Sometime in the night, longing crept under his skin, and a state of distraction hounds him throughout his day.
He catches himself leaning closer to people as they speak, falling half in love with the expressions of strangers. A need for touch burns like an itch in the back of his thoughts; inconvenient and frustrating. He envies the errant brush of a hand across another’s throat, the silk hem of a constricting frock.
Seeking the relief of solitude, away from the storm of exchanged glances and wind-caught scents, he is driven to his chambers; but the yearning haunts him still, and he finds himself pacing like a lion in a cage, half hoping, half dreading that someone will intrude upon his suffering.
He could practically feel the need – the annoyance – the tension – that seemed to surround his brother that day. It would be highly uncouth to mention such a thing in front of their guests and servants however, and so Mairon says nothing….. even though it causes arousal and jealousy to burn within his chest. The thought that his beloved ‘brother’ might go to another to sate his need was simply unacceptable.
When Sauron left, Mairon waited only for a moment to assure their guests that everything was fine with the Lord, and that he would happily check up on him – Make sure that he wasn’t ill – before following Sauron to his chambers.
He had to think now… How would he be able to guarantee that Sauron would find him arousing? Wider hips seemed like a good choice, and so he let his grow the slightest bit to give himself a more feminine curve. His brother loved chubby humans (for some reason) so some softness might be good, though that wouldn’t be noticed unless Sauron TOUCHED him.
Finally he raised a hand to knock on his brother’s door, practically purring as he spoke.
“Are you well, brother? Our guests seem worried that you have caught some form of illness”
Sauron hissed through his teeth at the sound of his brother’s voice, which was sultry under normal circumstances, and today practically dripped with coy sensuality– ostensibly for the sole purpose of aggravating him.
He did not wait for a second knock. Flinging the door open he dragged his brother inside by the collar of his thin robe, fangs bared in his face.
“You know very well I am not ill. You know exactly what is wrong with me, or you wouldn’t be here, reeking like a bitch in heat,” he spat.
Something was different about Mairon; the heft of him was off, the drape of his clothes altered in some subtle way… He stood blinking for a moment in confusion, the nearness and heat of the other like a cloud of perfume that fogged over his brain. A rolling growl like thunder left his chest, and he pinned the smaller Maia flush against the door, using the weight of his frame to slam it shut.
“You changed yourself. You brazen little succubus, what have you done,” he rasped, feeling drunk, an awful mixture of temper and lust brewing in his core. His hand thrust under the silk of Mairon’s robes, squeezing the cushion of flesh he found there, just over his usually narrow hips. It was unfair. It was a cheap, cruel tactic to use such a familiar body against him. He filled both hands with the softness of gold thighs, pressing his mouth to the pulse just under Mairon’s jaw, his inhibitions and his breath leaving him both at once.
MisbehavingMaiar: Tumblr Archive 