Knifepoint
Our Winterfeast prompt #4
Galadriel x sub!Adar - here I am adding to the pile o fics playing with the dinner scene... femdom is not usually my wheelhouse so I hope I did this ok! @baddybaddyadardaddy did not exactly ask for this but it's dedicated to her and @wowstrawberrycow anyway just for being encouraging to me tonight.
She shouldn’t have drunk the wine. Galadriel trusted that Adar has not poisoned anything upon the table, but wine was still wine, and now she was distracted by … thoughts … that she would prefer not to be thinking right now. Adar was doing his best to convince her of a strategic alliance against Sauron, and she should have been listening for the words between his words, gleaning his true intent.
Instead, as he drew close, all she could think about was the look on his face when she had held him at knifepoint. Both when he was her captive, and she his, his reaction had been the same. An unsettling stillness, a passivity that was not fear, but not vacant either.
When she held a blade to his throat, it was like everything else disappeared for a moment. In his eyes, there was only her, and her will, and he seemed utterly prepared to accept that will. Certain that she was offering something other than death.
What was it, that he was so sure she had to offer him?
“I had not yet met you,” he said, and there was something in his eyes that had her transfixed, yet made her want to look away, in shame, in refusal, in unreadiness.
She would not answer any of his questions, could not commit to either agreement or refusal. But when he spoke about her pride and placed his hand upon her wrist, she slammed her other hand upon his, gripping his wrist at just the right angle to break his grip, to twist and control the limb – unless he was insensitive to pain. She feared that he might indeed be, given the evidence of the scars written across his face, but the Uruk bent as she twisted. She was not sure she could call the intensity that flashed in his eyes “pain,” but he succumbed, letting her keep the cruel grip on his wrist as she stood from the chair.
He was taller than her, but so were most males, and she threw all the fire and command she could muster into the glare that she shot up at him. “My pride is not the problem here,” she hissed.
Adar’s eyes drifted down to the gooseneck grip she had on his wrist. He spoke mildly, soft and low like a lover into the short distance between them. “Will you break my arm and run from me?”
“Perhaps my pride demands it,” she shot back. Then her other hand snatched the dagger sheathed at his waist and stuck the point beneath his chin. “But I think you prefer this to broken bones.”
Adar held her eyes. “And what would you do if I said that I do?” the intensity in his gaze now threatened to swallow her whole. And something inside her answered that darkness.
Galadriel watched his pupils widen as she drew the cold steel along his jaw. A thrill was gathering deep in her spine, a luxurious uncoiling of something as her blade drew along his cheek, over his lips. They parted for her, and his tongue darted out and licked against the blade.
Something in her that she didn’t even know she had been holding back snapped. She dropped his overextended wrist to grasp him about the neck instead. Adar’s breath caught, though she had not squeezed hard enough to block his airway. Yet.
“What are you thinking about doing with me, filthy Orc?”
“Uruk.” His voice rasped even more past the constriction of her fingers. “Nothing that you would not allow.” He pushed his weight down into her, just a little. “And anything that you might command.”
Heat exploded through her as she realized what he was implying. She could scarcely believe that she wanted this too, but she did and so she did not question it. Galadriel was always unapologetically herself. “Kiss me,” she demanded, dropping the knife from his lips just far enough for him to be able to reach her.
His lips brushed across hers, rough and thin and much too tentative for her liking. Galadriel pulled him in and deepened the kiss, until she felt something begin to melt in him, an unwinding that she wanted to follow until it finished with him writhing at her feet.
Maybe then, after she’d reduced him to his essence, they’d be able to plan a proper alliance.
