Work Text:
“Am I doing something wrong?”
It was not until Celebrimbor said this, having leaned back from his workbench just enough to meet Annatar's eye, that Annatar realized he had been staring.
He was supposed to be instructing. Celebrimbor was practicing the new technique he had just been taught, a halfway-formed necklace lying on the surface of his bench and two finely-tipped instruments in his hands, and Annatar was meant to be watching him to ensure he was doing it correctly. Annatar was fairly certain that was what he had started out doing— he wasn't entirely sure when his attention had slipped.
It was just that he so rarely had the chance to look freely upon Celebrimbor like this. Most of the time Celebrimbor was the one staring at him, and it was Annatar having to pretend not to notice; it was only in times like these, when Celebrimbor was focused intently on something else, that Annatar truly had the opportunity to study him.
Celebrimbor was looking at him expectantly now, having leaned away from his magnifier. They were working very near to the furnace tonight, and its uneven glow was casting oddly flickering shadows over his features, making the glint of his silver eyes seem fey, making his cheekbones look sharper than they really were.
Some hours ago Celebrimbor had tied his dark hair back out of his face in an untidy knot, but since that time no less than half of it had come loose, and long waves now fell freely about his face, frizzing in the intensity of the heat. Annatar had barely noticed the temperature, but Celebrimbor had changed out of his normal forgewear sometime around midnight in a bid to cool down, donning instead a sleeveless leather top and leather trousers. Both garments were well-made and tight-fitting: the top hugged the strong shape of his chest and left his arms exposed, his tan skin shiny with sweat, forearms adorned here and there with ancient burns long-since healed. There was a bead of sweat trickling slowly down one of his biceps. Annatar watched it roll, cutting a winding path down the curving muscle there.
“Annatar?”
Annatar blinked. Celebrimbor’s gaze had turned curious, and he was watching Annatar with his eyebrows raised, his cheeks flushed with the warmth of the forge. The heat must have been getting to Annatar; he had to swallow and wet his lips before he could speak.
“No,” he said, and he was relieved to hear his voice come out sounding strong and sure. “You are doing everything right.”
Celebrimbor searched his face, then gave a short nod and turned his attention back to his work.
Before long, the necklace was nearly complete. Annatar watched Celebrimbor set the gemstones in place, his gaze lingering on the gentle curve of Celebrimbor's spine when he ducked to put his eye to the magnifier, the precise movements of his hands as they manipulated the instruments to bend and shape the prongs that would keep the jewels secure. Celebrimbor's hands were well-suited to such work, with their long, delicate fingers, moving always with careful precision, never shaking, never faltering. Though neither of them had intended to stay longer than a few hours the previous evening, it seemed the night had passed them by without their notice; outside the far window the sky was just beginning to lighten, deep night giving way to a thin purple dawn.
The thing was, Annatar was well aware that Celebrimbor desired him. It was not vain to say so, though he would not have minded if it was. It was obvious; as much an immutable fact of the universe as the grass being green or Varda having made the stars.
Annatar was no stranger to recognizing desire. A lifetime ago he had been well-versed in using seduction as a tool to further his master's goals, and while it had never gone further than mere seduction— his master would never have allowed such a thing, and what was more, Annatar would never have wanted it— Annatar knew the signs of desire like he knew his own ëala. It was in the eyes: a greedy sort of hunger, a sickening want that turned his stomach to look upon.
But there was something rather different about Celebrimbor, something Annatar had never quite been able to put his finger on. Perhaps it was just that in spite of how obviously Celebrimbor desired him— and it really was obvious, Celebrimbor was not nearly so subtle as he accounted himself— never had Celebrimbor actually sought to have him.
It was not that Annatar wanted Celebrimbor to try to bed him. If he was being honest with himself, he had still not quite decided what he would do if ever Celebrimbor did, and that thought unsettled him far more than he wished to admit. But the truth remained that in spite of the friendship that had grown between them in the years since Annatar's arrival in Ost-in-Edhil— if friendship it could indeed be called— Celebrimbor still seemed bizarrely intent on keeping him at arms length.
Of course, Annatar had no proof that Celebrimbor was doing this. Outwardly, Celebrimbor had remained fairly open with him, and he showed no obvious signs of distrust. And yet it still felt to Annatar as if there was a piece missing: a final step between where they were now and complete and total trust.
Some time ago, Annatar had decided that this must be the missing piece to the puzzle. Celebrimbor desired him, and because of this he was refusing to let Annatar get too close. Without that closeness Annatar would never have his full trust— and Annatar needed Celebrimbor's full trust, above all else, if ever his plans were to succeed. If the cost of that trust was having to seduce the Lord of Eregion, then Annatar would do what needed to be done.
Except that, in spite of his obvious desire, said Lord of Eregion had thus far categorically refused to be seduced.
For more than a year now, Annatar had been bending all of his thought and focus on this goal. His old tricks had come back to him quickly: make Celebrimbor feel desired, make him feel listened to, make him feel attractive. A strategic hand on the small of his back here, a lingering glance there. Yet somehow, against all odds, Celebrimbor appeared never even to notice his advances.
So long had this been going on now, it sometimes seemed to Annatar that all he was capable of seeing anymore was the evidence of Celebrimbor’s desire for him. The way Celebrimbor's eyes lingered on his lips when he spoke, the distracting weight of his gaze when they were on opposite sides of a room, how his muscles tensed when Annatar laid a hand on his arm, as if struggling to resist leaning into his touch.
The longer this had gone on without success, the more frustrated Annatar had become. In spite of how badly Celebrimbor wanted him— and Annatar knew that he did— Celebrimbor appeared intent on remaining entirely oblivious to the fact that Annatar was right there trying to give him everything that he wanted.
Yes, that was it. Annatar had no qualms about playing the long game, but Celebrimbor seemed completely unaware that they were even playing a game to begin with.
All of a sudden Celebrimbor pushed back the arm of his magnifier and stood up straight, looking down appraisingly at the necklace on the workbench.
“Are you finished?” Annatar asked.
“Yes,” Celebrimbor nodded, taking a step back and giving Annatar room to move in closer to look.
Stepping in, Annatar reached down and skated his fingers over the finished piece.
The necklace was stunning: it had a long golden chain with incredibly precise detailing along with countless inlaid rubies all of varying sizes, each one clear and without blemish, as red as blood. Though this piece had not been imbued with any particular magic— it had been an exercise purely in metallurgic technique— Annatar could feel the quiet hum of power beneath his fingertips; magic seemed always to pour from Celebrimbor into his craft, regardless of his intention.
Celebrimbor was looking over his shoulder. He was standing close enough for their arms to touch; Annatar could smell the bright-sharp sweat on his skin, the sweet scent of his shampoo.
“What do you think?”
There was a slight rasp to Celebrimbor's voice. When Annatar lifted his gaze he found Celebrimbor watching him closely, and the desire in his eyes was so plain to see it might have made Annatar laugh, had it not come so curiously close to taking his breath away. Celebrimbor moistened his lips, and Annatar's gaze was drawn there as a moth to a flame, to lips that looked as red as his rubies in the flickering half-light.
“It is very beautiful,” he found himself saying, pitching his words very soft, reluctant to break the heavy spell of silence that seemed to have come over them. His heart had begun to beat strangely fast in his chest, something akin to anxiety writhing in his belly.
The pink flush colouring Celebrimbor’s cheeks deepened with the compliment. His eyes were on Annatar’s mouth.
Celebrimbor was going to kiss him. Annatar was certain of it. A part of him was terrified at the prospect, but mostly he felt as if he were leaning in, in, into Celebrimbor’s orbit, waiting for it to happen. Tension hung over them like a shroud, the humid air very still. Several long, stretched-out seconds passed them by, the two of them suspended in time.
Then Celebrimbor cleared his throat and looked away, and the spell was broken.
“Thank you,” he said quietly, not meeting Annatar's eye. “You are very kind.”
Annatar could think of nothing to say. His thoughts were slow and sluggish, as if each one had to wade through knee-deep water to get to the front of his consciousness.
Celebrimbor took the finished necklace off the workbench, slipped it into his pocket, and began clearing away his tools. "I must go," he said. "I did not realize the hour. I have a counsel with my cousin scheduled first thing this morning, and I must wash and ready myself."
Something far too alike to disappointment was stirring in the pit of Annatar's stomach. “Oh,” he said, and he cursed himself for how ungraceful he sounded. “Alright.”
Before he could say anything more Celebrimbor was off down the hallway, his hurried steps echoing off the stone walls. Within seconds he was pulling open the door at the far end of the corridor and slipping out of the forge without another word. Annatar stood very still, watching the spill of yellow light from the outside corridor slowly recede as the heavy door thudded shut behind him.