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a-world-of-whimsy-5 · 2 years

Note

I am hereby adding my own request into the Spicy spring fling lot💖

Being a notorious Bottom Melkor lover I would very much want to see our dear dark Lord have a lovely first time with his most trusted balrog Gothmog in the times of Utumno before Mairon was seduced💖💖

I possible I'd want to see these prompts/dialogues used: 29&12 from the first time list, "I like being close to you, you're warm"&"Don'tmind me, just enjoying the view" from the vanilla list and lastly number 23 "say my name" from the spicy list.

For the spiciness the hotter the better so bring on the INFERNO!🔥🔥🔥

I brought the inferno. I think.

“Take the reins”

Prompts: "I like being close to you, you're warm" & "Don't mind me, just enjoying the view" & "say my name"

Pairing: Melkor x Gothmog

Themes: Slowburn | Smut | Soft

Word count: 3k words

Summary: Melkor finally understands the freedom that comes with letting someone else take control. (Or, the one where Bottom Melkor realizes he enjoys being Bottom Melkor.)

Rating: 🔥🔥🔥 | Minors DNI | 18+

Want to be tagged? Want to know the rules? Read all here.

The stream of silver light rose higher and higher, first cresting over the peaks of nearby mountains before spreading out all over the darkened sky. The silver light belonged to the tree many called Telperion, and the gold light that would come later belonged to the one called Laurelin. Gothmog cared not one whit what the others called either tree. His eyes saw no beauty in them and he decided to leave the ramparts. As High Captain of Utumno, he had other duties to see to.

As he descended deeper into the fortress, the noises from within grew louder. The sounds of artificers hard at work, the roar of furnaces, the shouts of orcs and goblins, and, beneath it all, the screams of new prisoners. Gothmog easily turned a deaf ear to the latter. He thought the Eldar were fools. If they had only recognized Melkor’s authority over them instead of resisting, they would have been among those like him instead of suffering unending torment.

Gothmog’s thoughts went back to the new lights. His lord had been wroth when his attempt to destroy the Lamps resulted in the two Trees. When they told him of the trees and the light they shed, Melkor’s fury had been a fearsome thing to behold. Oh, he had calmed, but only after he had taken his anger out on the first lot of prisoners that had caught his attention. And now he was in his private chambers, brooding as always. This was how Gothmog found him—seated by a table filled with food, staring into his goblet of wine.

They did not need to eat, drink, or even sleep, for that matter. None of the Ainur required such things, but they liked to indulge. Not just food and drink and sleep, but in other, more pleasurable pursuits as well. Oh, Gothmog eagerly partook, but from what he heard from the others, Melkor rarely did.

He found it all very interesting.

"What news?" Melkor continued to stare into his wine. After his attempts to destroy the Lamps only resulted in the creation of the Trees, Melkor found that what little he had indulged in had lost all flavour.

Gothmog stood to attention by the door, lest his lord turns and find him showing any sign of disrespect. "Many and more Ainur are joining your cause, sire. I received word Aulë’s favourite has been listening and is intrigued."

"Mairon. The artificer without peer."

"So they say, sire."

"So they say. What do you say, High Captain?"

Gothmog swallowed and considered his words. Melkor had never sought his counsel in such a manner and he had to tread very carefully. One wrong turn of phrase and he would be joining those rotting in cells deep within the bowels of the fortress.

"He is quite skilled; I have seen some evidence of it myself." He kept standing at attention, his eyes fixed firmly on the wall before him. "As for him being without peer, I would think the firstborn son of Finwë may have something to say about that."

"Fëanor," Melkor spat and slammed his goblet on the table, spilling wine all over. He rose from his chair and started pacing the room like an angry beast. "He shut the door to me, the fucking fool."

He had gone and said the wrong thing. Gothmog thought frantically and settled on playing to Melkor’s ego. "He is, sire," he said quickly, "A fool. You are wise to see it. Truth be told, I think most of them are."

Melkor stopped his pacing and studied his High Captain Keenly. As the leader of the Valaraukar he very much looked the part, all tall and terrifying with those leathery wings and curved horns of his. But there was a strange beauty to him, with his elf-like ears and elegant features. Melkor felt his very fëa stir by the image. He quickly found something else to look at, in case he gave himself away.

"Perhaps you are correct," He did not notice his captain’s jaw drop in absolute shock when he sat back down again. "The Eldar are all fools."

It was the first time Melkor had spoken so casually. Gothmog did not know what to make of it.

"So many burdens," Melkor sighed without even realizing it. "All of them growing heavier by the day. And my foes grow thick like weeds. Every time I rip them out more spring up in their place."

Such an exchange would never have happened before. More at ease, Gothmog felt a strange sense of courage surge through him, making him bolder. "You take too much onto your shoulders, sire."

"Perhaps," Melkor shrugged.

"Perhaps you should let someone else take the reins," Gothmog could not seem to stop himself. Something wicked and daring took root, something that seemed determined to take control of his tongue. "In some capacity at least."

Melkor turned his head. "What did you say?"

"What I meant is," the words stumbled out before Gothmog could even think them through. "It could be very liberating to hand over control to someone else and for you not to have to burden yourself, sire. Even for a little while."

He quickly bit his tongue. Melkor glared, his inky black eyes as cold as the winters that ravaged the region. His countenance was a mask, one that gave nothing away. Oh, but he was thinking, even if he did not wish to show it.

To let someone else take control for once. Melkor would not even dream of relinquishing control of his rule. That would never happen. But to let someone else hold the reins in other aspects...

His High Captain was one of those who partook in as many physical pleasures as possible. He had experience in ways Melkor could not even begin to fathom.

He looked at the table, at the rich food, and at what was left of his wine. Nothing appealed to him and he was starting to understand why. There had been another hunger within him, one he had neglected for as long as he had existed. It had to be satisfied, he knew that, but he had no inkling of how to do it. His gaze slowly cut to Gothmog again.

It would be very liberating to hand over control to someone else, Gothmog had said. Perhaps this should be put to the test.

"Would you like to do it?" Melkor said lightly, "Take the reins?"

Gothmog turned and stared. "Sire?"

"Take control," Melkor said with a casual air even as anticipation grew. "Not when it comes to the ruling, of course, but in an intimate fashion."

There was that wicked and daring feeling again. This time it had grown stronger and Gothmog caught on to what Melkor was hinting at. Still, he wanted to hear the words spoken out loud. "Take control in what way, sire?"

"The way you said, with me allowing you to take control. Of me." Melkor looked over his shoulder and found Gothmog locking the doors to his chambers. He faced forward again, a rare smile on his face. "What do you think, High Captain? Is this possible?"

"Perhaps," Gothmog made his way towards the table, ready to turn and leave at a moment’s notice. And behave as if their entire exchange never took place. "But that would mean submitting completely. Can you do it?"

Melkor swallowed, feeling oddly bashful for the first time ever. Submitting completely. It may hurt his pride to do so, but the notion of submitting completely to another felt rather enticing at the same time.

"I think I can," he said and pushed his chair back. Melkor rose, not knowing what else to say or do or expect. All of this was completely new to him. "But how?"

"Leave it to me." Gothmog took his lord’s hand, giddy with anticipation. Until they were done he would be the master and Melkor the obedient servant, something he could not have imagined even in his wildest dreams. "Now, show me where the bed is."

It was not far, and it was surprisingly elegant. Gothmog expected something sparse and rather somber, but the large bed with its silk sheets, the polished stood floor and the exquisite furniture were all unexpected. And that bed gave him ideas.

"Your garments are too much," Gothmog said. "Relieve yourself of them."

Melkor complied. It was all oddly thrilling, letting someone else issue the orders and him obeying in return. His armour had to be undone, then his clothes, his boots. When his fana was fully exposed he found himself flushing.

"What now?" He mumbled under his breath.

"In bed." Having already gotten a taste for commanding his superior, Gothmog fully intended on making the most of it. Besides, he had to admit that Melkor was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. He almost felt bad about the notion of wanting to ruin that beauty a little. Almost. That feeling went away quickly when he came up with his next order. "And keep your hands over your head."

The urge to submit grew easier now and made his very fana tingle. Melkor did as he was bid, watching Gothmog strip.

His second-in-command had skin like beaten copper. Eyes that were afire. Silky black hair that gleamed and his nails... Melkor found himself aching to feel those nails rake over his skin. When Gothmog came over, it was with his whip in hand. Melkor obediently lifted his arms and watched once more while his hands were bound at the wrists before they were secured to a bedpost. He tried to move them and found that he could not. It made him feel vulnerable. He loved it. When he looked around, he found Gothmog by the side of the bed again, his sash in hand.

"Do not mind me," his second-in-command said in a voice that had already gone rough. "I am just enjoying the view. Now. Keep still."

Melkor nodded, wondering what he was up to. Gothmog surprised him by coming over and blindfolding him with the same sash. It was soft and thick. Melkor could not see anything, could not anticipate what was going to happen next. It excited him even more. "What happens now?"

"You no longer get to ask such things of me," Gothmog was very much the one in charge now. "Not until I am done with you. Until then, you must obey."

Obey. Melkor never had it in him to obey. His every instinct was to go against the urge. "I cannot do it," he whined despite himself, all eager thoughts of submission forgotten. "Not complete..."

A slap stung his thigh, and he gasped. A second quickly followed on the heels of the first. "You do not speak unless you are spoken to." Gothmog's words had a steely edge to them. It made Melkor hard. "Is that understood?"

"Yes," Melkor whimpered weakly, even as he gave in to Gothmog's authority.

"Will you obey?"

"Yes."

"Fucking pathetic," Gothmog grinned wickedly, eyeing Melkor like a predator sizing up its prey. The greatest of them all was yielding to him, a mere Maia, and he could not get enough of it. "The greatest amongst the Ainur yielding so easily."

Bound and unable to leave the bed, Melkor could do nothing but agree. Truth be told, he liked being degraded in such a manner.

Another slap stung his thigh and Melkor moaned. Gothmog eyed his whip, feeling sorry that he had to use it to bind Melkor’s hands. It did not matter. There were other things he could do. Melkor, on the other hand, could do nothing but wait. His restraints and lack of sight meant he had to rely on what remained to him—touch, sound, and scent mostly. And the scent of iron and flames and the chill from the world outside clung to Gothmog’s skin like perfume. He wanted to say something about it, about how good it was, but then he remembered the role he undertook.

He had to submit. And obey. And only speak when spoken to, lest he ruin everything. With a frustrated groan, he bit his tongue.

Gothmog heard it and grinned. He got in bed, his large frame making the bedding sink even more from the weight. Melkor took a deep breath, readying himself for what could happen next. Gothmog said nothing and gave nothing away. He moved between Melkor’s legs and spread them apart. His hands were hot, not that Melkor felt any discomfort in them. His fana could tolerate far more than that.

A fourth slap made him moan Gothmog’s name. The sound was like sweet music to the Balrog’s ears.

"Say my name," he commanded before making Melkor’s thigh sting again. "Say it!"

The pain and pleasure and heat that came from the flat of Gothmog’s hand rendered him lightheaded and dizzy and willing to do anything. His High Captain’s name fell off his lips repeatedly, and Gothmog laughed triumphantly.

"Listen to you," he growled. "Crying out for me like a needy little slut already. I should make you do it more often."

He dipped his head to taste, running his lips over the insides of Melkor’s thighs and belly, his sharp teeth leaving bruises wherever they marked, his growls muffled against Melkor’s skin. Melkor writhed beneath him as Gothmog kissed and marked his way higher and higher, stopping at the crook of his neck.

"Kiss me," he craved one desperately and was willing to go against their rules to beg for it if need be. "Please."

Gothmog’s growl was low in his throat. Once, he decided. He would indulge Melkor’s request just once. His kiss was demanding, hungry, and far from tender. He gripped Melkor’s face with his hand while they kissed, his teeth leaving his lord’s lips swollen and bruised, his nails digging into soft flesh. When his tongue slipped past Melkor’s lips the latter nearly sobbed.

How could a being that dealt out death and torment arouse such a fiery need? One that grew only stronger with each passing moment? Melkor did not know the answer. All he did know was that he was going to look forward to more of such encounters.

Nails started to rake down his torso, his thighs, making him arch his back. "By the time you walk out of these chambers," Gothmog hissed in his ear, "Everyone will know who you belong to."

"Yes," Melkor could not help but agree. Gothmog's nipping at his throat and making him moan with pleasure rendered him unable to do anything else. "All will see."

The spikes that went down the length of his spine right up to the tip of his tail grew heated; their veins of fiery red, yellow, orange, and gold slowly sparked to life, the air around them smoldering. Gothmog felt his wings shake and his need for more grow. He spread Melkor’s legs further apart, his hand gripping at his lord hip and lifting his back off the mattress. Melkor braced himself.

A slick finger penetrated his hole, slowly opening him up with careful thrusts. "Such an obedient slut you are," Gothmog groaned deeply when Melkor rolled his hips. "Taking me without complaint."

"Yes," Melkor responded eagerly as jolts of pleasure washed all over him. "I am an obedient slut."

"My slut, yes?"

"Yes!" Melkor’s back arched as a second finger joined the first. "Your slut!"

Gothmog growled again, his entire fana trembling when he pulled out and held onto Melkor’s hip tight this time. Holding his erection with his free hand he entered Melkor again, carefully, hesitantly, before finally pushing through. He was in him, felt him, all of him. He barely heard his name come out in half-moan, half-whimper.

His name. Just his. Gothmog savoured it and kept still for a moment, letting Melkor get used to having his cock inside him. He ran his hands over Melkor’s thighs, his flesh now scorching against Melkor’s own. Greed and lust soon became too much to bear and he started to move. Melkor felt his fana being pushed higher up the bed repeatedly. He could see nothing, all he could do was feel.

And he felt so much, from the heat radiating from Gothmog’s body, to hips slapping against the insides of his thighs, the nails that marred his fana every time they raked over his skin. The sensations that came with it all—the pain and the pleasure, especially the pleasure—were unlike anything Melkor had ever experienced. He thought he could easily become intoxicated by this.

Gothmog moved his hand over Melkor’s throat, applying gentle pressure every time he pushed back in. His grip would tighten and release, tighten and release. His own thrusts grew erratic, his fana tensing like bowstring, his moans matching Melkor’s. Soon. It was going to happen soon. His fana shivered and jolted. One last thrust was all it took. One last thrust, one deep, satisfying grunt as his orgasm ripped through him. His nails dug into Melkor’s silver-grey skin, leaving little gouges as he spilled his seed.

The weight in the bed shifted as Gothmog slowly pulled away. Melkor was still bound, his own needs unmet. "Please," he begged. "Do not make me wait any longer."

If not for the blindfold Melkor could have easily seen Gothmog’s wolfish grin. "I like you begging," he said. "Do it again."

Melkor pleaded without shame. "Please, please, please. Just finish me off. Make me come. Please."

"Needy sluts should not be rewarded so easily," Gothmog dipped his head and ran his tongue up Melkor’s shaft. The moan that followed was the most guttural he had ever heard. "But I suppose I can give you what you desire so desperately."

Melkor struggled against his restraints when Gothmog took all of him into his wet mouth. He groaned when Gothmog lay a hand over his stomach, to stop him from moving so much. It did not take very long; Melkor could not hold on for much longer. His fana shuddered violently as he climaxed, his warmth filling Gothmog’s mouth.

The haze he found himself in slowly lifted when Gothmog undid his whip and removed the blindfold. Melkor blinked his eyes as clarity slowly came to him.

Words could not describe what happened or how Gothmog made him feel. Words would not be enough, and he was unsure how he could even begin explaining. He looked up at his captain, utterly satisfied, and came up with one final request.

"Stay with me. I like being close to you, you are warm."

Tags: @cilil @edensrose @asianbutnotjapanese @fictionfordays

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