So, I find him at last.
At bay, and cornered, he turns, looking at me with huge azure eyes, bizarrely beautiful- he has not even donned his armor, nor does he have a weapon.
Morgoth’s lover, the bane of all of Arda, Sauron- Gorthaur, torturer, murderer.
Keeper of the dreadful Angband in his Lord’s absence, until he returned to scourge the world again.
And now Morgoth has been taken away, head bowed, hobbled, more carried away, than walking.
We finally routed Sauron, after an extensive search of the lowest pit. He had been hiding in a chamber below even that, and when we brought him out, his face was covered in blood.
He had been directly underneath, hidden under a latticework grill, when one of my men had slashed at Morgoth’s feet, even as he backed away from us, pleading now, in his last extremity.
I had not ordered this, and I wish it had not happened- but I can understand why it did.
When you are dealing with a being so wicked, and so vastly powerful- a Vala!- who has laid waste and ruin to the realm of the Valar- and Arda as well- and you finally have him cornered- restraint is not the first thing on your mind.
Surviving the encounter, is what takes the foremost place in your frenzied thoughts.
Nevertheless, I was not happy to see Morgoth being dragged away, feet nearly severed, blood flowing onto the sand.
It was a pitiful, appalling sight.
But he truly insisted on a violent and drastic confrontation.
I ordered my men to at least bind his injuries, and this they did, though grudgingly.
And now..that the greater of the menaces has been captured, I turn my attention to the lesser.
He was able to wrest out of the grip of my men, slippery like an eel.
"Leave him to me, I will deal with this one. Return to the ship- keep
a watch over Morgoth, see to his wounds- treat him humanely- give him
wine to ease the pain- but do not turn your back to him. Keep him
bound and blindfolded. Do not return here- I shall come as soon as I
am finished here."
They look at me in fear, and then obey, casting looks back over their shoulders.
Sauron backs away- he has nowhere to go, and his back is literally to the wall. Unarmed, clad only in a bloodied blue samite robe, he is hardly ready for a battle.
“Surrender, Sauron. You must, now. Be reasonable. I do not wish to hurt you...”
“You do not wish to hurt me?!” he screams, the fair features twisted in fury, wiping the blood from his face. “You could do no worse, than what you have done! Usurpers, invaders, crippling him...you..crippled him! Where have your fiends taken him?”
I hear the agony and loss in his voice, and grieve for him. How can I not? He has just lost everything, in one terrible day. Deserved, yes, grandly so- but I cannot help but feel pity for him.
“He will be taken to Manwe- and be tried for his very numerous crimes. And I have a command for you, as well, Sauron: you must return to your home- you do not belong here- you have forfeited that right! You must go before Manwe, yourself.”
“No! I will not! Leave me alone, begone!”
I advance on him, and he shrinks before me, furious, frightened, and very cornered.
To make the point- and to convince him- I raise my sword at him- I do not intend to strike him with it, but he does not seem to understand- he becomes a still lighter shade of pale, crushing himself against the wall, nowhere to run.
“Would you harm me this way, unarmed as I am?”
“My orders are to bring you dead or alive.” I tell him, “It is entirely up to you.”
His angry expression breaks apart, and he falls to his knees at last, trembling.
“I submit, I submit!”
I move behind him and kneel to bind his hands- he suddenly collapses before me, onto his back.
“Please…do not hurt me, Eonwe!”
“I am not going to hurt you! Now, sit up!”
He does so, and our eyes meet- I find myself looking into them deeply, and I begin to sink.
He is...so young!
I never realized…I had expected...someone more mature. His face is that of a beautiful adolescent, flawless and youthful.
His hand finds my shoulder, slowly, carefully, ever so gracefully- and he speaks in a different tone, now, reaching down into me and stroking my soul in a way I could never have imagined.
He is – bewitching me!
Extremely alarmed, I pull back, but he moves under me, somehow, with dangerous grace.
He lies back, spreading his legs apart in a ludicrous parody of sexual submission. Or is it a parody?
And then I realize: this is how he submits- this is his surrender, as a wolf will roll over and offer its throat when bested.
“What are you going to do to me, Eonwe?” His voice is slurred, dreamlike, and I am horrified to find I have a considerable erection.
“Don’t hurt me.” he murmurs, “Please...”
I lean in close to him, throbbing, anguished, clutching my sword in a sweaty grip.
“I won’t.” I whisper, drinking in the sight and smell of him until I am nearly intoxicated. “I won’t hurt you, I never wanted to.”
He seems to open himself up in front of me, the sense of his submission and surrender coming off him in waves of powerful arousal. I lick my lips, wanting to taste him.
What am I doing? If my men come back…if Manwe hears of this!
He moves to pull open his robe, and I take the sash from his hand and do it myself, beginning to lose myself in the overwhelming need for him. My sword clatters beside me but I scarcely notice. My cock is so hard it throbs with pain, swelling up in resentful anticipation.
In the desperate haste of morbid lust, I descend onto him. I have never wanted anything so badly in my entire existence.
I look at his unnaturally beautiful body, and reach up to touch one pink nipple- I rub it gently, and then – watching him out of the corner of my eye – I bend my head and put my tongue to it. He thrashes, and closes his eyes, moaning softly. With my hand, I give my attention to the other one, as he cries out under me, squirming.
His cock is standing in lovely attention as well, and I stare at it in blatant appreciation. Truly, I see why Morgoth desired him, and gave him all he asked.
He fishes something out of his robe, and I flinch in alarm- but it is only a small flask.
“Here.” he tells me, handing it to me. It is oil, scented, slick, sweet-smelling. By the Valar! He goes around prepared to be penetrated, with this oil at the ready?
But no- I understand. This is Morgoth’s lover- he would not dare to do any different, than be ready for his Lord’s desire, at any moment. To do less- would have been- unwise.
I pour it onto my cock, and then spread him open, gently sinking a finger into the furnace of his insides. The heat is absurd, unbelievable.
I slicken him copiously, and he glances at my cock, now, and seems to have truly seen it for the first time.
I am very well-endowed, thanks be to the Creator.
He pales more than he has this entire time, and begins to wriggle out from under me, looking genuinely frightened now.
I pin him down, shaking my head. He quails, breathing very fast.
“I won’t hurt you, I promised, remember?”
Looking now as if he is about to go to his death, he submits once more, and I lie down onto him, finding my way inside- carefully, so slowly, just pushing the very head in, and Sauron tightens up, making it even more difficult.
I lean in and whisper in his ear: “I will be gentle, I will not hurt you…”
I begin again. “Try to relax...”
He murmurs in a small voice: “Aye, you are as big as my Lord himself, I fear! And it took him a good deal of time to...prepare me for him...every time…! Please..please go slowly..!”
“I will. Open yourself to me, as you were, before you beheld its size! Your fear is making you too tight, you must relax. How- how did - he- prepare you?”
Sauron smiles slightly, almost wistfully: “He ensured that I was very drunken, the very first time- so I was very relaxed, being nearly unconscious! And then- well- if he came to me in a good humor, he would take his time. Otherwise...”
I push in a bit more, burning to get inside him.
Suddenly, I slide into him fully, as the oil is extremely slippery- he yelps and lunges against me, and I try to soothe him- his muscles are tensed, as if in pain, and I do not move, though the desire to do so is devastating.
“What? I do not wish to cause you pain- I did not mean to slip in so fast-”
“Just do it, would you! Make haste! Drive it into me, I need you to…”
I comply, fearing still to hurt him, yet he insists, pulling at me, legs wrapped around my back, open and devouring me.
The pleasure of it is cataclysmic.
He moans and wails, body writhing under me, and all thought of what my Lord Manwe may say, when he learns of my frantic and doubtless forbidden coupling with this deadly prisoner ( or perhaps he is observing even now! ), has thankfully fled from my mind.
It is too late to turn back now, far too late.
I want to make this last- I do not know what the penalty may be, for myself, for this offense- but I must make it be something I will never regret.
Angband is in a very cold climate, but our bodies are clinging together in drenched ecstasy, sweaty and sliding in increasing rhythm.
Sauron cries out in uninhibited pleasure, but I, more restrained and far more apprehensive, stifle my moaning into his long golden hair, turning my head so I may kiss the full wet lips, tasting the rare poison of his mouth.
Sweet, oh, so very sweet.
//Be worth the price I may pay//
Our climax is nearly at the same moment, and the last memory I will have of this murderous and beautiful creature, is the look on his face as he screams, and the nearly insane and thunderous merging of our Maiar spirits in ultimate rapture...and then, I swoon into exhausted sleep, drained of my will and essence alike.
I awaken in a cold sweat, fearful, shocked, as if from a terrible nightmare.
I already know: he is gone.
As is my sword, of course. But he did not attack me!
I rise slowly, the smell of him still on my body, his heat and fluid melted into me, and I know I will never be the same.
And then...I try to think how I will explain myself to Manwe.
This is a work of fan fiction, written because the author has an abiding love for the works of J R R Tolkien. The characters, settings, places, and languages used in this work are the property of the Tolkien Estate, Tolkien Enterprises, and possibly New Line Cinema, except for certain original characters who belong to the author of the said work. The author will not receive any money or other remuneration for presenting the work on this archive site. The work is the intellectual property of the author, is available solely for the enjoyment of Henneth Annûn Story Archive readers, and may not be copied or redistributed by any means without the explicit written consent of the author.