Dreaming by tinni

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Dreaming

 

The cold air scratched his bare skin and forced him to shiver. Shivering due to the cold… a new sensation for elves did not shudder save in the bitterest cold and never till this moment had he experience cold that could make him shiver. The cold did do one good thing however, it brought Fëanaro to full consciousness. At once confusion set in. Where was he? What was he doing here? What was he doing here naked?

Though his body felt like lead Fëanaro forced himself to get up. It was as black as the caverns of a mine that had never seen light. Even his eyes, accustomed to the dark concaves of the bowels of the earth, could not penetrate the dark. Yet he needed no light to tell him that his room was unfamiliar to him and this bed, this overly large bed with its silk sheet and thick pillows was not his own. Where was he?

“You are in my home, spirit of fire,” came a voice, seductively sweet but laced with dark overtures.

“Melkor!” hissed Fëanaro, “Why have you brought me here? And brought me you must have since I would never enter your house willingly.”

Melkor chuckled, “I have brought you here to taste you.”

Before Fëanaro’s sheltered mind could comprehend what was being said to him he felt strong hands trap him against a hard body and powerful lips claim his. Fëanaro let out an angry shriek that was swallowed by Melkor and further more the opening allowed Melkor’s tongue to slip into the his mouth. Fëanaro tried to pull away, tried to keep his tongue from being touched by Melkor’s forked tongue. But his efforts were in vain. Soon Melkor was tasting and touching every inch of mouth.

Breathing became difficult and Fëanaro was on the brink of passing out when Melkor broke the kiss. “What do you think you are doing?” Fëanaro demanded.

Melkor smirked, “As I said, tasting you and I intend to do more… tasting.”

“NO!” screamed Fëanaro, “I won’t allow it.”

Though he could not see it, he could feel Melkor’s lips curl up in a smile, “You do not have a choice, son of Finwë.”

A strange kind of paralysis came over Fëanaro. His limbs lost all feeling but his sense became heightened. He tried to speak but nothing came out of his mouth. Panic rose within him as he felt himself pushed back on the bed. “I am going to enjoy this,” Morgoth whispered.

 

He wanted to scream, he want to fight this violation, he wanted to leave this hroä that was being touched, kissed and licked by the lust filled Ainur, but he could do nothing for not only was his hroä paralysed but so was his fëa. All he could do was accept Melkor’s base desires being taken out on his helpless fëa and paralysed hroä. A sharp pain on the side of his neck informed him that Melkor had biten him, no doubt it would leave a mark. A visible mark to accompany the emotional and physical ones that were about to be inflicted on him, this was a nightmare.

“For you maybe,” said Melkor with a chuckled, “but not for me. For me it is a dream come true.”

Suddenly he felt his thighs get forcefully parted with both hands and in one brutal move a broad pulsating column of burning flesh was inside of him. The pain, the pain was unbearable. No word had yet been invented in Quenya that could come near to the pain that flared up inside of him. If he could scream than it would have been heard all over Valinor. If he could flee, he would now be in Mandos, safe in the comforting arms of his mother. But he could do neither, he could only accept, like a dead, lifeless thing. The creature taking him was too heavy, the thing inside of him was too big, too much and yet it was pounding into him, mercilessly.

“This is not enough.” He heard Melkor say in frustration. Roughly he was pulled up and crushed against the chest of his capture. The lips were back assailing his as he was roughly bounced on the lap in a cruel mockery of a child on his father’s lap.

Burning, pounding and causing agonising pain, “Mine, my spirit of fire, my jewel smith, I come for you.” Seeds as hot as molten metal burned throw his nether passage, scalding and burning his inside, “I want to here you scream.” And Fëanaro screamed.

 

Fëanaro jerked awake shaking like a leaf, cold sweat running down his body. The door to his room was thrown open as seven pairs of worried eyes fixed on him, “Atarinya!” cried Maitimo, who was foremost of his brothers, “Are you alright? We heard you scream.”

“I am fine.” Said Fëanaro assured him. “I do not like sleeping without your mother.”

His sons grinned, “Do not worry! She will be back from Aulë’s court soon enough,” said Maitime.

“I know,” said Fëanaro as he gazed out of the window, watching the slow mingling of the light of the two trees.

“We can stay with you if you want,” offered the Ambarussa.

Fëanaro laughed, “Thank you but no. I will be fine.” His sons nodded and started leave.

“By the way Atar,” asked Kanafinwë, “where did you get that bite mark?”

Chapter End Notes

Author's note: I wrote this a long time ago as a gift for a friend. Never published it till now. However, I did expand on the idea being touched here in my fic Captive. So why did I finally decide to publish this? Well... reading back on it, I thought well why not! It's kind of interesting.

Disclaimer: The characters belong to JRR Tolkien and/or his estate. I intend no profit from this, just having fun.

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