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The smell of mould and rust permeated the air, hitting Mairon in the face as soon as he walked into the poor excuse for an establishment they had stopped at, and distaste nearly took over his features at the sight.
Nothing but cheap could describe the room before him, or the place itself. Even before he walked in, it was easy to say this was not the most reputable of places – which was quite a feat for a type of establishment known for its lack of it.
But unlike the other places they passed by, the vacancy sign was lit here, and they were in dire need of a place to crash while the sun was up. Desperate was not a word Mairon used often or lightly, but it was the only that could be applied to their situation, no matter how much he hated to admit.
Dawn was almost upon them, but it was high season, and it seemed they were not the only ones desperate enough to resort to such a place for temporary refuge, but Mairon was far from complaining. He only stood in line behind the others as they all did their best to ignore the mould on the water pipes and the dust that littered every corner of the room.
The concierge was nasty, downright rude, when Mairon finally got to them, and the amount of restraint it took not to slice their throat where they stood was tremendous, but Mairon was nothing if not disciplined and he had dealt with far less pleasant people in his life.
He’ll deal with this one later, like he did with all of the others.
Right now he does nothing but take the key he was handled, and turn around with his head bowed low in a neat façade of shyness he has perfected over the years.
His boss’ pride would never have allowed him to remain passive in situations such as these, which was the reason he was the one waiting outside in the cold.
Mairon’s pride, however, was much more malleable.
And blending in was one of his many talents.
Melkor was easy enough to locate, and Mairon spotted his figure with ease from afar.
He leaned lazily against their beatdown car, only the pale glow of a withering moon lighting up his dark skin. His hair was loose now, long dreads casting a shadow on part of his face, but his grey eyes glowed as he watched Mairon approach.
“Que?” He asks after Mairon stops in front of him.
“Ese lugar és una mierda.” Mairon says, finally letting disapproval show in his face and voice. He hears Melkor scoff as he stands upright, stepping in front of him and grabbing his chin, forcing him to look up.
Mairon was tall, but Melkor was taller and far more imposing, and Mairon felt anticipation seething in the pit of his stomach.
“Todos esos lugares són una mierda.” He says. “Pero mejor una mierda ahora que despúes. Prisón no és para tu, preciouso. Demasiado aburrido.” A shadow of a smile appears on Melkor’s lips, and Mairon laughs. “Which room?”
“Nueve.”
“You are the one who told me of the importance of blending in. Refusing to speak their language will not help us.” Melkor lifts a brow at him, thumbing at his bottom lip, uncaring of the occasional guests that walk past them.
“No voy a hablar la lengua de estos malparidos más do que mi és necesario.” Mairon answers, and Melkor’s hand drops to his neck, wrapping itself around it and pressing, almost cutting off their air, but not quite.
“You’re teasing me.”
“Yo? Jamás.” He says with what little breath he can gather, trying his best not to whimper when Melkor tightens his hold.
“Manipulative little serpent.” Melkor says, voice closer to a growl than anything remotely human, and Mairon smiles.
“May I remind you of discretion?” He manages to wheeze out, and the hold loosens significantly. “Unless prison has become our new destination, I suggest we move this into the room.” The pressure disappears from his throat and Mairon takes a deep breath, leaning into Melkor, who wraps an arm around him protectively.
“Come, then.” He says, taking the key from Mairon and grabbing their baggages before guiding him to their room as he tries to catch his breath.
Unsurprisingly, it was just as poorly kept as the rest of the place, and a grimace makes itself seen on Mairon’s face.
“Surely prison can’t be much worse than this.” He complains as Melkor locks the door behind them and throws their suitcases in the shitty armchair by the door. “It’s atrocious.”
“You’ve been to worst places, I’m sure.” Melkor wraps his hands around his waist, burying his face on the curve of Mairon’s neck.
“Of course. But being Aulë’s favourite had its perks, and I was not out in the field very often.” Mairon sighs as gentle butterfly kisses are placed on his neck and shoulder, warmth spreading through him.
“Pity. You are a wonder to behold in the field.” Melkor chuckles, prompting a series of shivers to run down Mairon’s spine.
“Ah. A compliment from the best superior officer to ever have graced us poor lowly footsoldiers.” Mairon turns around, looking up at his boss with a half smile. “Whatever shall I do to repay the flattery you have bestowed upon me?” He touches the hem of Melkor’s jacket. “Qué puedo hacer por usted? Qué quieres?”
“Ah, pero ya tengo lo que quiero. Eres mío, sí?” Melkor leans down, grey eyes looking down at him with unbridled want.
“Sí. Y que va hacer conmigo?” Defiance was clear in Mairon’s voice, a challenge being laid down and one he knew Melkor would eagerly take.
“Lo que quiero.” Melkor spits out, wrapping a hand around his neck again and effectively cutting off Mairon’s air completely before throwing him against the wall in one swift movement. Mairon groans in pain, but does nothing but look up at his boss from under his lashes. “I have killed people for less than your insolence, Gorthaur” Melkor says, approaching him with dark eyes.
“Aren’t I lucky that I’m your favourite, then?” Mairon answers, breath shallow and a smirk on his lips. Melkor lunges at him again, hand on his chin and forearm against the wall by his head.
“Snake.” There’s a faint tone of amusement in Melkor’s voice, and Mairon lets himself laugh.
“Is that an innuendo?” He says and, and gets a chuckle in response.
“You vile little thing.” Melkor says, but it’s more a term of endearment than anything else. “Turn around.” He whispers, nuzzling at Mairon’s cheek with something that almost resembles sweetness.
Mairon does as he’s told.
“I should take you right here, against this door.” Melkor breathes against his ear, palming Mairon’s erection through his pants, and Mairon lets his head fall into the door. “I do wish to take my time, however.”
“I would advise you to be quick. We are, after all, on the run.” Mairon’s voice is as breathy as Melkor's laugh.
Melkor turns him around again, keeping him trapped between him and the door, and Mairon sighs in anticipation when a slow smile creeps its way into his lips.
“Why care about prison when I have you at hand?” Melkor asks, tone soft and face inches away from Mairon’s own.
“You flatter me.” Mairon breathes, leaning in closer, but stopping shy of touching. He feels the tension between them sizzling with electricity, feels the warmth of Melkor’s breath on his face, feels his own heart speeding up.
“You’re worthy of it.” Melkor says, before closing the space between them.
There’s always an undertone of gentleness in Melkor’s kisses, even if it’s buried under aggressiveness and borderline violence. It has fire coiling in Mairon’s stomach, and he gasps into the kiss.
Melkor bites and sucks at his bottom lip until Mairon feels the sting of blood being drawn, and smiles into the kiss.
“Vámonos, entonces. Si vamos a la prisión por esto, quiero que hagas valer la pena.” Mairon whispers, and laughs as Melkor growls and lifts him off the floor to toss him into bed.