#vanimore

As the Servant of Námo was marched down the bright, torchlit corridor, hands roughly forced down to his sides by the armed soldiers, Manó did not even attempt to struggle. It was evident that these Men were well-trained, and the Maia knew that even if he did try to get away, he would easily be tackled. And he could not risk showing his true powers in front of these Men. Especially when he had no idea who it was that acted as lord over them.

It would give away far too much too early. Too risky.

And he did have plans.

And where in the name of the Lord Námo are you, Aratacáno? Why have you left me to this imprisonment?

Though he searched and searched for his fellow Namodur, Manó could not locate him in the sea of consciousness that was the citizenry.

If the rumors from the caravanserai were to be believed, this city called Sud Siccana was home to the god emperor, and from here, he did rule the South with an army that rivaled any in Middle Earth.

The palace was sumptuously decorated, showing off the obvious wealth that this lord held. Secretly, Manó was in awe at it, but he kept that impression to himself. Saying nothing, the Maia could only hope that the disguise of an older man that he enshrouded himself in would be enough to keep him safe from this…this…

As they went, the group passed many a magnificent space; the Maia caught a quick glimpse of a large bathing pool with aquamarine water with white curtains hanging for privacy where one might repose in the steam. Even to Manó it was quite tempting. To have the chance to wash off the dust of the road. Another held a dining room, brilliantly colored pillows scattered around on the floor for sitting and discussing crucial matters.

An elaborately carved door was thrown open, and Manó was quickly hustled through.

Gathering as much dignity as he could muster, the Maia held his head high.

“Wait here.” One of the guards told him, and Manó was left on his own to take in his new surroundings. Fixing his dark robes, he stared around with interest. He had expected to be brought to some throne room and forced to grovel and beg for his very existence. But no, that was not the case.

This was a room with a massive table at the center, shelves of books lining the walls. Scrolls sat unopened, along with other scraps of parchment. A library of sorts, Manó told himself. When he felt it safe to move, the Namodur reached out, carefully examining one of these documents.

A letter from some important king of a Southron land that Manó did not know of. And he did feel his curiosity rise.

With a cautious finger, he broke the seal.

Inside was written a meticulously detailed manuscript that had to do with a battle off to the east, and begging for troops to come to their aid.

Lord Vanimórë.

Was this the name of the lord of these peoples?

Manó spoke the name silently to himself, felt a chill run up his spine at it, skin crawling.

“And what do you think you are doing, hm?”

The Maia jumped at the sudden voice, turning away from the table, his robes swirling about him. His green eyes widened then, as he beheld the one who had addressed him.

A tall man (no, an Elf more likely) stood in the doorway, watching him with keen violet eyes. Manó had never seen such a gaze in all of his long years, one so piercing and sharp, and it seemed to him like falling into pools of purple light. Long dark hair fell around his shoulders and down to his waist, tied back away from the elegant elegant Noldorin features. Clothed in all black with swords strapped across his back, the Elf crossed his arms over his chest as he leaned nonchalantly against the doorframe, the posture hinting at seduction. A little smile played across the Elf’s face.

Overwhelmed by the presence, as if this Elf was staring straight into his ëala and seeing all that was hidden there, Manó felt the breath catch in his throat.

Steadying himself and at once feeling small before the purple gaze, the Maia bowed, placing a hand to his chest in apology.

“Forgive me, I did not mean to pry.” Manó finally managed to say. “I was merely curious.”

The Maia knew that he had to play his cards right with this one. A game of words and intrigue that he was not at all skilled at. Or else, he might find a far worse fate than the short imprisonment back in Tûl Harar. Manó was but a humble servant of the Lord of Mandos. What did he know of plotting and scheming?

How dare he make a Maia, an Ainu of Námo, feel so insignificant!

Anger flared then in Manó’s chest, but was quickly stamped out when the Elf locked eyes, staring him down.

Vanimórë chuckled then, closing the distance between them in a few long graceful strides, swept across the room like a dangerously prideful lion inspecting his realm.

And this indeed was his realm. No one would dare touch this king without the loss of their head and maybe a few other appendages.

Without hesitation, Lord Vanimórë spoke, the voice melodic and commanding all at once:

“I saw you and the other ride through the gates. Have the Valar sent one of their lackeys to come and spy on me? Maybe they’ve come to their senses.”

Head in a storm of thoughts, Manó felt a blush creep over his cheeks as Vanimórë came closer.

A scent of sandlewood.

The Maia a step backward, bumping against the table, sent a few of the scrolls toppling to the floor. Cornered and with nowhere to run, Manó stared straight into the eyes that watched him.

Eru’s name, did this demon have eyes everywhere?

“You…You must have seen wrong, good lord.” Manó replied, scrambling desperately for a convincing lie. “I came here alone.”

The calm smile remained, a dark eyebrow arched, as if completely unafraid and sure of himself in the face of the Namodur. The sight of it irked the Maia, but he kept his words to himself. It wouldn’t do to provoke him.

”Wrong?” Vanimórë said. “I don’t believe so. Especially when you made your arrival so obvious.”

“Sauron’s dark spawn.” Máno muttered, standing his ground.”The Valar speak of you, and not with kindness.”

The lord smirked then, fearsome as any warrior:

♡. — 𝒂𝒎𝒂𝒖𝒓𝒆 

❀˙ ˖ He is submissive and a bottom. His preferences rarely change, but if his parter truly wants him to switch then he wouldn't mind taking the lead a few times. He has a need to please you 

❀˙ ˖ On the topic of his constant desire to please you, that also means that he is all about foreplay. While he might be the submissive one when it comes to actual sex, it doesn't mean that he does not delight in watching you squirm and gasp in pleasure. If he gets those reactions out of you, he knows that you feel good, and is thus turned on as well 

❀˙ ˖ He has a thing for both slow and soft sex as well as rough and passionate. It simply depends on your mood

❀˙ ˖ Favourite positions include. . . for fem.body reader: you riding him, most preferably facing him so that he can shower you in kisses and whine into your chest about how good you feel. for male. body reader: prone-boning, riding you or being pressed against some random piece of furniture. He enjoys the feeling of being caged 

❀˙ ˖ Has odaxelagnia, a kink for being bitten. On that note, Amaurë is a bit of a masochist. The feel of you marking him up is beyond delightful for him. And he wears each and every one of your marks with pride 

❀˙ ˖ The prince is a damn tease. He's always trying to tempt you. One of his favourite sights is seeing you all flustered in public. On one occasion during a gala, he even palmed you under the table. He might seem innocent but his shamelessness knows no bounds. He loves making you lose composure and drag him off to some empty hallway. Only to bat his eyelashes at you. "Hmm? What's wrong? Is something the matter, my love?" 

❀˙ ˖ On that note, he is also perfectly fine with public sex. As long as you both don't get caught. Then again, the thrill of someone finding you both turns him on greatly

❀˙ ˖ If it wasn't obvious with some of the previous points, Amaurë can be a bit of a brat. Working on your nerves so that you can put him in his place. He always backs off immediately, making it seem like he's just the submissive little prince. He keeps piling onto the list until you snap 

❀˙ ˖ Bondage is another kink that he is into. But he certainly loves when you get creative with it. When you tied his wrists with his training bandages, the poor Vala hit his climax oh so quickly, purely from excitement 

❀˙ ˖ He enjoys partaking in dom/sub dynamics. As the Prince of Valinor, it certainly can be quite stressful with all the responsibilities that he carries. As such, he wants to serve you in bed. Bending to your every command and even referring to you by a title if that's what you fancy. To be on his knees before you, serving you in every way you demand it - he could want nothing more

❀˙ ˖ Overstimulate him, please. It ties into the previous point and makes him feel so helpless in your hands. Another thing that turns him on a lot 

❀˙ ˖ He's a whiney little thing in bed. He really does try to keep quiet, but the truth is that he's quite loud - especially when you're pleasuring him oh so intensely

❀˙ ˖ Wants you to be mean to him sometimes. But if you are going to degrade him, always make sure to balance it with some praise as well. Amaurë's favourite is sugar-coated degradation

❀˙ ˖ He also has a bit of a thing for roleplay. Coming up with random and creative scenarios is always so fun for him. Especially the scandalous ones 

❀˙ ˖ Body worship is such a big thing on his end. At times he simply kisses down your body, making sure not to miss any scars, birthmarks or so on. Calling you beautiful and by so many endearments as he worships every inch of you

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

  ♡. — 𝒗𝒂𝒏𝒊𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒆

❀˙ ˖ He is dominant and a top by nature. Vanimóre gets off on the idea of being in control of your body and pleasure, thus these are his preferences. He doesn't deviate from them ( there is only one exception to this )

❀˙ ˖ With that being said, it's a bit obvious that he has a bit of an authority kink. Whether pre-corruption or not, he always adores it when you refer to him by titles. "General" and ''Sir'' to name a few 

❀˙ ˖ Often has rough sex with you, but damn is it passionate. He can get a bit messy. Touching, twisting and groping your body as much as he can, kissing your breath away and having messy little make-out sessions with you. Everything about him is intense. However, on some rare occasions, you can score some lazy or even soft sex with him. Especially in the mornings 

❀˙ ˖ Favourite positions include: Having you ride him, bending you over some random piece of furniture, wall-sex where he can hoist you up and trap you with his body, fucking you from behind while you're on your knees with your head buried into the pillow. Anything that allows him total control of your body

❀˙ ˖ So much orgasm control. This can bleed out into orgasm denial and overstimulation. The more you beg him to cum, the more he denies you. Mocking and teasing, making it seem like he'll let you release only to snatch it away from you cruelly. And when he finally lets you cum? He'll do so again, and again, and again. Until you're begging him for a break. And at that point he'll simply mutter to your ear: "Oh? But I thought you wanted to cum? Go on then, dollface, cum for me.'' 

❀˙ ˖ Biting and marking kink, Vanimóre has a thing for marking you up. His fangs do an especially good job with this. However, he will admit that he gets a bit turned on when you're biting into his neck or shoulder because of how much pleasure you're in. Or when you playfully try to return the favour 

❀˙ ˖ A brat tamer, but he's a sly one. He'll let you act out, piling up all your little incidents in a mental list. And when he finally strikes, he'll punish you in bulk for each and every one of them. It's always when you least expect it, and he laughs at your expression each and every time 

❀˙ ˖ He can switch between degradation and praise. He loves calling you his poor little darling while you're spluttering from all the pleasure that he gives you. Crooning as he strokes your face, mimicking your whimpers with his own voice and talking to you with a feigned kindness 

❀˙ ˖ Vanimóre has a bit of an oral fixation. He could stay between your legs forever if you'd let him. Gripping your thighs and sending you to nirvana. He loves when you pull his hair and whimper about it being too much. It just makes him want to do more to you 

❀˙ ˖ Enjoys tying you up during sex because he gets to see how helpless you look. He might even partake in shibari. Intricately tying you up oh so prettily and leaving you there with one of his newest trinkets and sex toys

❀˙ ˖ On that note, he has an entire arsenal of sex toys to his disposal. As you probably are now aware, he adores overstimulating you. And what better way to do that than overwhelm each and every part of you? He's an inventor by nature, so he's always coming up with a new gadget for you to try out 

❀˙ ˖ He also doesn't mind public sex. On multiple occasions, he's dragged you off to some empty room and stuck his hand down your robes. Or pushed them away and fucked you just like that. Another thing that he quite loves is semi-clothed sex

❀˙ ˖ Somnophilia is another kink that he quite likes. If it's something you're into, expect to wake up to his head between your legs, or his fingers knuckle-deep within you. On some occasions you have even woken up to his cock buried within you as he desperately ruts against your hips 

❀˙ ˖ He's a loud little bastard in bed. Even though he is topping, he is not afraid to let you hear his moans, gasps, even whimpers. He wants you to know how good you feel. He's also riddled with dirty talk 

❀˙ ˖ It is a bit obvious by now but Vanimóre is a sadist and would be thrilled if you had a bit of masochism within you

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Their lips meet in a heated kiss, devouring each other until fangs pierce skin and they withdraw slightly to catch their breath. Navëquen barely has time to gasp before Vanimóre leans in again and licks the tiny wound before his tongue pushes itself between parted lips to explore his mouth. 

He can't remember the last time he was this excited, if ever before. Yet how is he supposed to stay focused on his work when he finds beautiful, gorgeous Vanimóre bathing in the lotus pools of Mandos, showing off his naked fána so shamelessly, knowing full well he can't tear his gaze away from him? When he is now kissing him so shamelessly and fervently, his fána barely covered by thin silken robes? 

Navëquen moans against his lips, causing Vanimóre to withdraw once more and let out a light chuckle.

"Well, creeps? Is this what you wanted?" he taunts, an impish expression on his face, fangs on display. 

Smug as always, Navëquen thinks, but there's no anger or malice behind it. His desire for the beautiful Maia in front of him eclipses everything else he may have felt in this moment, and he feels his fána reacting as well; yet even so, he hesitates, unsure if any further advances on his part are welcome. 

Vanimóre senses his indecisiveness. "Or would you perhaps like to play some more?" he asks suggestively.

His eyes are half-lidded and his breathing is heavy. Before Navëquen can wonder whether he should interpret this as an invitation to continue, he feels Vanimóre's hand on his thigh, slowly trailing upwards until his fingers brush against his growing erection, stroking him through the fabric of his breeches. 

"Ahn–! Vani–" 

He can't help it anymore, can't resist when the Maia he has loved in secret for ages tempts him so brazenly. Letting his instincts take over, Navëquen flips him around and pushes him against the nearest wall. Vanimóre manages to brace himself against it with both hands, only to be caught off-guard by two arms around his waist and a hand slipping underneath his robes to wrap around his cock. 

Navëquen is pleased to discover that his arrogant colleague seems to have enjoyed their kisses as well and starts pleasuring him without further delay. Vanimóre's previous question still remains unanswered, yet he feels like words are no longer needed–their fánar have long since betrayed them, displaying their lust for one another. 

Without thinking, he starts rutting against his counterpart in an attempt to relieve his own need. It feels so good, holding Vanimóre in his arms, touching him, inhaling his scent, hearing the song of his fëa–even better than in his dreams or anything he could have imagined. As much as Navëquen wishes there was no fabric separating their fánar, it creates a pleasant kind of friction that he hopes will be enough to satisfy him; whether he'll be taken care of in return, he is too shy to ask. 

"Getting–mmh–desperate, creeps?" Vanimóre taunts him again, though it's evident that he's suppressing a moan as he speaks. 

Navëquen slows down his movements on purpose, brushing against the tip of his cock with his thumb. 

"Don't bite the hand that feeds you, doll," he admonishes, "or touches you, in this case."

Despite his uncertainty in matters of intimacy, he won't let Vanimóre get away with such antics. He rolls his hips forward to  let him feel his hardness and increase friction, allowing soft groans to escape his lips. 

"Please..." Vanimóre breathes. His ear twitches and a shudder of pleasure goes through him; he seems to be giving in. 

"Please what, doll?" 

"Don't... tease me–ngh–touch me... please..." 

"Fine then." 

Navëquen smiles and gently bites his ear, eliciting another beautiful, desperate moan. Never did he think he would have Vanimóre begging for his touch, and he begins to realise just how much he loves this, enjoys taking control and asserting dominance over this smug Maia. 

He resumes his task, stroking Vanimóre with renewed vigour and persistence while he continues to rut against him. Everything else is forgotten, gone from his mind, and all that remains are soft sounds of pleasure, his fingers wrapped around a hot, hard cock and the ever increasing heat in his own lower body. 

It doesn't take long until Navëquen feels warm liquid spilling all over his hand and Vanimóre's fána tensing and quivering from his climax. He tries to hold back, to avoid embarrassing himself any further than he already has by grinding on his colleague like a beast in heat, but it's too late; watching and listening to Vanimóre finding his release in his arms, from his touch no less, has pushed him over the edge, and he soon feels a wet, sticky sensation between his legs. 

"Well?" 

Vanimóre recovers quickly and turns around, giving him an expectant look.

Navëquen isn't sure what he wants. Has he noticed that he came as well? Is he about to point it out and comment on the state of his robes? Is there anything he's expected to do that he isn't aware of? 

"I... have to get back to work," he says quietly, cheeks flushing bright red. Certainly not the most eloquent thing he could have come up with, but the first thing that came to mind. 

Vanimóre opens his mouth as if to protest, but Navëquen quickly disappears in a flash of green, teleporting back to his room with no intention of coming out any time soon. 

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