#numenhore

Hi thank you for the ask!! And sorry for the delay <3

Prompt 31 : After a small rejection

Pairing : Feanor / Melkor

Fëanor can sense the Vala’s presence the moment he enters the forges. 

The air, previously heated by the forge’s flames, abruptly turns icy. The sudden chill makes the sweat on Fëanor’s skin feel clammy. He doesn’t need to turn to see the intruder. Familiar with Melkor's constant lurking, he knows when he is there, watching him silently.

He finds himself instinctively searching for him in every corner, in every dark room.

Gripping his hammer tighter, he wills himself to remain composed. 

“Whatever brings you here,” Fëanor says, his tone devoid of any warmth or welcome, “I have neither the need nor the time for it.”

A moment of silence fills the space between his words and the darkness behind him. As if the presence he felt was nothing more than just a trick of his imagination. 

But still, he waits. 

And there it is, a faint hum that morphs into a deep chuckle, reverberating through the forge room. 

“I doubt you truly mean that, Fëanáro,” comes the response, teasing and casual as if Fëanor is his friend.

It is a cruel melody, a rumble that could shake down the foundations of Fëanor’s resolve. He hates the way it makes him feel. Weak and defenseless against that voice dripping with saccharine deceit and lies.

Turning sharply, hammer still in hand, Fëanor faces the part of the forge where the fires' light doesn’t reach. In the darkness, two fiery eyes meet his gaze.

Melkor finally steps into the light, yet Fëanor can only spot his pale face, cloaked in darkness as he is. Fëanor straightens his back and folds his arms in front of him, waiting for Melkor to speak his lies once again. 

“I have a proposition for you,” Melkor breaks the tense silence while looking around the forge with an innocuous curiocity. Fëanor knows what he is looking for, and he also knows well that it is not here. 

He remains silent. 

“We could achieve great things together,” Melkor says, approaching the bench where Fëanor’s new project sits untouched. “Your brilliance and my insight could create something unparalleled.” 

Fëanor's expression hardens as he turns to face the Vala. "I have no interest in your schemes, Melkor,” he rebukes. “I work alone, as you well know. Nothing can change that.”

Melkor falls silent, his gaze lingering on Fëanor’s workbench, as if it is the most interesting thing in Arda. For a moment, Fëanor wonders if his words have gone unheard. 

“You are making a mistake, son of Finwë,” Melkor speaks again and his voice holds a dangerous edge to it. Gone is the friendly lilt and the false sweetness of it. “You would do well to reconsider my offer.”

Fëanor scoffs, his anger fully resurfacing. “Save your threats. I know what you are and I will not let your tainted hands or your insight near my creations,” he says with a sneer, the fire in his eyes blazing. 

Melkor turns to face him, and beyond the bitter disappointment and frustration, Fëanor can see destruction and death in his steely gaze. 

"You are a fool, Fëanor," Melkor murmurs, stepping away from the workbench and closer to Fëanor until he is mere inches away. "But a brilliant fool."

Before Fëanor can react, Melkor leans in, his lips brushing against Fëanor's cheek in a quick, provocative kiss. The unexpected contact sends a shockwave through Fëanor, and he jerks back, his face flushed with a mix of fury and bewilderment.

Melkor steps back, a satisfied smile playing on his lips. “Do not keep me waiting, Fëanor,” he says. 

Fëanor holds his ground, refusing to look away. It's a battle of wills, and he's determined not to yield. He waits until Melkor chooses to leave, his cloak melding into the darkness as he departs.

Just as quickly as he arrived, Melkor is gone, the heavy iron door of the forge clicking shut behind him.

Fëanor's fingers linger on the spot where Melkor kissed him. He can still feel the warmth of his lips.

A fire ignites in him, a fire fueled by rage and a new unspoken, unacknowledged spark.