Beautiful Gift by ohboromir

Beautiful Gift

Read Beautiful Gift

“Are you sure about this, Annatar?”

The Lord of Gifts. Well, Annatar truly looks like a gift now, on his knees. Waves of opalescent hair fall down Annatar’s back like a river of starlight, framing his elegant face. Pristine, untouched, not a hair out of place; but Celebrimbor knows it is only a facade. For all his innocent smiles and wide-eyed looks in public, behind the closed doors of Celebrimbor’s chambers Annatar is a fiend. He is more demanding than any elf Celebrimbor had ever met, desperate for Celebrimbor’s attention every night, even after long hours in the forge or the council room.

The harness wraps around his chest, a stark crimson line from the leather collar around his neck to his hips, where it fastened behind his back with a golden buckle. His wrists are bound together in a similar way, the same dyed leather - Annatar always insists on the red, claiming it looked best on him - holding them in place by the small of his back. As many times as he had seen it, it always takes Celebrimbor's breath away.

"I am always sure. You always ask, my star." Annatar's laugh is thick and sweet as honey. He licks those perfect lips, stained silver with makeup. Or at least Celebrimbor assumes it is makeup. It occurs to him that he had never seen Annatar get ready in the morning. A question for another time.

Celebrimbor smiles to himself as he runs the crop over Annatar’s skin. It is especially made for his purpose, only the finest leather for the Lord of Eregion, and he loves the marks it leaves on Annatar’s skin. The sense of power makes Celebrimbor’s blood rush, thick and heady. The feeling is even more intoxicating with Annatar; he has one of the ainur, all at his mercy.

The first swing of the crop made Annatar hiss, the red print blooming on the bare skin of his thighs. He bore the next ten, fifteen, twenty in silence, the expression of pained bliss on his face undeniable. Celebrimbor had a strong arm that served him just as well here as it did in the forge.

Annatar craves the burn, the pain, the ache that it left in his fana. A taste of mortality, he calls it. Celebrimbor could deny him nothing.

As the crop drops to the floor beside him, Annatar groans softly, and Celebrimbor takes the chance to watch him again. The soft rise and fall of his breasts; small and round, with flushed nipples, and they felt smaller still in Celebrimbor's large hands. His skin was warm with desire, and Celebrimbor let one hand follow the path of the harness, the rough calluses of his fingers sparking fresh gasps from his dearest maia. All this beauty and perfection, and he alone is allowed to mar it.

His hand sinks to his navel, then further to the fine, pale curls between his legs. Annatar is already dripping for him. He dips a finger into his folds, teasing his hole and listening to the gasp that escapes those silvery lips.

Annatar is desire incarnate. Celebrimbor cups his left breast easily in his hand, squeezing gently, rolling his thumb over his nipple until it is hard and then pinching it to watch Annatar squirm. At the same time he sinks a finger into him and feels his hot cunt clench around him. It sends a bolt of fire through him to know that later he will bury his cock in the irresistible heat of the man he loves.

But this moment is for Annatar.

He crooks his finger inside him and adds another, earning him a sweet sigh. Stretching his fingers, he feels Annatar writhe against the bindings. He knows Annatar is, despite the slender form he choses, stronger than him, and stronger than a little gold buckle. But Annatar knows the rules of the game. It's his game; to play at powerlessness. Celebrimbor sinks his teeth into the soft flesh of Annatar’s breast at the same time as he rubs a circle over his clit with his thumb, and the reward is the most divine sound: his name, spilling like molten silver from Annatar’s lips.

"More…"

"Are you in any position to demand, Aulendil?" Celebrimbor answers in the firm tone of a teacher, mocking.

Those golden eyes flicker open and fix him with an inscrutable gaze. Even in the deep throes of lust, there is something unknowable about Annatar. Annatar smiles after a moment and laughter flashes in his eyes, but Celebrimbor does not know what he finds so funny.

"More, please, Celebrimbor."

Celebrimbor relents. He leans down again to flick his tongue against Annatar’s other nipple, and licks a stripe down to his navel, making him shiver. Finally he has his prize before; he circles Annatar’s clit with his tongue, listening to the breathy sigh that follows.

But he is not all gentleness and nor would Annatar wish him to be.

There is no mercy in his actions now.

He suckles his clit, laps at his sweet folds, presses a third finger inside him and rubs at his inner walls, all while Annatar is helpless to direct him as he usually likes. Annatar’s pleas are magnificent. He curls his fingers at a new angle and finds just the perfect spot, as Annatar gushes and whines, hips lifting off the bed. Annatar comes with a sound so divine Celebrimbor thinks he must be within the Music itself.

And then Annatar falls back, boneless and Celebrimbor sits back on his haunches, licking his fingers and chin clean with a smug, curling grin.

“Beautiful.”

Annatar has his eyes closed, but he smiles. Laughs his familiar laugh, as twinkling as the bells of the city.

“I know. Now come here and unbuckle me, so I can have my revenge on you.”