Summary: Gothmog tends to his master and finds himself being asked to tend to him in other ways.
A/n: This was requested by a dear reader on another site, and I hope you all enjoy this!
Minors DNI | 18+
This story can also be read on AO3, and it is based off of one of these prompts.
Melkor was wroth. “That accursed elf and his challenge!” He roared and upended his table as he rose, sending parchment, dishes, and bottles of ink flying all over the room. “Now all believe that I am weak, and that I can be wounded by the blade of a mere elf! How do I turn this in my favor? How?”
“The high king’s sword was not made by the hands of a mere elf, my lord,” Gothmog told him. The Balrog watched while his master paced about the room like an enraged beast, and the lies needed to appease him fell off his tongue with ease. It would not do for Melkor to worsen his wounds and weaken himself more than he already had. The Ainur of the West would gladly use such knowledge should they decide to march against him, and that would bode ill for them all. “No elf, not even Fëanáro himself, could devise a blade capable of harming the greatest among the Ainur.”
Melkor whirled around to look at him. His black-to-the-center eyes fixed intently on his servant, pinning him to wear his stood. “Truly?”
“Truly,” Gothmog replied. More lies fell off his tongue, for he was unafraid of his master. In truth, Melkor would not harm him, not unless he gave him just cause to do so. And there was no just cause to act against him in this instance. “This is Aulë’s work; I am certain of it. Perhaps he took pity on the Noldor and forged the sword for Nolofinwë. Perhaps he appeared before the elf and told him how best to harm you. Did he not partake in the Battle of the Powers? That he did, my lord, and so much more. He knows of us, our weaknesses. And he loved the Noldor greatly, the children of Finwë most of all. He would not abandon them to their fates.”
“Yes.” Melkor latched onto the Lord Commander’s words. He thought how best to use them to his advantage. “Yes! And he would not be the only Ainur aiding the Noldor out of pity if those thralls spoke true. Speak of this to the others. Tell them Aulë defied his fellow Aratar and his Creator and that the blade and the skill used against me were the fruits of his defiance. Tell them the Valar refuse to challenge me of their own accord, so they convince elves and beasts to fight and die in their stead. Say whatever you must to turn this in my favor. The others hold you in high esteem. They will believe you without question.”
“Consider it done, my lord,” Gothmog said. He went to his lord and took his arm. “But until then, I must bid you to rest. The others must not find you in such a state. Come. Sit here.”
Melkor acquiesced to his request. The pain in his leg was a dreadful thing, tormenting him almost as much as the hallowed jewels resting above his brow did. He sighed in relief when his servant set him down on the edge of his bed and brought forth a bejeweled stool so that he could rest his maimed leg.
“You are so good to me,” the Vala murmured when Gothmog knelt to remove his boots. He brushed his hand over jet hair that had been fashioned into thick braids adorned with gold and rubies, and he marvelled at the way they slipped through his fingers. Oh, he perceived the Balrog lied to him about Nolofinwë and his weapon, but it was plain that it was done to soothe him. And it gave him the answers he needed for his predicament. Nevertheless, he decided to speak to Gothmog later. It would not do for his most trusted servants to form the habit of lying to him, and he loathed the notion of having to discipline a being he trusted implicitly. “I sometimes wonder if I go too far with the tasks I appoint to you.”
“Your commands do not trouble me in the slightest, my lord.” Gothmog trembled when the hand toying with his hair moved to caress his cheek. He slipped off one dark boot and then the other. “I am your most faithful servant and will gladly see to any duty you set before me.”
Melkor smiled, a sweet, disarming smile that only Gothmog and Mairon saw. “Any duty? Even those of the most intimate kind?”
“I would never deny you, my lord. Pleasuring you pleases me also.”
“Then when will you consider pleasuring me now? It has been so long since we last coupled.”
The Balrog lifted his gaze, his eyes ablaze with lust and greed. “It has been too long, my lord. Stay as you are, and I will see to the rest.”
Melkor acquiesced again, moaning softly when his servant kissed and caressed his thigh. It had indeed been too long since he last shared a featherbed with either of his companions, and the evidence of it showed in how quickly he became aroused.
“Do you remember the first time we coupled?” He asked softly.
Gothmog grinned. “It was after I pledged myself to you,” he began, loosening the sashes around silk robes and the lace binding leather breeches. “And took my place at your side in Utumno. I confess I was afraid, for Mairon had been your only companion until then. I truly believed he would not take kindly to my intruding upon what you and he had.”
“Then he invited you to join us,” Melkor said, “and put your fears to rest. Never fear Mairon, Lord Commander. He and I love you well.”
The Balrog groaned when told so. “That is good, my lord,” he said, drawing away the Vala’s raiment and taking his heavy erection to hand. The whimper that followed him stroking it was like sweet music to his ears. “Enough reminiscing for now. Let me tend to you instead.”
The Vala cried out his pleasure when his servant closed his eyes and sank his mouth down his cock. And he was exceedingly skilled at it also. Gothmog ran his tongue along the underside of his length and then he stroked it, his hand tightening and releasing, tightening and releasing. An opalescent bead began to gather at the tip. It tasted sweet when the Balrog kissed it.
Gothmog made a strangled, animalistic sound at the back of his throat. The notion of Melkor lying beneath him, writhing and moaning and clawing at his flesh while he reached his release was too much to resist. He satisfied his master and he satisfied him well, taking him to the very edge of the precipice and beyond it. The cries he heard gratified him. The warmth that flowed onto his tongue and the hand that tugged hard at his hair overwhelmed him. And it was over soon. Too soon, in the Balrog’s mind. Still, there was more to be savored, and he drew back, eager to sample all that was willingly offered.
“You truly are good to me,” Melkor husked, his pains forgotten when fire pooled low in his belly. He grabbed onto a fistful of braids and held them out of the way, for he wished to see slick, swollen lips engulf him, a deft tongue swirl around his tip, and a meaty hand work in perfect rhythm with a most hot and sinful mouth. And he was far from disappointed with the sight that greeted his eyes, for it was all that he yearned to see. “Satisfy me well, Lord Commander, and I will let you have your way with me after this is over.”
“Go further up the bed, my lord,” he urged, swallowing his master's spend and rising. “It is time you made good on what you promised me.”
Melkor gathered his breath and looked up at him. His dark, fathomless eyes glittered, and his lips curled up at the corners. Presently, he said, “I will do so gladly, for you have done well, Lord Commander. Come lay beside me, and take all that you desire from me.”
