Foe feasting right before him already occupied his mind when something he had not dared to believe happened. One of the orcs stepped close to him and removed both the chain and the manacles that held his arms together at his back. Ever so carefully, and not without a certain disbelief, Maedhros rolled his shoulders to chase away the numbness there and brought his hands in front of him. Whilst he did so, the shackles around his ankles came undone as well.

Something was gravely amiss, and briefly he studied his surroundings if he might attempt to flee, now being freed at last of the restraining devices. Yet too many guards were positioned both around him and at the entrance.

“Eat as much as you wish,” said the orc with indifference, once he had neatly placed the chains aside. Maedhros, however, remained rooted to the spot where he stood. “Orders from the master!” added the creature, slightly upset, and in response Maedhros shivered; if he did not do as he was told, punishment for the creature was certain to follow, and so he stepped hesitantly forward. At last he sat down at the head of the table and began to eat, to chew, something he had nearly forgotten how to do whilst rotting in his cell. However, for obvious reasons, he stayed away from everything that remotely looked like meat. Whereas at the beginning he had still been hesitant to devour the deliciously smelling food laid before him, fearing yet another deceit, soon he lost himself to filling his stomach.

 

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“A guest for you, dearest Maitimo,” a voice Maedhros recognized as Melkor’s said, and the blood froze in his veins as his gaze fell on the figure who stood in front of the Vala, arms and legs lying in rattling chains that were not so unlike those he himself usually wore. Somehow Fingon had entered without him having heard the heavy door creak open. His senses had somewhat dull become over the past months.

It was not the chains that held his gaze, however, but Fingon’s swollen and cum stained lips.

“Findekáno.” The name simply escaped him before he could stop himself from anything in his enemy’s presence. His cousin’s face lit up the moment the word spilled past his lips, and a crooked smile was his silent response.

“How sweet,” the Vala commented in a mocking voice; nevertheless he unlocked the chains around Fingon’s wrists and ankles. “Now go, indulge into your incestuous desires, Findekáno, or am I mistaken that you have imagined that I was him when you used your mouth so wonderfully around my cock.”

Fingon blushed scarlet, and blinding rage threatened to consume Maedhros upon the malicious suggestion, all the more because the shameful evidence of the deceitful act still lingered on his cousin’s lips. Without much thought he sprang to his feet and took swift steps towards Fingon, who mimicked his motion.

The chuckle that fell from Melkor’s lips was cruel, but Maedhros did not pay any notice to the Vala’s laugh or the words that followed shortly after: “How sweet you are in your forbidden desires, and what a lovely reunion is being celebrated in my halls.”

“Maitimo,” Fingon whispered at last, wiping the remains of Melkor’s seed from his mouth as he came to halt in front of him. “I thought I would never see you again.” His cousin’s voice alone sent indescribable tremors through Maedhros' body; he had almost forgotten how soft and wonderful it rang in his ears. Still, briefly, Maedhros wondered if this was his cousin indeed, but the unmistakable way he carried himself gave him away. Graceful as ever, golden ribbons adorning his curled black hair, and he smiled - despite all the terror surrounding them, Fingon smiled when his gaze finally fell onto Maedhros’ scarred face.

“Neither have I,” said Maedhros, and he couldn’t stop the tears from falling. Tears of joy and relief they were, mingled with tears of sorrow and worry because Findekáno should not be in this dreadful place. “What did they do to you? Finno… what?” The words slipped past his lips before he realized that he had said anything at all. Parts of it he already knew, has witnessed with his own eyes, and the greater parts he already suspected, knowing all too well what gruesome deeds both Melkor and Mairon were capable of.

They were alone in the room, but then somehow they were not, Maedhros thought as the burning gaze of someone unseen travelled across his form.

“Hush,” said Fingon, voice soft and understanding, “do not despair. Despite the circumstances, please do not. Although you look — admittedly — horrible since I have seen you last.”

With a tear-heavy sigh Maedhros wiped away the wet remains from his cheek, and for the first time in what seemed like forever he laughed, though he did not manage to keep the bitterness out of it. “Thank you cousin.” So many years it had been since last he had seen his cousin, kissed him, and bedded him, in a time full of joy and happiness. Despite the rift that ran through their families, their fathers, they had mostly managed to keep the bitterness out of their clandestine encounters.

Under other circumstances, Maedhros would have flung his arms around Fingon, pulled him close and perhaps devoured his mouth as he had never done before. Right now he refrained, merely taking his hands into his own.

“But how?” he asked silently, grey eyes carefully studying Fingon’s face. “Tell me.”

A sigh fell from his cousin’s lips. “When we saw the distant flames on the horizon when the ships were burnt my father decided despite the betrayal to follow his half-brother. Under his lead our host crossed the Grinding Ice to reunite with your people on these shores, but during the journey many lives were lost. For the rest I ask thee: Do not force me to answer you,” replied Fingon softly, “as you will not like the truth of the ‘whys’ and ‘whens’.”

“But—” retorted Maedhros.

“I said shut up, now didn’t I?” asked Fingon rhetorically before he leaned in and covered Maedhros’ lips with his own. So sweet and soft the touch was, so full of love in a place so devoid of even the tiniest glimpse of gentleness, and against his cousin’s body he found himself swaying.

A booming voice disrupted the tranquility of their reunion. “Oh now, now, I feel my stomach rebelling at the sight of such maudlin exchanges in my halls.” Maedhros’ blood froze in his veins, and he spun around to where he suspected the voice had come from. The room, however, was empty.

“What?” inquired Fingon with wide eyes, tilting his head in his typical manner.

“Haven’t you heard?” whispered Maedhros, fear and terror written across his face.

“Nay,” stated Fingon, eyebrows quirked in curiosity, “I haven’t heard anything. It is this place, Maitimo — the dread, the horror surrounding us. Strange things come to pass, and strange things this place does to people.”

Maedhros felt like crying, for Melkor’s voice had been so clear.

Without overthinking the words lying on his tongue, he lashed out at his cousin. “If you think I am insane, say so outright!”

Fingon’s eyes widened in surprise. “NELYO! No, no, what do you even mean? I never said so, never dared to think, would never dare to think such,” he said defensively, and immediately Maedhros felt sorry for what he had said. The place indeed did strange things to everyone residing within it; he wouldn’t be the first who had gone insane locked up for an eternity. Ever so gently, Fingon brushed the back of his hand against Maedhros’ cheek.

“Enough of this!” A voice in Maedhros’ head thundered. Involuntarily a shiver rushed through his entire body, and he flinched away from his cousin’s touch. “I am tired of all this sentiment already. Furthermore, I have a proposition to make, Nelyafinwë Fëanorion: Celebrate your lovely reunion properly, and I might consider letting your lovely cousin go as herald to tell the remnants of your family about what will happened to all those who dare to try to take away from us what is rightfully ours now. Otherwise..."

“Have you—"

Fingon merely nodded, shock and horror clearly written across his face with the threat looming above them.

Maedhros did not believe a single word of the promise; once captive within these halls, nobody had ever escaped, as creatures far worse than orcs guarded the iron gates. “Finno. It’s a lie, another trick. Certainly it is,” he mumbled under his breath; too often already had he encountered treachery. “Do not allow your mind to be corrupted, as this entire place is made out of lies.”

“I-I do not know,” said Fingon defensively. “What choice do we have?”

“Of course it is!” stated Maedhros, terror flickering through his eyes. “A web of hateful lies and tricks. He must never be trusted, Finno. Never.”

When Maedhros finished and Fingon remained quiet the voice boomed anew. “However, dearest Maitimo, if you should prefer to decline my generous offer, I feel inclined to test whether sweet Findekáno’s other hole is as welcoming as his lovely mouth was. Certainly you will remember his skills with it, don’t you? The choice is all yours.” Oh, how he hated the affectionate way the Vala crooned his name.

Maedhros’ throat went dry upon the threat uttered, and protectively he wrapped his arms around Fingon. “Never!” he screamed in rage and defiance towards the invisible presence. Deep in his innards acidic bile began to gurgle, and he was at a loss fir what to do.

“Very well.” The words were followed by fey laughter. “Then make haste, or I might reconsider my generosity.”

“Bastard,” Maedhros murmured, tugging at Fingon’s golden braids whilst he placed a soft kiss onto the top of his head, “I—I do not want to. Not here, not now, not with them watching, not with them taking you away from me afterwards. I do not wish to expose you to their carnal and sickening desires… I — What choice do I have?” Tears began to fall again at the dreadful implication the Vala’s words held.

Wasn’t it enough already that he had taken his pleasure from Fingon’s mouth?

“Maitimo,” whispered Fingon in response when their gazes met, “despite the lingering threat and chance of humiliation we should do as told, because I doubt that whoever has spoken would utter an idle threat. Do you not think so? Let them watch if they get off on it. They might not be the first who have watched us throughout all the years, remember?”

Rather vividly memories of a lovely autumn day came back to Maedhros’ mind, how he and his lovely cousin had rolled across the grass, naked as the day they were born, wholeheartedly indulging in what they enjoyed most whenever they could get away from the prying eyes of their brothers and sisters. Until a grunting noise had made their hearts and limbs freeze. They had never discovered who had been hiding behind the bush.

“But—"

With another kiss Fingon silenced him, and Maedhros knew he had lost. Findekáno could be quite persuasive.

 

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Fingon’s arm circled around his hips and pulled him close, until his hardness rubbed against Maedhros' belly. As so often before in their relationship, it was Fingon who took the lead, who tried shoo his desperate worries away. Despite the fact that his cousin’s arm and his erection felt wonderful against him, it simultaneously felt wrong. Yet he forced his internal struggles to subside when Fingon took a few steps backwards, arms still wrapped around his hips, giving him no other choice as to follow. With a loud creak Fingon fell into the large chair at the head of the table with him, tumbling right into his lap.

“I am amazed by your cunning mind, Ñolofinwion,” the voice said, and Maedhros froze anew with sordid horror flickering in his eyes. Desperately he struggled against the hold Fingon had on him, trying to get onto his own feet again.

“Hush,” whispered Fingon against the hollow of Maedhros' throat. “Maitimo, it is I who am touching you, the same Findekáno whom you never could get enough of, remember?” he added, now looking Maedhros right into the eyes with an indulgent smile as he wiped away a strand of red hair from Maedhros' face. “We are in a different place, and perhaps we are not truly ourselves in these grim halls, but these are the same lips you would kiss, the same skin you would feel beneath your trembling fingers, and the same fingers who would unlace your tunic… your breeches. Nelyo! So many years we have been apart, so many bitter years — I have missed you.” The smile changed from indulgent to radiant when Fingon took hold of the laces of Maedhros' breeches.

Admittedly, the touch against his still soft cock felt wonderful, all the more when Fingon freed it. Firmly in hand he took him then, stroking him to hardness with a few firm tugs, all the while showering his lips and throat with kisses.

Maedhros allowed his bunched shoulders to relax at his cousin’s words as he leaned in to brush his lips against Fingon’s, whispering, “So have I, more than words could ever tell.” It was as if Fingon smiled against his mouth before he kissed him fully, his lips almost crushing against his own with fierce longing. With his free hand, Fingon struggled with Maedhros' breeches, trying to force them down to expose his most intimate parts, cursing under his breath when the garment showed some reluctance. It the end his cousin succeeded, and cold air danced across his exposed skin.

“Maitimo,” said Fingon between kisses. When the hand was withdrawn from his erection, Maedhros whimpered at the loss of contact, but his disappointment lasted only momentarily; his cousin’s eyes were filled with mirth as he spoke again. “Say, how long has it been since you have last ridden me?” Maedhros was startled because often had he seen mirth in those eyes before, yet something was different than it had always been. But then, what — if anything — was normal in these forsaken halls? Hadn’t his own mind already become corrupted after a short time? And still he had no idea how long his cousin had been ‘guest’ in the gloomy twilight. For once, he ignored the matter; instead he growled a moan against the pale flesh of his cousin’s throat before he spoke. “Too long,” responded Maedhros in words that were nothing more than a breathed whimper, all the more when Fingon spat into his own hand. Memories of another clandestine meeting deep in the woods of Oromë flooded his mind, drowning out the dread that surrounded them. If he just forced himself enough he might be able to finally forget that they were not in the vast forest, nor in the Blessed Realm anymore — he could try, at least, thought Maedhros.

However, all thoughts were erased when Fingon began to push his finger into him, none too gently, and involuntarily he tensed. It had been indeed too long. “Relax for me, Maitimo,” demanded Fingon against the crook of his neck, kissing and biting him as he continued “As much as I wish to take my time with you I fear I cannot — shall not, given the circumstances we are trapped in.”

“Well said,” a voice from somewhere above said, but neither Maedhros nor Fingon searched for it.

If it was wise to say so or not, he did not know for sure, but hadn’t they shared everything in the past? “I have endured worse,” stated Maedhros matter-of-factly then, and reassuringly his cousin brushed his hand against his cheek, although he doubted that Fingon would understand the true extent of his suffering; he was not even certain if he himself was capable of understanding it.

“I am sorry,” mumbled Fingon in an apologetic tone, “so sorry for everything,” and Maedhros struggled to keep the tears from falling. Somehow his cousin looked strangely at him — no, he actually seemed to look entirely through him as if he was completely detached from reality. Hurt and sorrows that so much mimicked his own adorned sweet Findekáno’s face. What horrors had he to endure already in these halls? What had truly happened on the Grinding Ice? When Maedhros looked next the expression was gone, and Fingon smiled down at him. How wonderful could their reunion have been under different circumstances, where they could take things at their pace without prying eyes lurking in the shadows? How wonderful it could have been to touch, to devour his cousin’s body on the soft furs in the place that served as his provisional home.

Maedhros whined in protest when Fingon removed his fingers from his stretched entrance, something that earned him an amused chuckle. With quick fingers Fingon freed his own cock from his breeches, hard and hot and glistening. “So impatient, Maitimo,” laughed Fingon, kissing Maedhros' neck. “You know how much I like you like this.”

“As much as you know how much I detest that you can never shut up.”

“Point taken,” teased Fingon, guiding his cousin’s body over his cock. With a heavy sigh of anticipation and worry Maedhros assisted him and shifted his hips until his exposed entrance brushed against the tip of Fingon’s erection.

With eyes closed and teeth gritted he sank down onto him, fighting against the pain that soared through him. No, he wasn’t sufficiently prepared for this, yet he denied himself the comfort of taking things slowly — not here, not now. Too long it had been already since he had felt Fingon’s cock inside him, had felt his eager hands roaming his skin, his skin against his own — and in fact he had never thought he would enjoy these wonderful delights again.

“Maitimo,” murmured Fingon, breath already uneven, when at last Maedhros had taken him inside fully.

At a loss of what to respond Maedhros simply opened his eyes and regarded his cousin for moments with such tenderness he had not thought he was still capable of. Fingon was as beautiful as he had remembered him to be in the throes; eyes half-lidded, lips parted with an indulgent smile playing at them. Maedhros drew in a deep breath as he began to lift his body, hands tightly clutched against his cousin’s shoulders for support. He would have lied if he said it didn’t hurt, because – hell – it did, but to feel Fingon was worth every pain existing and therefore he endured until he found a steady rhythm and pain was subsided by something greater and something far more pleasuring.

“As much as I am delighted to hold you in my arms again,” whispered Maedhros against the hollow of Fingon’s throat, “you shouldn’t be here, you should not even be on these shores my dear but safe-“

Fingon simply kissed him silent as he had done so often in the past.

Soon their bodies rocked in unison, Fingon’s hand either resting on his hips or clutched to his back in frantic desperation, bruising, and devouring; Maedhros was certain that marks already began to blossom on his scarred skin but he felt himself unable to bother as he lost himself in desire he had long thought dead. So many things he wished to ask, yet at the same time he did not desire to speak a single word. Not now. Not with his cousin’s body so close, heated skin against skin, with their lips and tongues exploring each other. Not now as they lost themselves in the sweet pleasures of desire and longing.

“Finno, Eru.” Maedhros cried out when Fingon’s erection brushed against the sweet spot within him although it was his own change of angle that made every motion so utterly divine.

“Such words of blasphemy,” chuckled Fingon before he kissed his cousin savagely.

For the first time in many weeks Maedhros did not feel exhaustion nor did pain blaze behind his closed eyes; that they were still caught in Angamando’s grim halls was as lost on him as the fact that they might have an invisible spectator. It was only them, and them alone that mattered as time became a blur in the gloominess. Maedhros' entire body quivered as Fingon began to stroke his erection with skilled fingers in a rhythm mimicking his own. Never had he dared to hope to feel such delight again, assuming that he had lost his beloved forever.

“By the Valar,” said Fingon, in a low voice low and with adoration shining in his eyes, “I have missed you, more than words could ever tell.”

“Finno.. my Findekáno… what would I do without you? What have I done without you?” murmured Maedhros mostly to himself. Simultaneously he increased the pace of his movements, shifting his position so slightly that his own cock brushed repeatedly against his cousin’s stomach. Eru, he was close, so close already when he felt Fingon’s teeth grazing along his throat, fingers twitching his hard nipples until he shamelessly cried out. He couldn’t bring himself to care anymore if they had a secret voyeur who took great delight in their frenzy. What did it matter if they watched, when his cousin moaned his name so obscenely?

Where a moment ago Fingon’s hand had been resting against his hips, supporting his movements, they were now shifted towards the back of his head, weaving into his hair.

“Finno?” asked Maedhros when Fingon began to lick along the curve of his ear, biting his earlobe harder than he usually did.

A heavy silence fell.

That his cousin did not answer him was – odd, at best.

“I wonder if your father – your mother knew what a sweet whore you have become,” a voice that certainly did not belong to Fingon cooed maliciously right into Maedhros' ears, and in an instant his eyes snapped open to a room which all of a sudden seemed so much darker than it had been before he had shut his eyes.

Terror began to seize him. No, this wasn’t Fingon’s voice – nor was it his face!

A devious smirk and auric eyes glooming like embers met his gaze, and where previously black curls had cascaded down Fingon’s shoulders, now a waterfall of molten gold fell down. In sprawling robes made of the richest fabrics he was clad now, and Maedhros would lie if he said that Melkor’s arrogant lackey was not fair, because indeed he was. Almost too perfect and surreal to be made of flesh and bones — but then he wasn’t.

“Mairon,” spat Maedhros in defiance and shock.

“Surprise, Maitimo,” said the Maia with derisive mockery. The fey laughter seemed to echo forever in his mind as Mairon’s jeweled fingers ran up and down his sides so exquisitely. Maedhros shivered in what was almost delight, and for this he hated himself all the more.

What a fool he had been!

Had he truly thought his sweet cousin was here? Would love him still?

Yes. And yes.

There was a muffled whimper falling from Maedhros’ lips, but apart from that he found himself unable to truly struggle, to fight against his grip, which had become strong and painful. Despite the cunning deceit he was still consumed by desire, with Mairon’s cock buried deep inside him, twitching, filling him, fucking him. The Maia’s eyes were golden, glooming and lingering as Mairon regarded him, gaze burning into him.

“Beautiful,” at last the Maia said with horrid appreciation as his tender gaze travelled along Maedhros’ quivering body. Never should he regard him like this, Maedhros thought in vain, never should he touch him like he is, a fingertip running along his bottom lip.

Maedhros could not fathom the emotions that were trapped inside him; he wished to scream, to weep, to curl himself up into a ball as he had done on so many nights in his cell.

Hurt. Utmost betrayal. Self-hatred upon his own foolishness above all else.

Such a petty blur of desperate hope and brutal realization mingled in his mind, when at last he was swallowed by waves of turmoil; Maedhros realized that all hopes to escape this dreadful place together with his beloved have crushed as quickly as they have arisen.

‘Finno…’ he repeats in his mind. ‘Oh my Finno, I truly thought it was you.’

Maedhros deemed himself on the brink of insanity, as nostalgia crashed down on him with such brutal force that he nearly flinched. Indescribable relief that Findekáno was safe – well and alive — twined with the bitter hurt of betrayal. This punishment was the worst he had ever had to endure. Idly, Mairon played with a strand of red hair, twisting and curling it over his index finger.

‘Why? Why this? Why so?’ he asked himself in desperation, but the myriad questions that danced through his hazy mind remained unanswered. ‘Wouldn’t it be an easy task to simply take him — by force?’

‘Stop talking in your head.’

“By force?” indulgently Mairon shook his head as if he has read his mind, smirking. “Truly Maitimo? Do you not know what the result of such a vile deed would be? Surely you recall the lessons on your father’s lap. We do not wish to lose our most honored guest, not yet, at least, when there is yet so much delight you can offer. In addition, playing the lovesick puppy was a nice diversion for once. Do you not think that this was quite the entertainment?”

From time to time Maedhros had already witnessed the Maia’s dreadful cruelty towards those thralls he kept for himself, the malicious insanity that reigned behind the auric eyes that now stared at him, questioning him.

The naughty smirk playing on Mairon’s lips became unbearable, and finally Maedhros let out a roar of frustration; he snarled and trashed against Mairon’s hold with anger flashing in his eyes, because Fingon was all but a lovesick puppy. He was strong, brave and valiant — stronger than Maedhros would ever be!

Apparently his outburst was all Mairon had been waiting for. “Hush hush,” he whispered, so closely to Maedhros' skin that he shivered, “do not fret so, when you have so clearly enjoyed yourself — are enjoying yourself still.” Such frantic excitement rang in the Maia’s voice, and morbid fascination flickered behind his gleeful eyes.

All that Maedhros wished for was to slap the arrogance off his tormentor’s face.

A laugh spilled past the Maia’s lips when his gaze travelled downwards, because despite the bitter reality, Maedhros' cock still stood proud between them. His body betrayed him yet again, and he hated himself for it.

“Get on with it, now will you?” ordered Mairon, and Maedhros wasn’t certain if he was challenging him to disobey the issued order. He did, however, and he did not move a single inch, but rather cast his gaze downwards onto the floor, much to the Maia’s dismay.

An icy grip was bestowed upon his chin then, and Maedhros had no other choice but to follow the Maia’s motion; he wished to fight, he wished to scream against the ruthless hold – no word ever left his lips as he stared paralyzed through his captor.

“You stupendous fool,” laughed the Maia, amusement flitting through his glooming eyes, “did you truly think sweet Findekáno would come and save you? You are alone, Maitimo. Nobody cares for you anymore. Not sweet Findekáno, not your forsaken brothers that now so proudly wear your crown, perhaps not even your mother, the woman you ungrateful sons have left behind for a foolish quest doomed to failure from the beginning. What did you think, Maitimo – that your father and all of your forsaken brethren could waltz into these lands and rob of us what is rightfully ours? I have always assumed that sanity did not run strong in your grandfather’s family–thank you for the final proof.”

Right into the face Maedhros' spat him then.

Anger hazed over Mairon’s eyes. “No manners,” he admonished. “Perhaps I shall teach you some? Maybe then you let me see what a slut you truly are?”

Before Maedhros could fully comprehend what was happening to him, Mairon sprang to his feet and violently flipped him over so that his chest and face crushed into the remains of what once had served as his dinner. The force of it sent objects flying down onto the cold floor, and behind him the Maia laughed cruelly, delighting in his futile struggle. Within seconds Mairon lunged at him with a curse, and impaled himself again in one fierce thrust, teeth sinking into the already scarred skin of his back.

Maedhros lifted his head — as much as he was allowed to, with pain flaring behind closed eyes whilst the Maia drove into him relentlessly.

There was more to this than simple humiliation, Maedhros thought as he tried to drown the pain that throbbed throughout his body; it was no secret that rough treatment and punishment was common in those halls, he had seen and experienced it countless times before, even if not in such a sexualized way. It wasn’t about sexual satisfaction, either, at least not entirely, and there was certainly more behind Mairon’s eagerness.

But about what was it, then?

He hadn’t used violence to force him, but deceit, and as much as he hated to admit it, Mairon’s disguise had been flawless, and so exquisitely he had fucked him.

The Maia’s mind was a scary place, a place Maedhros did not desire to delve into; yet he had opened his own mind to him when he had assumed it would be Fingon, had shared his best harbored secrets with him. Too overwhelming was the realization of how vulnerable he was —has become; too overwhelming the Maia’s breath against his neck, against his ear; too demandingly the keen fingers roamed across his skin as he ravished him.

Maedhros felt his stomach turn, and much to Mairon’s amusement he bucked.

“Maitimo. Do not struggle against what is rightfully mine to have… What you have enjoyed so greatly, I might add.” Honey-like words of vile tenderness disrupted the veil of silence, and much to Maedhros' dismay they left a shiver in their wake.

“Such sentiment falling from your lips, Mairon,” the voice which had been silent for so long spoke anew, softly and dripping like dew, and carefully Maedhros let his eyes wander towards where he assumed the Vala stood. He couldn’t actually see him, yet for the first time he actually felt his presence, the vibrating aura surrounding him, almost touching him as if he stood right beside him.

Apparently he was not the only one affected, as the Maia behind him went dead still, his cock twitching when Melkor first spoke. “You may find it odd, little one, but I find this caring side of you a rather wonderful diversion from your usual defiance.” (*)

For the first time in all the years Maedhros began to understand; it was his master’s praise Mairon was constantly after, the gratification he wished to receive through everything he had done, like a child yearning for the praise of the father.

Aye, of course Maedhros had suspected it, too, just as everybody else in the dungeons he had met so far, but now it was so clear what transpired between them, what the Maia’s charade was all about. Not that it mattered right now, or made any difference, but maybe – in time – it would; perhaps he could use it for his own advantage once the perfect moment arose.

He knew now, still he desired irrefutable proof from Morgoth’s vassal himself, knowing well that the Maia’s wrath, which was surely about to follow would be ruthless. “Say, Mairon,” Maedhros began, forcing a smile into his voice, “do you pretend it is he whom you fuck when in truth you only use the body of yet another thrall? Does it get you off?”

The response was instant as Mairon froze for mere seconds, hands twitching against Maedhros’ skin.

‘Apparently, yes.’

However, the Maia’s confusion lasted only a moment and with such brute force he yanked Maedhros' head backwards by the hair that a hiss of pain spilled past his lips. “I should have gagged you!” howled Mairon, slamming his captive’s head back onto the table. Upon the violent assault teeth broke, the broken bits mingling with blood and spit in his mouth.

Instead of lightening the grip around his neck, the Maia tightened it, and Maedhros found himself struggling for breath, coughing and spluttering.

Great delight the Maia found in his futile struggle for breath. “Not so eloquent anymore, now are you?” Mairon asked rhetorically, leaning forward.

To all the gods he didn’t trust in anymore, Maedhros prayed when consciousness seemed to start leaving him, those gods he had forsaken once he had stepped onto the blinding white ships, the gods that most likely had forsaken and forgotten him, too; yet to some extent he took delight into being able to pull such a reaction from the Maia, as his words had clearly hit the mark. Mairon’s sickening breath rasped in his ear, his tongue licked down his skin, and teasing fingers seemed to be dancing across every inch of his exposed skin — his arms, his shoulders, his buttocks.

Maedhros felt like crying, for such a display of affectionate intimacy cut deeper than any blade or whip ever could, and gladly he would endure yet another beating if only this would stop. The hands around his throat were gone all of a sudden, and again Maedhros gulped for air.

A hard thrust, and then another, and in response he cried out.

“Do you know how long I have desired to have you at my mercy?” whispered Mairon into his ear, warm breath dancing across his tender skin, “how long I have dreamt of fucking you as sweet Findekáno had — perhaps in your own father’s bed? Oh, what a pity it is that I may not introduce you to the divine arts of lust right now, diving into the sweetest plays of anguish.”(**)

Pain and hatred throbbed throughout Maedhros’ body, and if he would be able to, he would spit again into the Maia’s face, assault him physically. As it was, given his humiliating position, he simply couldn’t. Instead, he bit down hard onto his lower lip until the metallic taste of blood tickled his tongue, as mercilessly the Maia fucked him. He wouldn’t give them the gratification of crying out again — of begging for mercy when he already knew there was none. He would endure, as he always had; however, when Mairon slammed hard into him, a hiss of discomfort spilled past his bruised lips. Maedhros hated himself for it.

“Now, now, there is no need to restrain yourself,” chuckled the Maia above him, “let all those filthy words you’d whisper in your sweet cousin’s ear slip past your lips.”

He would not beg, would never beg as he knew all too well that every word would be spoken in vain — delightfully the Maia would laugh, and then he would resume fucking him so cruelly that blood would drip down his thighs.

“Fuck you,” spat Maedhros with all the strength that remained (which honestly was not very much, given the lack of sleep and the turmoil that raged within him). The Maia’s fingers knotted in his hair, sharply pulling at the strands, and the brute force of it made him tremble against Mairon’s grip, but he remained silent apart from his sigh of despair.

An ugly and utmost malicious laugh reached his ear, as great delight Mairon took in his suggestion. “Well — that is what I am doing, is it not? But since you beg so nicely, let me see what I can do to fulfill your not-so-silent plea.” Maedhros’ face twisted in an expression of agony, and he inhaled shakily when the Maia’s cock seemed to grow within him to a size he felt himself unable to cope with; he had sworn to himself to remain silent, but he could not. Whines and bitter curses gathered on his tongue, and before he knew that he had said anything they tumbled from his bruised lips.

“Lovely,” affirmed the Maia with such tenderness that Maedhros’ stomach turned. “Now scream for me.” And so Maedhros did as sharp fingernails dug into the skin of his back, which had not completely healed from past abuses. “Beg for me.”

‘Never beg,’ Fingon had once said, in days that seemed as far away as anything could ever be. ‘Do not cower before those who are not worth it. Fight, Maitimo, no matter how grave and hopeless the situation may seem.’

But how on earth should he fight against being raped by his worst enemy?

What other options did he have than to — endure?

Silent tears gathered in his eyes as the Maia pounded relentlessly inside him, moaning and grunting above him as he took his depraved pleasure from his abused body. So deep his sharp fingernails dug into Maedhros’ hips that an agonizing shriek ripped out of his throat.

Of Fingon he thought, of their first time together, of the gentleness the Maia did not seem capable of once he was in his true form, forcing himself to drown in pleasant memories whenever pain threatened to make him cry out aloud.

Without warning Mairon bit into his skin, right above the shoulder blade, his teeth sharp like razors, tearing at the delicate flesh, and for once Maedhros could not restrain the urge to cry out in agony, all the more when warm seed spurted into him, filled him so maliciously.

Maedhros felt like vomiting.

With a heavy sigh Mairon withdrew from him, slumping backwards in the chair. Before Maedhros could compose himself, heavy booted feet landed on the table right beside his head, as apparently the Maia put his feet up and lounged languidly, taking in the obscene sight with cum dripping from Maedhros’ exposed entrance, running down his trembling thighs. Maedhros did not dare to turn his head to steal a glance, and silently he wished that the ground would open and swallow him whole; all he wished for was to curl into a ball, secluded, protected from the dreadful place he was caught in. He didn’t have the chance to escape any further into his dreams as swiftly Mairon sprang to his feet behind him and sent his exhausted body flying onto the floor with a single movement.

Like a beetle on his back Maedhros struggled, every single fiber of his body aching from the violence bestowed upon him.

“Get him out of my sight already!” screeched Mairon as he wiped his hands on his breeches, barely able to restrain the urge to add a violent kick to the quivering body lying on the cold stones. Instantly, two heavily armed guards stepped out of the shadows, and with dread Maedhros realized they must have been watching the entire time.

Shame arose inside him anew.

“Oh Mairon,” a voice from above said, “I cannot help but wonder what filthy side the little ginger brought out of you, little one. Dare a guess how he may behave once caught between us?”

The last thing Maedhros saw when he was dragged out of the room was the radiant smile his master gave him.

**

 

 

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Chapter End Notes

(*) From the first time I have read Melkor naming Mairon ‘little one’ I became strangely attached to it, and therefore I blame once more theeventualwinner’s for this tiny addition.

(**) well .. I have very specific headcanons of what exactly Mairon likes to do with those at his mercy, and blood play is certainly the thing which gets him off most (and something which later on is deliberately used on poor Celebrimbor). However, as it is nowhere specifically stated in the prompt if it’s a YEAH or a NAY I refrained from writing it here as it’s certainly not everybody’s cup of tea.

[Inspiration for Sauron] – Well, I feel I have mixed a few inspirational sources together for my take on Mairon in this story to pay tribute to your ‘deception’ request (for which I went with disguise as form of deception because that’s the one canonically most likely); canonically, we know that he can change his appearance if it serves his purpose (he did so both in Númenor and Eregion), and during Maedhros’ captivity he should also been able to change his fána to his liking. And with these canonical facts, the traits of Loki (or the cunning tricksters in general) are twined. Also, Shadow of Mordor and Annatar’s flawless depiction with his golden eyes are ALWAYS a major inspiration source in writing Mairon.

[Disclaimer] – The elf (unfortunately) and the Ainur (fortunately) are not mine. They belong to J.R.R. Tolkien and Tolkien Estate – I just like to explore their lives a little further. No money is made from this story.

[General] - Feel free to contact me on tumblr: feanope