Burning Jealousy by Cirilla9

Chapter 1

Inspired by: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1097845/chapters/2209002

Read Chapter 1

The body in his arms trashed, nearly breaking out of his grip. Mairon snarled and twisted the elf’s arms vindictively backward. The Noldo’s back arched as his joints were nearly pulled out of sockets. The Firstborn made an indignant sound behind the gag.

 

 

 

- Careful, we don’t want to damage him, - chided Melkor.

 

 

 

His master stood at the other side of the elf, petting the bare expand of his chest. He had the elf speared on his cock, buried to the hilt in the quivering body. Mairon prevented himself from pointing out that if someone was damaging the elf here, it was Melkor.

 

 

 

His master played with the elf’s nipples now, stroking them and pinching in turns, observing the reactions of the flesh carefully, enjoying himself as a wolf pup would with the first prey. The smirk didn’t leave his mouth for a second. The elf, for his part, Sauron’s presence behind him preventing any escape, panted through his nose as a captured wild horse, seething with anger.

 

 

 

Melkor moved his hips and Noldo’s angry breath faltered at that, turning into pained gasps instead. Melkor shoved in again, this time keeping his action more prolonged. Sauron didn’t see the elf’s eyes though by now the intrinsic anger in them must have been fighting for the first place with the pain, which surely showed in them as it flooded Fëanor’s whole body, starting at the point of physical contact between him and Melkor. Sauron felt all other signs for it: the muscles in his grip tensed with each Mellor’s thrust, shivers wracked his body, sweat covered the skin.

 

 

 

The knowledge that the Noldo was not taking any pleasure from it did little to soothe Sauron’s ire.  The elf could arouse his master with his presence only, make him hard and wanting and obsessed with lust while not even consciously attempting it. The ungrateful rat couldn’t even appreciate it of course, he kept struggling to wrench himself free instead of taking it humbly, enduring as he should what Melkor chose to give him.

 

 

 

Sauron adjusted his grip to keep Fëanor more steadily in place as Melkor’s powerful thrusts shook the elf to the core. He fought with himself to use the right amount of strength, to not let his fingers dig into the elf’s skin, leaving bloody holes, despite how much he wanted to do it. Oh how much he longed to teach the elf his place, to show him what real pain was. After he’d finished with him, the elf would not whine anymore under Melkor treating him this gently.

 

 

 

Melkor’s shoves fell into the maddeningly familiar rhythm and the elf still struggled, though weaker now, exhausted by his pointless resistance. Sauron felt endlessly frustrating mix of rage and disdain toward the Noldo. It should be him at Fëanor’s place, him, who would pleasure his master properly, who could give his master what he wanted, who could serve him as he needed.

 

 

 

The weak pathetic elf just kept trembling, gasping and bleeding around his master’s cock. His limited incarnate body would need time to recover after this. What a feeble, decrepit-

 

 

 

- You look beautiful, - his master’s hoarse voice snapped him out of his reverie and he directed his eyes from staring daggers at the elf’s scruff to look at Melkor, the anger still twisting his admirable features.

 

 

 

Melkor leaned forward, still buried in the elf who jerked feebly as Vala’s length shifted inside him into a different angle. Sauron, annoyed, hauled him back into the previous stance.

 

 

 

- Both of you. You, Mairon, with your anger, - Melkor’s dark blazing eyes locked on Sauron’s before sliding to the side, - and you in pain…

 

 

 

Melkor whispered it seductively and Sauron felt Fëanor wheezing in more air as if to say some riposte, forgetting of the cloth gagging him, but his efforts went to waste when Melkor thrust into him, pushing all air out of his lungs.

 

 

 

- In so much pain… pain that I have given you.

 

 

 

Melkor emphasized his words with the movements of his hips and Fëanor whimpered again. Sauron, deeply displeased felt all his previous disapproval coming back in place keenly and nesting in his guts, showing on his face that twisted into a grimace of loathing once more.

 

 

 

Melkor's face was so close to Fëanor’s now, Sauron knew his master must be feeling the elf’s ragged breath coming out from behind the wet gag.

 

 

 

For one terrible moment Sauron thought Melkor was about to kiss Fëanor, straight on the gagged lips or at the sweated temple, but then his master’s burned fingers were on his own chin, tipping it up and the next moment Melkor covered his lips with his own.

 

 

 

Sauron tilted his head backward, opened his mouth eagerly and made the approving sound. Melkor’s tongue invaded his mouth, kissing him bruisingly, hungrily, devouring him in a rush of lust as his hips moved quicker, more irregular. Sauron barely heard the elf’s renewed whines but he was all too much aware of his lean body pressed between himself and Melkor.

 

 

 

His master’s movements were so recognizable, his lips upon his own, his tongue robbing him out of breath, his loins snapping fiercely toward the nigh end – yet the elf was ruining it, being the one from whom Melkor took the most important part to satiate his lust. Sauron couldn’t even clung to his master because of the inconvenient barrier.

 

 

 

He moaned as Melkor bit down on his lower lip, drawing blood and at the same time Sauron felt his master trembling from release. Fëanor tried to wrench free and Sauron grabbed him even tighter, stilling him in place so he wouldn’t spoil his master’s peak, as Melkor was coming into him with few last jerking thrusts.

 

 

 

Melkor licked the blood from Sauron’s lips, slowly, less passionately than before, breathing heavily after exertion and Sauron could even pretend, for the shortest second that it was just the two of them.

 

 

 

But the moment of weakness passed quickly and Melkor withdrew from him and from the elf as well, sliding off him without much consideration. The useless Noldo hung in Sauron’s arms like a rag doll, his legs not supporting his weight anymore.

 

 

 

Sauron felt all the frustration hitting him again in a blitz.