Wax by ohboromir

Wax

Angband.

“Now, my lord, you must keep still.”

Melkor was not entirely certain how he had gotten himself into this situation. No, that was not true. He knew what he had said; he had complained to Mairon of some inconsequential matter, and the Lieutenant had responded sharply that he needed to learn some patience. And of course, he had not been able to hold his tongue, and he had demanded that Mairon teach him.

He should have known that this was his maia’s plan all along.

Mairon finished the lasting binding and stepped back to admire his work. Melkor felt rather like one of his experiments on the lab table; naked, limbs spread wide, hands and feet bound to the bedposts. Mairon had taken tender care to use silk ties, cautious of his burnt hands and wounded foot. The maia’s sharp gaze roamed over him, the fire of lust in his eyes. But as always, Mairon was restrained, calm, as he turned away to fetch something from his desk.

“I fail to see how this will teach me anything but frustration, Lieutenant.” He knew how the title stroked Mairon’s ego, and the maia’s eyes flashed as he turned back to him, the candle in his hand. Melkor’s eyes widened.

“Mairon -”

Mairon hushed him and smiled, leaning over. In his hand, the wax began to heat, slowly dripping over his fingers. His smile turned serious, lips pouted in concentration, as the wax painted a delicate web over Melkor’s skin. Working slowly, he traced a pattern down each limb, beginning at the arm. The patterns converged over Melkor’s chest, where Mairon teased each nippled with the tiniest drop of wax, in the shape of Mairon’s sigil. There was a bright look in the maia’s eye, as he relished in this desire for control.

Melkor arched, the sharp sting of burn mellowing out into pleasure. He whined, and he pleaded, he commanded, but Mairon would not stop, would not give him the touch he craved, only the teasing burn of candle wax.

“Mairon,” he gasped, as a drop of wax burned over his navel. He was achingly hard; he wanted his maia now. “Mairon, please, I need you.”

“My Lord,” Though his face remained still, there was laughter in Mairon’s voice. “I am here to teach you.”

His hand traced the gaps between the wax pattern he had made, fingertips light and teasing, until they came to his thigh, and his hand slipped between Melkor’s legs. Mairon said nothing, but Melkor, it was a victory.

Mairon’s warm hand curled around him, as his other hand let the wax drip dangerously close to his groin - but he trusted Mairon. The drip landed on his inner thigh, cooling quickly against his cool skin. Mairon’s sharp nails picked off the little disc easily, and he smiled, admiring the contrast of the red mark against Melkor’s pale blue skin. “Perfect.”

Melkor sighed, arching up, as the maia’s fist curled around his cock again, but Mairon pushed him back down and took his hand away. Melkor groaned, his maia laughed, intoxicating.

“You will have nothing until you have patience.”

It was going to be a long evening. Melkor looked forward to nothing more.