The Other Side of the Mirror by fingonsradharp

i never promised you your dream boy (i'm better as your chew toy)

He is chained, kneeling before his captor. His chin is being gripped by cold fingers, but his skin is still flushed with heat.

He hates that he still reacts like this even now.

“Look at me, Tyelpë.”

He tries to jerk away, but there is no strength left in his body. His arms are pulled behind him awkwardly, and he sags against the ground, his blood dripping onto Sauron’s hand.

Sauron, not Annatar. He must remember that. Though he still looks like Annatar, his silver hair and perfect perfect face, those lips he has kissed countless times and the jaw he has memorized and the slightly-too-sharp teeth.

The grip tightens, nails digging into his skin. “I said look at me.”

He forces himself to raise his gaze, meeting Sauron’s eyes.

It is the eyes that are wrong.

They are no longer shining gold, but burning orange, boring into his skull, piercing his fëa. But where there once was heat and love and passion, now there is only cold indifference.

For a moment, something else flickers behind those eyes. Sauron loosens his grip, bringing his other hand up to caress his cheek and comb through his hair. Sauron presses a soft kiss to his forehead, calmly wiping away the tears streaming down his cheeks. “It did not have to come to this,” he says softly. “I cannot bear to see you in such pain. I would have had you at my side, my precious Tyelpë.”

You hurt me, he wants to scream. But Annatar is touching his face, so softly, and it is a different pain, oh it is so different because he is so close and he can’t help but melt in his hands, his perfectly soft hands that even after years of forge work are still so smooth. Those hands have touched him, they have known every part of him and loved him, more than he thought anyone could.

Annatar’s mouth finds his own and he is gasping, whimpering, needing wanting needing more, and he does not remember that the hand in his hair was wielding a knife just minutes ago. Annatar holds him, licking the blood off his chest as he shivers, his breath coming in short bursts because it is him.

“Please.” The word comes out of his mouth before he even knows what he is pleading for. But then he sees those eyes, those eyes that are wrong, and he wishes he could go back and undo all his mistakes but he is too far gone now. “Please, Annatar, I – !”

He is cut off by a growl at his hip, Annatar tugging on his hair. “Why did you betray me, Tyelpë?”

“Why did I betray you?” He shivers, wanting to get away and wanting to curl closer. “You deceived me. You never loved me, you only wanted control.”

Sauron snarls and slams him back into the wall behind him, hand gripping his throat. “Did I not promise to treasure you above all things? Tyelpë, my love, my precious, do not take my oath so lightly. I would think you of all people would understand the seriousness of such a thing.”

“I see now why they called you Gorthaur the Cruel,” he spits, tears spilling down his cheeks. He hates those tears, hates how they make him feel so weak. “It is not enough for you to inflict pain, you must press it deeper for no reason other than your own enjoyment.”

He flinches as Sauron raises his hand, but he does not strike. “I do not enjoy this, Tyelperinquar.”

“Then stop,” he is pleading again, falling to his knees, and he hates himself for it and he hates this monster more. “Please, Annatar.” I still love you. He does not say it, but it hangs in the air, tangible. I do not want you to be this monster I see in front of me.

But Sauron crouches down to his level, taking his face in his hands once again. “It is not I that inflicts this pain. You know exactly how to make it stop.” The ghost of a touch on his cheeks, revolting and captivating, never enough but far too much. “Tell me where you have hidden the Rings, and we can be just as we once were.”

He wants to accept. Annatar was someone he trusted, someone he loved.

This is not Annatar.

Those are not Annatar’s eyes.

“What we once were was nothing more than a lie. I have never truly known you. You have never known love. I will tell you nothing.”

For a moment, Sauron’s eyes pale, fading to a dull yellow. But they snap back in blazing red. “Then do not blame me for your pain.”

And his perfectly soft hands, still holding Celebrimbor’s face, burst into flame.