Dark, and foreboding, is this forest, even though I have the main malignancy right here before me, shambling slowly with hands shackled behind his back- and now I have shackled his feet as well.
It is very slow going.
Curumo has, true to his words, left me to care for- and oversee- Sauron’s fate now. It was not supposed to be that way, but since he has seemed to lose all sense of restraint as far as abuse of helpless prisoners, I am glad enough that he is not with us.
Sauron stops, suddenly, and looks back at me, his face shining in the moonlight. He is tired, not used to walking, let alone walking long distances. Sweat glimmers faintly on his brow, and he looks- most displeased.
“Olórin. I want- to stop for a while. I am extremely tired!” The lips purse to make the point, and I nod, a little amused, despite the gravity of the situation. I motion to a grove of trees, illuminated in the moon’s eerie glow.
He walks before me and then sits down, gracelessly in his bondage, on the soft grass.
I make two sleeping mats, and lay them down, as he watches me intently.
The night air is warm, unusually so, and I slip off my outer cloak. Sauron frowns, and begins to complain, something I will find he is very good at:
“What of me? Am I to sleep sitting up, trussed as a fowl?”
“Patience!” I go to him, and unshackle his wrists- but not his ankles. “Only so you may eat, and get in a comfortable position to sleep- and then back on they go. I do not trust you, Sauron.”
He smiles scornfully, but nods in false obedience. “What is there to eat, then?”
I smile back, and cannot resist teasing him, for some reason: “Lembas bread. I am sure you are familiar with the food of the elves?” He looks at me in anger and horror, and replies acidly:
“I cannot eat that filth! It will poison me! Or is that the intention?”
With a sigh, I shake my head at him, and pull out a roll of smoked meat from the bag. He looks relieved. I hand it to him, and he takes it, cautiously, as if it may come to life and bite him. Then, at last, he eats it with almost painful elegance, slowly, never taking his eyes off me as he does so.
Finally, I sit down and finish off a half of a lembas portion, and then I allow myself to relax slightly, leaning back under the tree we are under, but not taking my eyes off Sauron. So, we mutually observe one another with relentless distrust.
“Water.” he says, gesturing at me. “Water?” I say, feigning confusion. Does he not know how to ask for a thing, in a normal fashion?
“Yes, what about it?”
“Give me some!”
“I see you still fancy giving commands. But you will find I do not take them. Have you no sense of manners at all? I am not your servant, Sauron!”
The prettily handsome face radiates fury, but he relents, and finally asks again:
“Olórin- ‘please’ give me some water.”
It is a sham, and a farce of the most obvious variety, but it is enough for now. Perhaps by the time we reach Valinor, he will have found courtesy and simple decency again, and it would serve him very well.
If he behaves even reasonably well, I do intend to plead for mercy for him. But I know he will make doing so a great challenge.
I go to him and hand him the flask, and he takes it, lingering over it, his lips wrapping around the end in a very suggestive fashion. Looks at me. Smiling.
I look away, rattled somehow. I did not expect that. Now what?
He hands me the flask, and grins wickedly. “Now. You drink, after me.”
“I am not thirsty.” He glares at me, as if I am refusing to play some game with him. Perhaps that is the case.
I rise, intending to re-secure his wrists, and he also stands suddenly. Alarmed, I prepare to subdue him if he tries anything foolish- but he merely pulls off his red and black outer robes.
And then the inner tunic comes off, tight black leather, exposing his sleek and hairless chest. Then- he begins to unlace the leggings, and I speak then, in a voice that does not even sound like mine:
“You do not need to strip utterly naked, Sauron. Save something for the imagination, hm?”
He straightens, tossing back the long golden locks, and frowns petulantly. Then with one long hand, he reaches up and touches his chest, dragging sharp fingernails over one nipple, and closing his eyes.
What is he up to!
I suddenly want this situation to cease.
“Give me your wrists.”
Annoyed by his childish antics, that may only be a precursor of some dangerous act he is contemplating, I reach for his wrist- and he moves with deft swiftness, so that my hand misses his wrist, and falls on his chest.
My face warms, reddening with shock and anger, and I pull back- but not before feeling the silken skin of my fellow Maia.
“I am not in the mood for games!” I inform him furiously, and he only smiles, and backs away from me a few steps. He wears a look of playful spite, and I cannot fathom what he thinks he is doing.
Agile as a young deer, he twists away, and I am suddenly aware of this body I am in, its limitations, and lack of flexibility.
It is a game, I can see that, bizarre as it may be.
But he forgets his ankles are shackled, and he stumbles backward, landing hard on his back with a grunt. I can see the wind is knocked out of him, and I lower myself onto him slowly, manacles in hand. I sit on his chest, not with my full weight, but enough to pin him down.
“Now! Give me your wrists!” He does so, with that false meekness, and I secure him once again, this time, arms in front.
“I would- like to sleep- the other way.”
“What other way? Hanging like a bat, perhaps?”
“On my stomach, old fool!”
I sigh deeply, immensely aggravated. “Just sleep on your back, Sauron!”
I rise off him, and pull him towards the mat, sliding him on the grass. I dump him unceremoniously on it, and then stretch out on my own.
I lie in the starry darkness, uneasy. And then, the now-familiar whine drifts across to me:
“Olórin…I have a cramp! A cramp! Please, help me!”
Wearily, I rise, and go to him. “Where is this supposed cramp?”
“So cold, you are, heartless and--”
“Will you tell me where it is?!”
Every sense I have, tells me he is lying, but the whimpers have become sobs, and cursing my own stupidity, I kneel down, feeling in the darkness, and place my hand on his thigh, and I can feel the muscle tightly clenched, seeming to be locked in a spasm.
I massage the straining muscle, and it finally begins to ease.
“I- am not used to walking so far, I fear.”, he mutters, almost apologetically.
Still kneading his thigh, I nod mutely.
“Is it alright now, then?”
“It is improving- you had better do that for a moment longer.” His voice is husky and soft, and, charmed without even realizing it, I gently rub my fingers over his leg, moving downwards, and then up higher again.
He sighs, and assures me I am saving him: “Much better, much better, it was so painful, really.”
Finally, I stop, and raise myself, looking down at him.
Suddenly, he lunges upwards, and I again curse my aged form- he pulls me down with one hand, and I fall hard onto him, chest to chest.
Angry, I start to push myself up, and he implores me:
“Olórin, a moment, please! Have you-- have you never done a thing simply for the sake of pleasure, for the joy of it?”
“Share pleasure with me, Olórin. Something that will relax both of us, ease our way into sleep.”
“What are you conniving now?!”
“You are no child, you know what I speak of!”
I consider this, and gaze at him, too close now. Our bodies press together, having an effect on me, and Sauron’s hips move under mine, writhing. Squirming in undulating arousal, so dimly remembered.
//get up now, ere it be too late, fool!//
My own chastising advice strives against the musk of Sauron’s sweet body under me, and it does not prevail.
Immobile, I remain frozen in time and space, not daring to move, and he moves forward, his lips finding mine, his tongue slithering into my mouth like a seeking serpent.
This body of his, too hot, too hot! For did he not kill his enemy at the Battle of the Last Alliance by throwing himself upon him, with his dying strength? And searing hot is his Fire Maia’s body, but now it is only a seething, a shrouded fire.
I grasp his hair roughly, and bear down on him, returning his unasked for kiss with a far more brutal one of my own.
He moans in my mouth, rearing up against me, his back arching. I hear myself say something that is grossly untrue, and yet I must say it, as I reach down and loose one leg of his irons:
“Sauron- if you try to escape, I will hurt you. Do you understand me?”
I shudder at the unaccustomed cruelty of my words, but if I do not say this in this fashion, it will mean nothing to him.
“Do you understand this?!”
His freed leg snakes over my back, and then the other wraps around as well. His hands remain shackled, raised over his head now.
I move down on him, and my tongue finds one soft nipple- but the friction quickly changes its condition, and Sauron croons softly, hips moving again. I continue my attentions for some time, shifting to the other, fingers gently squeezing, pinching with the lightest of pressure, and his body surges under me in excitement.
Anxious, now, remembering how it feels to want this, I unloose the remaining shackle on his ankle, and pull off his leggings at last. My own come off quickly, quickly, and we lie together now, skin to skin, each vulnerable to the other.
I slick my fingers eagerly, liberally, and push them into him, not hard, but forcefully, deeply. He nearly squeals and grinds against me, and I feel how hard he is, rubbing, gasping.
But as proudly as it stands, even more arrogantly does my own staff rise now, ready for him, throbbing for him.
Two fingers- then three- then four.
Sauron’s cries are long and loud, and his legs clench around me, his whole body wet with sweat, muscles taut.
“Are you- alright? Can you take this?” I whisper sharply, not desiring to truly hurt him.
“Yes, I can take it! I will take it!”
My fingers sink into the tight abyss, up to the knuckle now. My thumb adds its voice to the symphony, and Sauron writhes hard under me, nearly screaming, hips pumping up to meet my assault. And suddenly, I am in all the way, up to the start of my wrist- I turn my fingers inside him to stroke the swollen gland, and Sauron moans in a delirious crescendo, ecstasy dripping from the sound.
Slowly, I withdraw, light headed with my own arousal, and pull out of his steamy clench.
I pull his legs up around me high, and spread him wide, sinking in, feeling his fire surround me, making me thrum with pleasure.
I move so that I may reach his mouth, and the soft lips open, wet and hot, darkly welcoming me.
I am far too excited to last too long, it is close already, and I drive into him to the utmost, eliciting more cries and moans, urging him on.
“Are you close? Are you nearly there, Sauron?”
“Oh, yes, Olórin, soon, soon, ahhhh…”
“Together, then, with me, now…”
We strive together, and in the extremity of climax, even as Sauron convulses with a piercing cry under me, I do not notice that he has somehow managed to get ahold of my Elven blade, hiding it under his robe, next to our straining bodies.
I will not even realize it is gone, until it is nearly too late.
This is a work of fan fiction, written because the author has an abiding love for the works of J R R Tolkien. The characters, settings, places, and languages used in this work are the property of the Tolkien Estate, Tolkien Enterprises, and possibly New Line Cinema, except for certain original characters who belong to the author of the said work. The author will not receive any money or other remuneration for presenting the work on this archive site. The work is the intellectual property of the author, is available solely for the enjoyment of Henneth Annûn Story Archive readers, and may not be copied or redistributed by any means without the explicit written consent of the author.