Monopoly

Lust AU.  Celebrimbor just so happens to be one of these most unfortunate elves to ever have been born.  It's just the luck of the grandson of Fëanor.  Quenya names used (Celebrimbor = Telperinquar, Sauron = Mairon or Annatar).  This is closely related to both the Lust arc (the Second Age arc) and the Grace arc (the Third Age arc) surrounding this pairing.  You could almost say its the bridge that fits the pair together.  Anyway, first part takes place in Eregion in the Second Age and the second in Barad-dûr in the Third Age.

Disclaimer: I don't own the Silmarillion or LotR

Pairings: Sauron x Celebrimbor

Characters: Sauron, Celebrimbor (mentions Eru, the Valar, Arien and Tilion)

Warning: non-canon compliant, slash, potential non-con, dysfunctional relationships, abusive relationships, obsessive behaviors, potential kidnapping, heavy sexual undertones/content (but no actual sex)

Song: Super Psycho Love

Words: 1,487
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monopoly (noun): exclusive ownership through legal privilege, command of supply, or concerted action; exclusive possession or control; a commodity controlled by one party
http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/monopoly

It was shocking--and disgusting--to realize how fast he had become completely and utterly addicted.

Not only to the scent and the feel and the beauty.  Not only to the smoke mingling with something cool and winter-pale in the back of his throat when he held those locks against his nose and inhaled their fragrance.  Not only to the sensation of running his hands over sweaty, soft skin and raised scars perched like a blanket over rippling muscle, or to the feeling of hands touching him in return everywhere they could reach in a frenzy of passion.  Not only to the image that constantly made itself at home in the back of his mind as he worked, that stirring, riveting gold-laced picture of his lover basking naked upon their bed, inky hair breaking over lily-white skin.

All of those things, he coveted.  Lusted after.  But they were nothing new.

Thousands of lovers lined up in his memory like china dolls.  Each one was unique, chosen because something within their spirits and forms had sparked his interest, caught the eye of the craftsman and boldly held his attention.  And he craved them, each and every one, for their singularly imperfect flawlessness.

Mairon had never been one to shy from indulging.  And he had indulged his passions.  Without reins to hold him back or rules to stifle his freedom.

And, when the time came to let them go, he let them flutter away.  Certainly, he coveted and lusted after their bodies and their screams and their pain, but in the end they were little more than toys.  Amusements placed in his path to hold his attention for but a brief moment in time.  When they died or disappeared, Mairon felt no wrath or disappointment.

But this was different.

He knew he lusted after Telperinquar.  To the point of madness, he desired that foolish, glorious creature.  Sought out that blistering intelligence and that blinding-bright spirit and that mouthwatering body.

Lust, he knew.  This, however, was beyond even that.

Never before had he become so attached.  Until every moment he spent away from that elf, he felt a pull in the back of his mind to go and find the other, to pin him to the nearest flat surface and ravage him until all Telperinquar ever thought of again was Mairon.  And then he would lock the other up, away from all prying eyes and interfering nuisances, and keep the elf like a treasure.  Be it for intelligible conversation or sexual satisfaction or even the simple comforts of physical companionship, he wanted Telperinquar.

And he did not want to share.

It was then that the real obsession began.  That the daydreams clouded his eyes at all hours of the day and haunted his sleep when he curled up beside his lover's sated body in the night.

The moments of vertigo...

In which he imagined it, a succulent sort of drug, the sight of Telperinquar upon the vast expanse of his bed, nude and in chains.  Writhing and purring for his touch, never stopping even for a moment to question his imprisonment...

Looking upon him as if his golden sheen had replaced Arien's rays and his molten eyes the heat of the earth and the sky.  As if Eru no longer existed and the Valar were a massive delusion and all that mattered in the world was Mairon--all-powerful ruler of Middle-earth, the lord before whom all people bowed and pleaded for mercy or favor.

Telperinquar would reach for him only.  Think of him only.  Talk to him only.

Never see another again, man or woman.  Never speak to a voice not that of his lover and master.  Never be allowed to remove his attention and passion and brilliance from Mairon's face and form.

Mairon wanted it all.  Every last drop.  A monopoly on this intoxicating sculpture of Eru's greatest, most beautiful and most fascinating work.

"You seem awfully far away, today, Annatar."

Snapping out of those thoughts, he felt the brush of fingers upon his cheek.  Gentle and loving.  So devoted.  But even so not the mindlessly addicted stroke of digits--trembling in their need to feel his heat and stoke his pleasure--that he so imagined.

At his side, Telperinquar was lying stretched out as a cat upon silken sheets.  Dark hair blanketed the naked form gleaming in the faint light of Isil--and how he longed to close those curtains, block that light, so that not even the moon could see his lover's perfection!--when the elf rose to his elbows and smirked crookedly in the maia's direction. "I could almost think you've forgotten about me completely.  I hope your daydreams are pleasant."

You have no idea.  If you did, I imagine you might run as far and fast as you could.

"They are," he replied, leaning over to kiss deeply those lips and taste that rich flavor. "But they are a fleeting and faint flicker of heat in the winter when compared to my addiction to you."

And Telperinquar blushed and laughed and wrapped his arms about the maia.  Never understanding just how serious and terrifyingly truthful those words were.  Never even seeing the crouching predator preparing to spring and take down its prey.

---

More than three thousand years, he had waited.  Not only to climb back to the apex of power, the dominant force subduing all those who dared oppose his will, but to complete the painted fantasy of the reality he wanted to create by his own hand.  And it was time to begin.

Time to emerge from the shadows once more.

And he started with Telperinquar.

Hunted the elf down and ensnared the poor creature with ridiculous ease, his unleashed powers--even weakened as they were--still more than a mere elf could hope to fight against.  All it took was a smoldering look and a few brushes of his hands, and his former lover was nearly falling back into his embrace and begging for his love.

Now, though, there was no game stopping him from carrying out his darkest fantasies.

From locking Telperinquar away from even his most trusted servants, hidden in the towering structure of Barad-dûr where he could not hope to escape nor to hide himself from Mairon's influence and gaze and heat and power.  From spreading that elf out naked upon his bed and touching and sampling and tasting and ravishing the creature into a screaming, sobbing, pleading mess of sweat and heat and spend.

From taking a slender ankle between his hands and crafting for it a golden shackle.  Carefully soldering it in place, so that no clasp existed.  So that it could never be removed.  And then he added the chain, affixed to the base of his massive bed in a grotesque work of art.  So that the elf would never wander too far from his sight and reach.

From entrancing the poor, wonderful, addictive creature until Telperinquar thought not even a moment of escape.  Listlessly awaited his attentions with a single-minded focus that would have been frightening were it not for the fact that the sheer magnitude of attraction and obsession was returned in equal share by the maia, with his greedy, starving lust and crooked smirk of glee.  Day-in and day-out, the former-craftsman--the lover that had betrayed the Dark Lord--lay upon silk, skin bare and shuddering, and occupied himself only with touching and thinking of Mairon, imagining the Dark Lord's hands and tongue and cock as that body was teased to the brink.

All of him belonged only to Mairon.  Exactly as it should have been.

And the Dark Lord smiled as he entered those bedchambers.  Watched his mussed and eager lover sit up upon his mountain of soft cushions and open his arms and spread his legs, all too ready to receive the bliss and dose of narcotic that was craved and coveted.

"My Lord," that voice breathed, "I have been waiting for you."

"I know." He discarded his clothing and approached the bed, watching that body heave and glisten.  Watching those glazed eyes focus upon his form, enchanted to the point of forgetting all logic and reason and resistance.

His smile broadened into a smirk as the elf crawled across the bed upon hands and knees like a pet.

It was perfect.  So perfect, this monopoly.  His hands wrapped about that body and held on to bruising strength.  Possessive.  Because it belonged to him and him alone.

No other would ever hold this body or touch his spirit or own this heart.  Telperinquar was his.  Wholly and completely.  The elf would never escape his grasp now, for Mairon would never willingly relinquish his hold.

Too addicted to the heroin-scent of his lover to ever give up this drug.