What nourishes me, destroys me by yletylyf

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Chapter one

Warnings for unnegotiated and undernegotiated kink, and ambiguous consent including voiced objections that are disregarded.

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"She's not here," Celebrimbor observed. He deflated in disappointment. He lowered the scroll that he had been ready to brandish at Galadriel with a flourish.

"Indeed," Annatar agreed, with perfect equanimity. The equanimity was layered on top of almost everything he said and did in Ost-in-Edhil, a careful shield and a centuries-old mask.

They left the doorway and stepped further into the room. The window was open and the evening air flowing in was warm and rich. The curtains fluttered in the breeze, and papers danced on top of the ornate desk at the side of the room.

But Galadriel's study was entirely devoid of her own presence.

"Is she avoiding us?" Celebrimbor asked, his nose screwing up adorably. "Did she anticipate what would happen tonight?"

"I can hardly see how," Annatar said, rotating in place to survey the entire study. A flask of wine set on a sideboard with two untouched goblets beside it. Other than that and the papers on the desk, there were no signs anyone regularly occupied this room; the bookshelves were dusty and there were no personal touches to the decor. "She has no allies among those who met tonight, we made sure of that."

The Celebrimbor of a hundred years ago would have shuffled uncomfortably at this open discussion of plotting against his own cousin, but the Celebrimbor of tonight was unfazed. He did not register an ounce of discomfort, merely annoyance.

"Perhaps she heard the news afterwards, and decided to leave before I could order her out," Celebrimbor suggested.

"A pity," Annatar said. Then he lowered his voice and dropped some of that artificial equanimity. "I was quite looking forward to watching you order her out."

He took a step towards Celebrimbor and gave him a meaningful look. And it was true; watching as Celebrimbor bloomed into exercising the power he was born into—his spine straight and his dark eyes flashing and shedding all fear of being himself—it had been exhilarating.

Celebrimbor flushed, very prettily. He recognized the look on Annatar's face all too well.

"Not here, angel," he said, licking his lips. His own voice had gone low and husky.

"Why not?" Annatar murmured, taking another few steps and closing the distance between them. He crowded into Celebrimbor's personal space and nosed at his neck, inhaling the scent of him. It was the smell of an animal that sensed a hunt was starting. "If I am to be deprived of the pleasure of watching you order Galadriel out of the city, I shall need... compensation."

Celebrimbor stepped away from Annatar, flushing even worse. He backed up. Annatar followed him. They engaged in this dance until Celebrimbor ran into the desk and had to stop.

"You know why not," Celebrimbor said, raising one hand to brace against Annatar's chest and maintain a small space between them. Celebrimbor still gripped in his other hand the scroll that they'd come in here to deliver to Galadriel. "This is not—this is my cousin's study, anyone could see—"

Celebrimbor's eyes darted to the open window, and Annatar laughed. The window, as they both knew, looked only into Galadriel's secluded and very private personal gardens.

"And what if they do?" Annatar challenged. He placed his hand over Celebrimbor's where it rested on his chest. "Are you ashamed of us? Of me?"

"Stop," Celebrimbor chided. "You know that isn't it. As if anyone like me could be ashamed of you. But it would be—ah, highly inappropriate for the brand-new Lord of Eregion to be caught in such a compromising position."

"There is nothing particularly compromising about this position," Annatar pointed out, tilting his head and giving Celebrimbor a crooked smile.

"Don't pretend we don't both know exactly what's on your mind," Celebrimbor said, returning the smile in that particular way he had, the smile that always made Annatar's heart beat a little faster.

"Very well," Annatar said, his own smile growing. "I won't pretend."

The idea of taking Celebrimbor in the personal study of his haughty cousin was incredibly exciting; the idea of being caught was even more so. The look on her face!

Annatar lunged forward, ducking under Celebrimbor's arm, hoisting him up, and throwing him flat on his back on the desk. Celebrimbor laughed, breathlessly and with a slight note of alarm. Galadriel's papers scattered everywhere. The ornate, official-looking scroll fell from Celebrimbor's hand and came to rest just on the edge of the desk.

"Angel," Celebrimbor tried again, his tone one of protest.

Annatar ignored him. He slid Celebrimbor's boots off his feet and placed them neatly on the ground. Then he climbed onto the desk on top of Celebrimbor, grabbing his hands and dragging them up over his head, to the edges of the desk.

Celebrimbor's arms were the arms of a smith, heavily muscled and well-formed and strong. Annatar's current shape was slender and delicate-looking in comparison, but there was simply no winning for an elf in a direct physical contest with a Maia. Celebrimbor knew it and did not bother with anything that could be called real resistance. He merely squirmed, and started breathing very hard, his face screwed up in a mixture of appreciation and apprehension for what he knew was coming.

Annatar dug into Celebrimbor's spirit in the places where he was touching his skin. He traced its invisible paths with his hands, massaging it under his thumbs, and then with a deep breath, pinned it in place. A necromancer's power was over the fëa, not the hröa, and Celebrimbor could have broken the bonds if he found the place where his hröa had mastery over his fëa—but he never tried.

"You are so filthy," Celebrimbor murmured, taking deep breaths as he settled into the bonds Annatar laid on his fëa. "You cannot do this here, Galadriel will—"

Annatar lowered his face to Celebrimbor's and kissed him long and thoroughly, shutting him up in the most effective way he had. He nibbled on Celebrimbor's lips and tasted his tongue and pressed hard; he withdrew only after Celebrimbor started eagerly returning the kiss.

They broke apart, both slightly breathless, and stared at each other for a silent moment.

Celebrimbor groaned. "Stop trying to distract me! Galadriel will throw an absolute fit, Annatar," he said, getting the words out in a hurry before Annatar could kiss him again.

"Mmm," Annatar said, lifting himself up on his elbows. He ran his hands through Celebrimbor's hair, undoing the braided strands of silver that held the plaits into place. He pulled them out and let the dark, silky strands fan out around Celebrimbor's head. The sight, as it always did, took Annatar's breath away. He looked like a gift, a sacrifice, an absolution for the unworthy. Annatar's penance and his savior.

He said none of this. It was too private, for now, to share with even this beloved creature.

"Throw a fit over what, the sex on her desk or the necromancy?" he asked instead.

Annatar's fingers moved to swiftly untie the laces on Celebrimbor's shirt, and they brushed against the bare skin of his chest. Celebrimbor's skin felt warm and sweaty. Celebrimbor gasped and tried to pull away.

"Don't say that word," Celebrimbor protested, shocked. "And your fingers are freezing!"

The cold fingers were an unavoidable side-effect of the necromancy. Annatar withdrew the fingers and used his lips instead, pressing them to the skin he'd revealed of Celebrimbor's stomach, lingering over places where the contact made Celebrimbor squirm delightfully.

"Is it a bad word?" Annatar asked, slightly mockingly.

Celebrimbor was right in one sense—it was absurdly, dangerously revealing of Annatar to use that word. In Sindarin, 'necromancy' was by definition a black and evil art, or at least had been ever since the Sindar encountered Morgoth. But the hypocrisy stank.

"Shall we ask Mandos what he would call his messing around with fëar and hröar?" Annatar demanded.

"Stop," Celebrimbor gasped, "that's not funny—"

Annatar moved lower until he was mouthing over the front of Celebrimbor's trousers, which were sporting a very telling bulge just below the waistline. Celebrimbor gasped and thrust his hips against Annatar's mouth, striving for more contact.

"But you find it so very arousing," Annatar murmured, taking more of the bulge into his mouth and lightly pressing his teeth against it, through the trousers.

Celebrimbor yelped, and his trousers strained further against the growing bulge. "Ungh," he said, breathless and clearly becoming distracted.

Annatar removed his mouth and replaced it with his fingers, undoing the laces of the trousers. He made swift work of it, then dragged the trousers and underpants off Celebrimbor's legs without further ceremony. He shoved Celebrimbor's legs apart, prying him open and revealing everything from the stiff prick nestled in his dark curls to the pink hole just below it.

Annatar's own cock went full and hard at the sight. He felt momentarily dizzy, overwhelmed by the beauty of Celebrimbor's perfect body, its shapeliness, its array of possibilities that excited and aroused Annatar like nothing had ever done quite this thoroughly before.

"You're so gorgeous," Annatar moaned. His fingers trailed down Celebrimbor's legs to his ankles. He lifted the legs until Celebrimbor's knees were bent and his feet were planted flat on the desk, spread apart and opening him up even further. "So beautiful, you make me wild for you, you utterly undo me."

He tightened his grasp and felt sideways through the physical world, until he was holding Celebrimbor's fëa beneath his fingers. With a slight grimace—no one ever said necromancy was easy—Annatar pinned his ankles into place, matching the restraints on his wrists.

A shudder passed through Celebrimbor's entire body as Annatar released his hold on the fëa.

"Angel," Celebrimbor said, sounding hoarse and thoroughly dismayed. He struggled against the bonds, but all he managed was lifting his hips up off the desk; his feet did not budge. "I said no, not here, we can't—"

Annatar eased himself off the desk and sank to his knees on the floor. He splayed his elbows out flat on the desk for balance and leaned forward, darting his tongue out and licking Celebrimbor from just above his hole to his bollocks. Celebrimbor broke off whatever he had been about to say and gave a gasping, delighted moan.

"Please," Celebrimbor ground out. "Please, Annatar!"

"Please what?" Annatar said, breathing the words into his skin. He briefly and gently sucked on Celebrimbor's balls and then moved to lick the length of the shaft.

Celebrimbor let out another incoherent noise. Annatar could feel the muscles in his thighs trembling.

"Do you want me to release you," Annatar began, pausing this speech briefly to tease with his tongue along the tip of Celebrimbor's shaft, "or fuck you? You'll have to clarify."

Annatar pulled away, out of Celebrimbor's reach. He raised his head and deliberately licked his lips.

Celebrimbor thrust up, chasing Annatar's mouth, but found only air. "Morgoth's fires," Celebrimbor cursed.

It really, really turned Annatar on when Celebrimbor cursed in Morgoth's name during sex, for reasons Annatar had never tried to examine. Heat pooled in him and he nudged against Celebrimbor's mind, seeking to convey exactly how desperate he was for Celebrimbor right now.

"I want you to fuck me," Celebrimbor panted. He was sweating and his limbs were trembling as he pulled against the restraints, his eyes pleading and limpid against the dark pool of his hair. "Fuck me, Annatar!"

"With pleasure," Annatar purred. He dipped his head and took Celebrimbor in his mouth. Celebrimbor instantly thrust his hips into Annatar's mouth, greedy and eager, gasping with ragged breaths. He finally opened his mind, and feelings and emotions that were not his flooded Annatar. Celebrimbor was equally desperate for Annatar, wanton and unholy and unraveling, devotedly and passionately in love, thinking of nothing else; the way Annatar liked him best.

Annatar rubbed a hand along Celebrimbor's balls and the strip of skin behind them, then traced the rim of his hole. He took as much as Celebrimbor in his mouth as possible. He savored the feel and the taste of him; he relished in how completely undone Celebrimbor looked as he focused all that he was and all that he wanted on Annatar. He let their minds meld, and Annatar opened up his own heart into the connection. He felt that his entire existence was all a prelude to this moment, with his beloved, sharing everything that was his.

(Nearly everything, anyway. Annatar carefully kept that thought buried where Celebrimbor could not find it.)

Celebrimbor was close; Annatar could feel it. The rhythm changed nearly imperceptibly, building to a climax, and the shuddering of the body underneath him became more pronounced.

Then Celebrimbor let out a decidedly undignified shriek that had nothing at all to do with an orgasm. His mind slammed shut and he tried to wrench himself away from Annatar.

Restrained as he was, it didn't work, but Annatar got the hint and eased away from Celebrimbor. He looked up, saw that Celebrimbor was looking to the side, and followed his glance to find—

Ah.

Galadriel, Lady of the Noldor, formerly ruler of Ost-in-Edhil, had entered the room.

It was her room, of course.

Annatar and Celebrimbor must have presented an ungainly sight—Celebrimbor with his shirt half open, his trousers on the floor, pinned to the desk like an insect. Annatar's clothes were not terribly out of place, but otherwise he was hardly much better; half-kneeling and half-crouched on the floor, braced against the desk, chin dripping with saliva.

The expression on Galadriel's face was nothing like it had been in Annatar's imaginings. It was perfectly composed and tranquil. Her beautiful golden hair was unbound, spreading over her shoulders in cascades; she glittered with jewelry and wore silver-white robes without a crease or a fold out of place.

"Do not stop on my account," she said to Annatar when she saw him staring. She sounded perfectly unruffled.

Annatar drew his sleeve across his chin to wipe it off. He started to stand, and Celebrimbor hissed something he couldn't quite make out.

"I said," Galadriel enunciated with quiet precision, "not to stop."

She strode forward, placed a hand on Annatar's shoulder to shove him back down onto his knees, and settled herself—with every appearance of perfect comfort—on the desk, exactly where Annatar had just had his face: in between Celebrimbor's bare legs and exposed cock. Almost lazily, she rested her arms on Celebrimbor's knees, kicked her slippers off, and then spread her own legs wide, the fabric of her robes straining across the gap. She faced Annatar squarely and raised one perfectly-groomed eyebrow.

Annatar drew in a sharp breath. Celebrimbor hissed something again, only this time directed at Galadriel—Annatar heard her name and the intonation was a question.

"As you are on my desk, in my study, I am left to interpret it as an invitation," Galadriel responded to whatever Celebrimbor had said, her voice smooth and self-assured.

It did not take a genius (although Annatar of course was a genius) to figure out what she was alluding to.

"Are you not married?" Annatar said, quirking an eyebrow of his own. He made no move to either rise, or to draw closer to her.

"My husband and I are in perfect agreement on this," Galadriel said, her lips finally breaking their imitation of hard marble and quirking into a sardonic smile. "Why? Did you think we listened to the will of the Valar on this matter and yet no other?"

"It is the act of bodily union that achieves marriage," Annatar quoted sarcastically, a peculiar feeling coming over him. Was he feeling a... kinship with Galadriel right now? "The Eldar are seldom swayed by the desires of the body only, but are by nature continent and steadfast."

Galadriel's smile grew sharp and unkind as he quoted these passages. The light in her eyes was angry and almost feral.

Amazing. Celebrimbor had been right, after all: it was Galadriel's dislike for the Valar that was the root of her problem with Annatar Aulendil, and nothing in particular that Annatar had done.

How incredibly, hilariously ironic. The impulse rose in him, swift and nearly overwhelming, to confide in her that he hated them too, that he had fled them and defied them at every turn for uncounted years, thousands and thousands of them—and then he just as quickly boxed up that impulse and stuffed it down deep into the darkness of his soul.

"To behave otherwise comes from the marring of Arda, and from the Shadow under which the Eldar awoke," Galadriel recited in a grave, displeased voice. "Is that what you hold?"

Celebrimbor made a distressed sound. "Galadriel," he said, perfectly clearly, the inarticulate hissing gone. "Please do not do this—"

"Not in the slightest," Annatar interrupted Celebrimbor with a laugh, and raised his hands to rest lightly on the desk before Galadriel. "Not in the slightest, my lady. You are as the One made you; Morgoth has nothing to do with it. If I can please you, in a manner you and your husband consider appropriate within your marriage, be assured that I shall. I cannot see how it is anyone else's business."

Galadriel's smile grew sharper. "I believe we may actually agree on something."

She hitched up her robe. She uncovered smooth, unblemished skin; perfection. Enticingly, her movements slow and deliberate, she continued to draw the fabric up until she revealed that she wore no underpants, and the curls between her thighs were as golden and perfect as those on her head.

Annatar's mouth watered at the sight. It was somewhat unbelievable that he was here, kneeling in front of her, on this night of all nights, but he—

Oh, Valar help him, Galadriel was extremely attractive. Why was it his lot to be so strongly attracted to his enemies?

Galadriel smirked at Annatar as though she knew exactly what he was thinking. Galadriel left her robe bunched up at her waist, and trailed her fingers up and down Celebrimbor's legs, as graceful and elegant as the rest of her movements.

Celebrimbor whimpered something incoherent, and struggled a little against the bonds on his fëa.

Annatar felt something that might have been the twinge of guilt. He moved to touch Celebrimbor's ankles, but then someone else's hand fell on top of his.

"No," Galadriel said. "You will not release him until I am done with both you."

"Fuck," breathed Celebrimbor.

Her tone was imperious and arrogant, and Annatar thought he oughtn't allow it. He and Celebrimbor had come in here in order to tell her she was ejected from the city, after all. But she was staring down at Annatar with those bright, piercing eyes, and he found he wanted to do as she commanded. He ached with wanting it.

Annatar removed his hand from Celebrimbor's ankle. "As you wish, my lady. Would you like my tongue?"

He dared a lot without asking when it came to Celebrimbor, but Galadriel was as shifting sands beneath his feet, and he did not wish to make a misstep. Not in this shape, not here and now.

"I would," she said, her eyes sparkling as her smirk grew. "You owe me this much, don't you think?"

Annatar placed his hands on her legs, trailing his fingers along the smooth skin that was only slightly warm to the touch. He leaned in and rested his cheek on the inside of her thigh, breathing in the scent of her. He turned and pressed small, nearly chaste kisses on the skin, gradually moving inward until he reached the golden curls.

He hesitated, and she nudged herself forward ever so slightly.

He swallowed hard, wondering at his own daring, then darted out his tongue and explored her. She was wet, very wet; and she smelled and tasted of sex. He could feel all her muscles vibrating under him, and a fuzzy warmth settled into his entire body. He lost himself in it, taking care to be gentle, licking and sucking and tasting it all.

She gasped and made delightful little noises, so feminine and soft, so different from Celebrimbor but so enticing. Annatar realized he was hard again, that exciting Galadriel excited him. His hand left her thigh, fumbled with the laces of his trousers, and he pulled out his cock.

"No," Galadriel said, her voice strong and clear. "Both of you will wait on me." She pinched Celebrimbor's leg as she said this, and her foot swung out and kicked at Annatar's hand.

"As you wish," Annatar murmured against her curls. His cock grew even stiffer at this order, at the commandment, at how perfectly in control and confident she was. He took his hand and placed it back on her leg, gripping it firmly, and bent back to his task.

"More," she urged, and he increased the pressure of his tongue, pressing hard in addition to sucking, and she gave a little sigh. Astonishingly, her mind drifted open to his, ever so slightly, offering up surface feelings. He accepted it, offering his in return, and she took him with her as pressure built up in her, she ground hard against him, and the storm unleashed. Waves of pleasure broke and washed over her, everything shuddering with a quiet delight, vibrating pleasantly through her as it calmed.

It was not quite like his own orgasms, but it was splendid. It made his own need ache all the more sharply. He dared to bring this to the surface of his own emotions and share it through the open connection with Galadriel.

She laughed, a deep and pleasant laughter. Then she twisted, tucking her legs underneath her, and faced Celebrimbor instead. Annatar let go of her legs and settled down with his knees folded under him. He did not touch himself.

"Cousin," Galadriel murmured, her voice languid and slow. "You've been so good and so patient. You're so good at this."

Galadriel put her mouth on Celebrimbor's cock to finish what Annatar had started. Celebrimbor gave a soft gasp and arched into her touch. At the same time, she brought Celebrimbor into their óswanë, mingling their minds and feelings together until it wasn't clear where anyone's thoughts began and where others ended. Celebrimbor was grinding into Galadriel; he was aching with need but so was Annatar, and it was impossible to tell which was which. Annatar felt it keenly as Celebrimbor shuddered and whimpered, coming into Galadriel's mouth and crying at the long-delayed release.

Galadriel abruptly closed the mental connection. It was something of a shock to come back to his own self and find himself hard and aching, with no physical release.

Galadriel used Celebrimbor's shirt to wipe off her mouth and chin. Her movements were as polished and graceful as ever. She lifted herself up on one hand, then looked back at Annatar with a very grave expression.

"You, I think, are Celebrimbor's problem," she said to Annatar, her tone light and pleasant. Whether she meant his erection or just... him in general, he could not say.

She brushed her fingers against Celebrimbor's ankles, making contact with the bonds on the fëa. "There is something very wrong with you," she added, in the exact same tone. She very clearly understood exactly what Annatar had done, and there was only one of the Ainur likely to have taught her such things. The hypocrisy.

She reached for the scroll that Annatar and Celebrimbor had originally come in here to deliver to her. The scroll with the news that the council of Ost-in-Edhil had chosen Celebrimbor for their ruler, and recommended Galadriel step down. She took the scroll but did not open and read it.

Nonetheless, she appeared to know what it said.

"I am not entirely displeased at the occasion to put some distance in between us."

There were a lot of things Annatar could have said to that. But the your dear Melian clearly showed you such things—but your cousin likes it—but I just gave you a very good orgasm and I would do it again—

"We will meet again," he said instead, with perfect certainty. It was a promise, or a threat, depending on how she behaved herself in the future. He kept his hands very still on his thighs.

"Galadriel," Celebrimbor groaned. "Annatar. Be nice."

"Hmm," she said. She swung her legs around, rose to her feet, and tugged her robe back into place until it was perfect and no evidence could be seen of their activities. She slid the shoes back on. "Good luck with him, cousin."

And on that note, she glided out her study looking exactly as serene as ever.

Annatar took a deep breath, not sure whether he wanted to laugh or scream. He reached up and used the desk to haul himself to his feet. He felt a little dizzy. That final exchange with Galadriel had not softened his erection at all—possibly made it worse—and it was starting to get uncomfortably urgent. His trousers were still hanging open, awkwardly and untidily.

"Oh, my love," Annatar said to Celebrimbor, his voice a little shakier than it had been when speaking to Galadriel. "I can't decide if that was a terrific or a horrific idea."

He moved his hands slowly along the fëa bonds and released them, at Celebrimbor's ankles and then his wrists. He felt a chill pass over him again, and Celebrimbor shuddered under a similar one. Celebrimbor sat up, stretched out his legs, and shook out his wrists. He put his hands on Annatar's waist and turned him around and pulled him in close, until Annatar was sitting on the desk in Celebrimbor's lap, his back cradled into Celebrimbor's chest.

Celebrimbor took Annatar's cock firmly in his strong, calloused, beautiful hand. Annatar was leaking enough to make smooth work of it. Celebrimbor firmly and swiftly stroked Annatar up and down, lingering at the base in the way he knew Annatar liked best, and Annatar grunted and pushed against him and shuddered and finally came, all over Celebrimbor's hand and his own thigh.

He sighed softly after the orgasm shuddered itself out, and did not fight the limpness of his body or the feeling of peace that stole over him. He leaned into Celebrimbor and let himself relax completely.

Celebrimbor wiped his hand off on his own shit, then wrapped his arms around Annatar's chest. He kissed the top of his hair, tenderly and sweetly, as though Annatar were something precious.

"You liked it enough to consider asking her to stay, didn’t you?" Celebrimbor asked, not trying to hide his amusement.

"You know me too well," Annatar sighed. "But it's your decision, my lord of Eregion, not mine. Besides, she... I don't think she likes me."

Celebrimbor kissed his hair again. "She doesn't," he agreed. "But you could work on that a little better than you have been."

Annatar laughed. "There was a time I believed I could make anyone like me, under any circumstances."

And it was true, or had been for a time, in the far distant past. But perhaps he should not have tried so hard to make Melkor like him. It had worked, and that had been the root of all of Annatar's problems for the rest of time.

"Galadriel has clearly already heard of the council's choice," Celebrimbor said with a sigh. "And she—sharing a bed with her wouldn't solve that we disagree with everything she wants to do and she disagrees with everything we want to do with the city."

"I suppose not," Annatar said.

Celebrimbor laughed, the sound reverberating pleasantly through Annatar's skin. "You're thinking about it anyway. I can tell."

"A problem for tomorrow," Annatar said, closing his eyes and sinking deeper into Celebrimbor's hold.

"Whatever we decide, we'll decide it together," Celebrimbor promised, his voice soft and velvety.

"Together," Annatar agreed.

They would do everything together, because Annatar was never letting Celebrimbor go.