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His eyes scan around the place. Nothing interests him today. He is almost lying on his throne, leaning his jaw to his black hand. It kind of hurts. He kind of doesn’t care. Melkor is bored out of his mind. The servants buzz around, his soldiers chat together, and the mood is somehow uplifting, but he is going to die due to this boredom. He has not moved outside his fortress for some time, deciding to lay low. Well, that was not his plan. Rather his lieutenant’s. A plan that he had chosen to follow. The doors open once more, and he waits to see who would come. Mairon. He is a little sunshine. Oh, so regal and majestic little sunshine. Melkor acknowledges him with a nod of his head, but certainly does not listen to the report that his lieutenant begins to give. He sometimes feels that he was smarter than he thought when he corrupted Mairon. Mairon is cunning. Melkor tilts his head a bit, still ignoring what is going around him. He wonders how cunning Mairon would be, if faced with an unexpected kiss. He truly wonders what put that thought to his head, but it matters not. He can now only concentrate on how well the Maia keeps his posture, how he sounds a bit unsure of whether Melkor is listening or not –but hides it with serious tone- and how sharp his eyes are.
Yet he should not meddle with this one.
There is a silence. Mairon waits for his answer. It is nice to keep him waiting, see him stay there so perfectly still, with such marvellous confidence. It is refreshing after all those insecure orcs, fearful of torture and punishment. Truly, he wants to break that perfectness and see those eyes widen with surprise. It is the first time he feels such desire. Melkor gives his lieutenant a half-hearted answer, not showing interest at all in his little sunshine.
The next time he sees his little lieutenant, he is barely awake. He feels someone pull gently hair out of his mouth, and there is a light touch of fingers, so careful. He opens his eyes to see Mairon. His sunshine smiles at him quite wickedly.
“Master, I truly hope you weren’t planning to choke on your own hair,” he remarks. Melkor stares Mairon still. His lips tickle, so he wipes them a bit with his own burnt fingers. The other touch was nicer.
“It’s not long enough for me to choke on it,” he tells. Mairon continues smiling, and there is something sweet in it. He almost feels ill. He wants to put his hand to Mairon’s hair and pull him closer, press his lips against his. No can do. Mairon is farther away again, explaining of something unimportant. Or important, but at the moment it feels terribly unnecessary. Melkor wishes he would have not wiped away the feeling of the light touch.
When it’s noon, he regrets not taking his chance. Just now, he joked around with Mairon, and his little sunshine had the gall to press a kiss to his hand. To his hand. Mairon got to be kidding him. Melkor walks around his room, restless and filled with desire to have that sensation on his lips instead. Alcohol does not take away that. He wants to kiss –but not just someone or something, no. It has to be his sunshine, his lieutenant, his Mairon. No one else—-no one else is good enough. He covers his mouth, smelling his burnt hand accidentally. Disgusting. Like this desire. Mairon has no right to do this to him. No right, at all! Step, step, step. He walks around his room. He can kiss whoever he wants. He doesn’t need to hold back. All the people here are his servants. His servants! He walks out of the room. He would find his sunshine. Mairon is in his usual place, the door open. He is fixing his hair or something. Melkor storms in, but feels something clench in his stomach. He feels ill, and a bit dizzy. How much did he drink again? Who knows. It is certainly taking effect now, of all times. He needs to vomit. Mairon seems to have sensed the same. He sounds quite angry.
Damn it.
He wakes up with a headache and a memory of Mairon tucking him angrily into bed, cursing something about “useless idiot” and giving him a kiss to forehead. Great. Fucking great. Melkor does not want to move, but he gets up nevertheless. He drinks the water left on the table, but leaves the suspicious looking drink that is probably supposed to help to his hangover. He doesn’t need that. He needs Mairon. He needs to see—-he doesn’t even know anymore. He just desires that kiss. Melkor finds his way to his throne, but Mairon is not there. He drinks more water, and leaves. He finds Mairon from his room, still in the bed, sleeping. The usually so orderly hair is quite a mess. His little sunshine has never looked sweeter. Melkor sits to the bed, looking to Mairon. He presses a kiss to Mairon’s cheek. It feels good. Such soft cheek. Mairon lets out a sleepy noise, and opens his eyes. Now, that is some delightful surprise in the usually unsurprised eyes. Melkor waits that his little sunshine understands the situation and relaxes. It needs extraordinary patience from him. He wants to kiss Mairon more than ever. He is so close. But his little sunshine relaxes not. The surprise stays in his eyes. It feels wrong. There is finally a small question.
“Master?”
Not what he wanted either. Frustrated, Melkor leans to press a kiss to the soft nose, and gets up. The desire is so strong, yet he can’t do it like this. The surprise was already there. It didn’t come from the kiss. It is wrong. It is—-wrong! Before he manages to get out of the door, however, there is a strong hold from his arm, and he finds Mairon leaning closer.
Damn him.
He must have looked as surprised as he had wished Mairon would have looked. He presses his lips forward as well, kissing Mairon. He starts gentle, and only after first small touches practically smashes his lips against Mairon’s. His little sunshine seems to have no problem with that.
It didn’t go exactly as he wanted. But at least that terrible desire is now gone.
Right?