Heat

Mellow Soulmate AU or whatever.  Others say Celebrimbor should be wary of the visiting maia.  But Annatar has quickly become his Achilles Heel.  Quenya names used (Celebrimbor = Telperinquar, Fëanor = Fëanáro, Galadriel = Artanis, Finarfin = Arafinwë, Sauron = Annatar).  This is, basically, a prequel to "Lust", "Disaster", "Lies", "Drought" and "Grace".  Takes place in Eregion in the middle of the Second Age before the forging of the Rings of Power.

Disclaimer: I don't own the Silmarillion

Pairings: Sauron x Celebrimbor (pre-slash)

Characters: Celebrimbor, Sauron (mentions Fëanor, Narvi, Finarfin, Galadriel, Celegorm and Lúthien, as well as hinting at most of the other Fëanorions in some rather direct manner)

Warning: canon-compliant AU, non-canon relationships, slash, heavy sexual undertones, hints at masturbation, unhealthy obsessive behavior, manipulation in the b/g, mentions mass murder and canonical character death

Song: Fithos Lusec Wecos Vinosec

Words: 1,229
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heat (noun): a condition of being hot, warmth; pathological excessive bodily temperature; intensity of feeling or reaction: passion; the height or stress of an action or condition
http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/heat

It was not mere beauty that captured and enraptured the last of the infamous House of Fëanáro.

Having grown up in a family of naturally and intensely attractive men and women, Telperinquar was not drawn to anything so shallow and empty as physical prowess or elegance of the face and form, not when he knew what could be lingering underneath such an inconspicuous facade meant for the sole purpose of deception.  To him, beauty was nothing more than an outward image painted over something intrinsically different and intriguing.  Something hidden and dangerous, worthy of searching out but also potentially harmful, worthy of wariness and caution.

It was nothing to be concerned with in the end, beauty of the body.  For it was as oft a lie as it was the truth.

And, thus, Telperinquar liked to take pride in the fact that he knew some of the most stunning and breathtaking beings walking Middle-earth and felt not a drop of lust for a single one of them.  Not even his cousin Artanis, who was a great and profound beauty amongst even the glory and perfection of the elves. Telperinquar did not shy to admit that he was more attracted to Narvi of Khazad-dûm than ever would he be to the haughty and wild-spirited daughter of the House of Arafinwë.

Though, admittedly, Annatar outshone even Artanis is perfection of face and form with incredible ease, it would not have been enough to draw forth the attentions of the Lord of Eregion in of its outward appeal.  There needed to be substance.

And substance had been provided, offered upon a silver platter for tasting.  Many other things there were about the golden-haired maia that bound up Telperinquar's arms and legs, left him breathless in that overpowering presence and wordless in the face of that smile, stumbling over himself like a newly-minted colt who had never so much as wooed a woman to his favor before.

It was the intensity.

How Annatar could walk into a room and fill it completely no matter its size, no matter who might already be present.  All eyes would immediately be drawn to the pale form.  When Annatar was present, Telperinquar felt it pressing against him from all directions, washing over him, blocking all else from his sight and senses but that porcelain skin upon the handsome face of his fellow smith.

It was the pure intelligence.

Being able to sit and speak plainly to another about his passion.  Being able to lean across the dinner table and hold a riveting discussion of metallurgy or jewel-cutting of which even the most talented of the Gwaith-i-Mírdan could scarcely make heads or tails.  Being able to hear that low, melodic voice thrum in excitement and delight, vibrating through the air around him...

It was the feeling of the powerful spirit brushing up against his own.

Not burning as many others described the feel of a maia in their midst.  Not like touching an open flame and feeling the sting of reddened skin protesting as it was roasted and peeled away.

Instead, Annatar would draw close, peering over his shoulder or brushing against his side, and Telperinquar would shudder from the base of his spine down to his toes in utter awareness of the body nearby, of the warmth radiating from its center and raining down upon his skin.  The spirit in of itself was as a star radiating iridescence to put to shame even Anar, but it was the heat that encircled and entrapped.  The simmer under the skin that glowed and writhed.

As a son of the blood of Fëanáro, rare it was for Telperinquar to feel scalded.

But the spirit of this maia stoked his flame.  It was not cool to the touch as a splash of water meant to douse, but rather an inferno that swallowed him whole.  Washed over every inch of his body and cradled tenderly.  Blanketed his bare skin with a strange feeling of camaraderie and safety and attraction.

To the point where Telperinquar craved that touch.  Wanted to languish in the presence of the other all day and all night if only to have it close.  Wanted to touch that skin coated in a thin sheen of gold but still so pale, just to see if it was as metal left beneath the sun to his chilled fingertips.  Wanted to run his hands through the untamed curls spilling over broad shoulders, wondering how they would feel if he slept within their tangles and nothing else.

Wanted to cup high cheekbones and tilt that head down so that he might stare into those eyes.  Eyes that spoke of the true nature of the being with such a sultry, delicate appearance.

That spoke of the molten core.  Of playfulness and passion and seduction.  And of the organized chaos of creation from destruction.

Eyes that left the elf panting and shivering in the darkness of his bedchambers when sleep eluded and his body itched and trembled.  Eyes that had the elf imagining them looking down upon his coiled and impassioned from above as they--

It was an obsession.  Telperinquar knew that.  Knew the danger.  Remembered the tragedy.  Recognized the look of mania in his own eyes when they were reflected back from the polished silver surface of a mirror, the truth of the matter lying out naked in the brightness of noon.

Silmarilli... Family... Revenge... Attraction... Freedom... Atonement...

The House of Fëanáro was a den of obsessions.  A den of tragic downfalls.

But he knew now the ugly truth of the matter.  That, when this heat struck him down and trussed him up and held him captive, he could not flee and could not think rationally and could not untangle himself.  Could not drive it off or put it out.  Wanted only to hold it closer and closer until it merged with his being.

If this was what Turkafinwë felt when he looked upon the lady Lúthien, Telperinquar knew he could never again think his uncle a possessive psychopath.  Because it was painful, this want.  The very thought of allowing Annatar to slip through his fingers... of seeing that glorious visage smiling crookedly at another... that warmth of spirit wrapping its arms in an intimate embrace around another...

Telperinquar knew the taste of true obsession.  Of the blood of his kith and kin.  The fey gleam in the eye that led Fëanáro to the sin of slaughter and the reckless passion of blind charge into battle.  The overwhelming pull of lust toward another person that could not be quenched or stifled, only be fulfilled or remain agonizingly unrequited.  The heady desire to protect what mattered most even at the cost of honor and reputation and sanity, even at the price of eternal damnation and the smear of innocent blood across pale warrior's palms.

When he looked upon Annatar, he felt the fire in his own blood ten times more fiercely.  Felt the possessive desperation.  The willingness to do almost anything to grab hold with unshakable fists...

And it was within his reach.  Watching and waiting in the depths of fire-opal eyes.  If only he would reach out to touch...

And pray that he did not get burned.
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Right, I am honestly a little obsessed with this pairing at the current time, as you can see.  I have no idea what I'm going to do with them, but there they are.  I might work more in the middle of this arc or I might move on to the LotR portion of this arc, I honestly have no idea.  But I love all the parallels that are appearing in my story! *sniffles* You have no idea how happy it makes me!  Okay, so maybe you might, but you know what I mean...

Anyway, I picked today's song because, if you listen to this version, it's seductive music.  That's what I first thought of the very first time I heard it, and that's still what I think of now.  It has, of course, that very stereotypical "Asian music" quality and "Arabic music" quality as well, but stereotypes will be stereotypes will be stereotypes.  Fithos Lusec Wicos Vinosec is still an amazing piece of music (I believe this is still Nobuo Uematsu as a composer) and I love it to death.  I've just been waiting for the opportunity to use it. <3

Hope you enjoy.