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“Why have you not wed?”
This was a rather direct question to ask Celebrimbor, who was typically not the most forthcoming of people when it came to the details of his own life. Still, Annatar did not think it really warranted the way Celebrimbor made a surprised sound into his chalice and seemed to choke a little on his wine. Annatar watched him cough into his elbow with curiosity, a carefully-calculated smile on his lips.
They were sitting together at the small table on the upper level of the forge, an empty wine bottle on the table, a second half-full beside it. Though Annatar was not drunk, he was pleasantly warm and loose-limbed, enough so that his nerves had finally begun to settle. It had been long indeed since he last had cause to seduce anyone; he had not had another since his master— had hardly had a physical body since his master— and the prospect of it was more disquieting than he wished to admit.
Once Celebrimbor had finished clearing his throat he looked at Annatar with a curious tilt to his head, his brows slightly raised. Annatar let his grin widen and his head tip easily to the side, his chalice dangling loosely in his hand.
“Come now. Do not look so surprised. Surely I am not the first to ask.”
“You are the first since my father,” Celebrimbor said with a wry chuckle, “and that was two thousand years ago.”
“Perhaps others in your life have more tact than I,” Annatar allowed, and he was pleased when this drew a proper laugh from Celebrimbor.
“I will grant that you are one of the first in a very long time not to walk on eggshells around me.”
“I would not say that people walk on eggshells,” said Annatar thoughtfully. “I think they simply respect you too much to pry.”
“And you don’t respect me?”
There was a playful tilt to Celebrimbor’s smile, and Annatar realized he was teasing. Annatar could not remember the last time he had been teased.
“That is not at all what I am saying,” Annatar said with a shake of his head. He leaned in closer, as if what he was about to say was very important. “Rather, I mean to say that we are equals. You are as deserving of respect as I; there are different rules by which we may play. For most others, I cannot say the same.”
“I am not sure I agree with that sentiment,” Celebrimbor laughed. “But I appreciate your point.”
“So?”
“So what?”
“So, why have you not wed?”
Celebrimbor shifted his weight and took a long draught of his wine. “Why the sudden interest?”
It was a non-answer, but Annatar had anticipated his evasiveness. Facing Celebrimbor in his seat, Annatar tucked one leg under himself and rested his elbow on the table and his head in his hand, projecting an air of non-threatening interest.
“Call it curiosity. You are a prince, and the lord of these lands; you are surpassingly skilled in your craft, kind, well-loved by your people. I see no reason why you should not have taken a spouse by now— you are certainly handsome, so that cannot be it.”
This made colour rise to Celebrimbor’s cheeks, and Annatar allowed himself a true smile. Unfortunately, the sight was really quite endearing.
“You flatter me, my friend,” said Celebrimbor after a beat too long.
Annatar gave a noncommittal wave of his hand. “I do not say it to flatter. Only to illustrate that, should you so wish, you would have no difficulty finding a spouse. Surely you must be aware that you have no shortage of potential suitors here in Eregion who would jump at the chance to claim so much as an evening’s worth of your time.”
And yet here you are, with me, was what Annatar did not say.
Celebrimbor had become very interested in the delicately cut rubies and garnets encrusted into the cup of his chalice. “In truth,” he said carefully, still studying the jewels, “I think I have always felt that my lifestyle is not very compatible with marriage. Or… romantic relations of any kind, really.” He swirled his index finger thoughtfully around the rim of the cup. “I had several courtships in my youth, some more serious than others, but none lasted. My true passion lies in my craft, and always my dedication to my work will surpass my dedication to another. There is only so long a partner can be expected to tolerate being a second choice.”
He said this with a strange sort of bitterness that made Annatar curious enough to ask something risky.
“Is that what happened with your father and your mother?”
Celebrimbor stilled. He glanced up, his eyes slightly narrowed. “What makes you say that?”
“You have spoken before of your father’s character, albeit briefly,” said Annatar, his voice carefully neutral. “Your mother, however, you seem keen never to dwell on for long. You have shared only that she remained behind in Aman when you and your father departed for Middle Earth, and nothing more. The leap is not a difficult one to make.”
A fragile silence stretched between them for a beat, then two, and Annatar wondered if he had pressed too hard in the wrong place. His plans for the evening had been proceeding so well— it would be such a shame to have to start all over again another night.
Finally, Celebrimbor offered him a wan smile that did not reach his eyes. “You have quite a way of reading people.”
Annatar wanted to sink his teeth into this. He wanted to root around inside the cavity of Celebrimbor’s chest until he uncovered the thread; follow it back to its beginning, find the right nerve to exploit. Is that what you are so afraid of? he wanted to ask. That you will become him? That you are him? Instead of this, Annatar found himself saying:
“I apologize if I have upset you.”
He almost thought he might have meant it, with the depth of sincerity he heard in his own voice.
Some invisible tension loosened its hold on Celebrimbor, and the atmosphere in the room seemed to shift and melt back into some semblance of the lightheartedness they had shared a moment before. Celebrimbor waved him off.
“There is no need for apology.”
“Regardless, you have mine. I should not have pushed.”
Celebrimbor’s smile softened into something more genuine. “Thank you.”
Annatar nodded, and took a slow sip of his wine. “I do have a solution to your conundrum,” he offered at length.
“You seem to be full of solutions to any number of conundrums," said Celebrimbor wryly. “But by all means.”
Crossing his legs, Annatar moved forward a little. He did not know when he had gotten so close to Celebrimbor; they had begun the evening a respectful distance apart, almost on opposite ends of the table, but he found now that when he crossed his legs his ankle rested against Celebrimbor’s calf. Celebrimbor’s eyes darted down to the point of contact, but he did not pull away.
“You need only to find someone as dedicated to their own craft as you are to yours,” Annatar told him.
Celebrimbor hummed at this, watching him with an expression difficult to decipher.
“It matters not that a person is only second in your heart to your craft if you are also second in theirs,” Annatar continued on. “If your priorities are aligned, you needn’t risk a lover feeling forgotten or dejected; so long as you both understand that greatness and duty come first, then whatever is left can be theirs.”
Celebrimbor hid a bemused smile behind a sip of wine.
“You may laugh if you wish,” said Annatar, grinning, “but it is not so impossible as perhaps you think it.”
“I don’t know,” Celebrimbor said, shaking his head. He looked down at his chalice, swirling its contents around as his smile slowly faded. He was silent for a long while. “I think,” he said at last, not meeting Annatar’s eye, “that for me, it will always be one or the other. Though I appreciate your advice, and I thank you for it.”
Annatar considered him. “That is well, if it is the truth,” he said, weighing out his words with care. “I only hope you take to heart that it need not be that way, if you do not wish it.”
With Celebrimbor looking away, Annatar took the opportunity to let his own gaze roam. He took in the slight crease between Celebrimbor’s brows, his downcast eyes, the slope of his nose leading to softly frowning lips. His hair curled around his ears and at his nape, a few gentle waves falling loosely over his forehead, and the lamplight cast shadows of his eyelashes over pink-tinged cheeks, warm from the drink. He offered nothing in response.
Finally, Annatar said, “Loneliness is not the price one must pay for genius, my friend.”
“Who said that I am lonely?”
Annatar felt the corner of his mouth twitch. A disquieting sense of fondness twinged in his chest. “Are you not?”
Celebrimbor glanced up at him, then back to his drink, making no reply.
“Even the best of us need companionship, Celebrimbor,” said Annatar, his voice very soft.
“You sound as if you speak from experience.”
Annatar considered this. Considered whether he wanted to show his hand so early; thought it likely he already had.
“Maybe I do.” He felt the familiar knife-twist of grief through his chest, an ache so wide it might have torn him apart had he let it. “Perhaps I am lonely, too.”
Celebrimbor finally looked at him properly. His keen eyes were calculating; they searched Annatar’s face, unsure of what to say. Annatar kept his gaze level and watched him with curiosity, interested to see what he might do with this vulnerability.
The silence was just starting to become uncomfortable when Celebrimbor at last gave an awkward chuckle and shifted in his seat, sitting up a little straighter so that they were no longer quite so close. He cleared his throat.
“I suppose you are right as usual, my friend.”
It was such a transparent effort to diffuse the tension Annatar could have laughed. As it was, he could not quite keep the smile from his face.
“So why not?” he coaxed.
Celebrimbor’s cheeks had gone deliciously pink, his fingers drumming absently on the table. He shrugged. “Perhaps it is just that nobody has caught my eye.”
“No?” Annatar raised his eyebrows. He took in the nervous tension radiating from Celebrimbor, the shifting eyes that could not seem to stay focused on him for any longer than a few seconds before flitting away. He slid to the edge of his seat, closing the distance Celebrimbor had just created. “I don’t believe you.”
Celebrimbor’s blush darkened. Though he now held Annatar’s gaze, it seemed only to be through an immense effort of will. Annatar let the words hang between them as the silence grew heavy.
“I think we have had too much to drink,” Celebrimbor said at length with a small laugh. Despite this, he raised his chalice to his lips and drained it. Annatar took a long, slow sip from his own and set it down, his eyes never straying from Celebrimbor.
“I’m not drunk,” he said softly. “Are you drunk?”
Celebrimbor wet his lips; the briefest flash of pink tongue. “No.”
“I think,” said Annatar, distracted by the sight, “that you are not being entirely honest with yourself.”
Celebrimbor’s eyes went a little desperate; a trapped animal pinned under Annatar’s gaze. “What are you trying to say?”
Annatar felt something twist low in his stomach. He wondered briefly if he could really go through with this, and decided that he could.
“Only that if there is something you want," he said, very slowly, “then I think you should take it.”
He had swayed even further into Celebrimbor’s space, their hands very nearly brushing on the table. He watched Celebrimbor’s gaze flicker to his mouth, and found his own drawn to Celebrimbor’s in turn; found that once he had looked he could not look away.
A tension so thick it could have been cut through with a dull knife hung between them. Annatar thought he could hear the quickened beating of Celebrimbor’s heart, or perhaps that was his own, he could not be sure. Suddenly he found himself speaking again without ever having meant to.
“Celebrimbor,” he whispered, shocked by the urgency in his own voice. “Take it.”
In the next heartbeat, Celebrimbor’s mouth was on his.
There was a warm hand cupping Annatar’s neck, so tender and so careful, and their lips were together for a beat, two, before Celebrimbor drew back.
He paused there a handful of inches away, and the emotion in his eyes was difficult to read but underneath it all— a hunger, a want that could no longer be hidden away. Annatar’s gaze drifted back to Celebrimbor’s mouth, to slightly parted lips, pink and impossibly soft in the lamplight, and he let out a shuddery sigh as he pressed in to close the distance between them again.
Celebrimbor’s lips moved against his slowly at first, almost tentatively. Celebrimbor pulled back every so often to pause for a beat, tilting Annatar’s head very slightly to one side or the other before going in for another kiss. Annatar had no complaints about letting him lead for a little while. It was strange, to be kissing someone who was not his master. Somehow it did not feel quite so wrong as it should have, and that only made it stranger. It felt easier, somehow, to let himself be kissed, rather than to be the one doing the kissing.
Gradually the kiss warmed, and after some time Annatar managed to quiet the whispering voice in the back of his skull just as Celebrimbor seemed to find his confidence. His grip on Annatar’s waist tightened and he cupped Annatar’s jaw, coaxing his lips apart and sliding his tongue into his mouth. Annatar’s stomach flipped upside down and he felt suddenly dizzy, as if he had drunk far more than he thought.
He slid his fingers into Celebrimbor’s hair and moved forward to perch on the edge of his seat, and then before he had even realized it he had climbed into Celebrimbor’s lap, hiking up his own robes so he could sit astride him. He kissed Celebrimbor hard, lips bruising and hungry, tongues sliding together, chasing his taste. Something was stirring inside of Annatar that he could not quite place, and it was not until Celebrimbor made a low, rough sound in his throat and slid one hand lower to rest it on his hip that Annatar identified the feeling as desire.
It had been so very long; he had spent so many centuries without a corporeal form he had quite forgotten he could feel such a thing at all. And it was desire— true desire, desire for its own sake. He had known before now that he wanted Celebrimbor, but that want could not have been parsed from all the ways in which having Celebrimbor was a means to an end. He needed Celebrimbor to trust him, needed him in his pocket, needed him in order to fulfill his plans and bring his vision for the Rings to life. All of that was wholly separate from the visceral, carnal desire now growing within Annatar, spilling out to fill him from the place between his hips where heat was pooling all the way to his grasping fingers.
Celebrimbor was steadying him with one hand on his hip, but the other was wandering; threading through Annatar’s hair in one moment and mapping out the dip of his spine in the next. Annatar felt short of breath but he could not bring himself to stop kissing Celebrimbor for longer than the scant seconds it took to draw in a shallow inhale before he was claiming his mouth again— and again, and again, and again. Celebrimbor’s hand kept tightening on his hip and then letting up, like he wanted to grab with more force but kept reminding himself not to, but Annatar wished that he would— wanted to feel his nails dig in, longed for the dull ache of newly-formed bruises.
They kissed until Annatar could no longer tell whose tongue was in whose mouth, whose teeth had closed around whose bottom lip, who had moaned like that, because surely it could not have been him. At last they wrenched apart, breathing hard.
Celebrimbor looked dazed, all kiss-swollen lips and mussed hair and blown pupils. Annatar would have felt smug about this, except that he was certain he looked no better.
“You should take me to bed,” Annatar told him, breathless.
Celebrimbor could not seem to tear his eyes away from the movement of his lips. He nodded slowly. “Yes,” he said. “I should.”
Centuries worth of desire and want had crawled up Annatar's throat and lodged itself there. He could feel the barest press of Celebrimbor against the inside of his thigh, half-hard, and it was making it difficult to remember why getting to a bedroom was even so important to begin with.
“Quickly,” he added.
“Yes,” said Celebrimbor again, and he urged Annatar up so he could stand. “Come on.”