(in my dream) i sweat drops of you, speak in fever tongues by atlantablack  

in my dream     wet as an oil spill     i sweat drops
of you    speak in fever tongues     tape pearling
at my mouth      sticky aphrodisiac   pulling

Warning | Franny Choi

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Sauron should not be here. The moment someone realizes that he has slipped away, there will be an uproar. Even more so once it is discovered where he has gone. 

He should not be here, but he has never been the best at curbing his impulses when it comes to Tyelpe.  

He truly does not mean to alert Tyelpe to his presence, knows well that such an act would likely not be taken well. It is not as if he can blame anyone but himself for that. A disgusting emotion, but one lingering in his chest nonetheless. He does not mean to. He keeps himself cloaked and invisible; only wanting the satisfaction of seeing with his own eyes that Tyelpe is well and healed and once more crafting glorious, unfathomable creations. 

He truly does not mean to, but he enters the room, and without even a seconds hesitation, Tyelpe has stiffened and turned to face him. 

Tyelpe frowns as he glances around the room, and Sauron greedily drinks in the sight of him. He looks well, healthy, strong, once more full of life. Perhaps it is the sight of Tyelpe once more in front of him, perhaps it is centuries of repression finally failing him, but a sudden crushing wave of longing slams into Sauron with such force that if he had a corporeal form he would have gone to his knees. He had not realized how much he missed Tyelpe until this moment. Had thought it far less emotionally damning. 

Tyelpe frowns and mutters, "I am not imagining it. You are here. If you insist on haunting me, at least have the nerve to show yourself, you bastard." 

He should not. Oh, he knows he should not. What good can come of showing himself? Unfortunately, he left all his self-control choking to death under the rubble of a tower in Middle-earth. 

He should not. But he does. Steps into a body he is not meant to be using and, in the next second, finds himself being slammed into a wall. 

“What are you doing here?" Tyelpe hisses, face mere inches from Sauron's own, eyes almost painfully dark without the light of the trees shining in them. It sends a pang of loss through his chest, and he knows it is his own fault that the light is gone, but he had not thought to ever have to deal with the consequences. Had not thought he would ever have to look Tyelpe in the face and acknowledge what he’d done. 

"I wanted to see you," he says, voice sounding strange to his own ears. He has not spoken aloud in so very long that he sounds sick.

Tyelpe scowls at him, arm pressing painfully on his throat. The body is new in a way Sauron has not had a body be new since long before the trees even existed. It should not be having such pressure exerted upon it just yet, but he somehow does not think that argument will matter much in the moment. "How are you even here?" 

He shrugs, fingers itching to reach out. “I am awaiting the time to be decreed upon which I will be thrown into the void. I decided to take a little trip while I wait.” 

It’s fascinating, the emotions that go tripping over Tyelpe’s face. Something pained and raw and panicked, yet also, deeply satisfied. “Why here?” 

“I told you,” he repeats, “I wanted to see you.” 

“Do not,” Tyelpe says, voice cracking. “Do not. You do not get to—why would you want to see me? Do you wish to find a way to harm me further? Did you not already inflict enough hurt?” 

“I do not wish to hurt you,” he says, his own voice coming out pained and uncomfortably tight. “No, I swear—" he says quickly, cutting off whatever Tyelpe was about to say. "—I will swear it if you wish, I only wished to see how you are. It has been many centuries since we were in the same room, and we will not be so again until the Dagor Dagorath comes to pass. I just…I just wanted to see you.” Humiliatingly, his voice cracks. 

Tyelpe’s eyes slide shut, mouth crumpling, miserable and downturned. “You don’t get to do that,” he murmurs, each word aching and pained. “Not you. You killed me.” 

“I know.” 

“Are you even sorry?” 

Is he sorry? It is a good question. “I do not know if I have ever been sorry about anything,” he says truthfully. “I cannot rightfully say what the emotion is meant to feel like. I missed you. I wish I—” he hesitates, all the thoughts he’s refused to give voice to crowding up his throat. “I wish I had stayed in Eregion with you. That I had not destroyed it. Is that what it is to be sorry?” He had refused to give the Valar even the pretense of regret, but he finds that the words slide off his tongue easily with Tyelpe pressed up against him. 

Tyelpe sighs, but it is one of his fond little sighs that he had so often given when Annatar had once more done something that painfully emphasized the difference between the Ainur and the Eldar. It sounds like home, and Sauron had not realized how violently he had twisted Tyelpe into his definition of home until that moment. 

“I hate you,” Tyelpe says, the words more breath than sound. 

“I know.” 

“I’m happy you died.” 

“I know.” 

“I missed you anyway.” 

Sauron has nothing to say to that, for he had not expected it. Perhaps he should have, for has he not always been surprised by Tyelpe in one way or another? The confession makes him brave enough to dare to test the limits of what Tyelpe will let him get away with. He strains forward just enough to brush their lips together, and breathes, “I missed you too. “ It is a painful, brutal truth. 

He had not wanted to, and he had gotten so very good at repressing the feeling that most days, if asked, he would have said he did not. But oh, he had missed Tyelpe with a fierceness that could never truly be burnt out of him. 

Tyelpe makes a choked, sobbing sound and kisses him back. For a moment, it is as if they are back in Eregion—the forge behind them, the smell of smoke in the air, soot staining Tyelpe’s fingers and getting pressed into the creases of Annatar’s robes, the hot, slick feel of their tongues tangling together, fingers scrabbling for purchase as they chase after a high they only ever reached with each other. 

And then he is back in Valinor, in a body that Sauron has not yet had a chance to learn the shape of. Tyelpe is forge-hot pressed against him, fingers pressing bruises into the fragile skin of his new body, and when he tangles his fingers into Tyelpe’s hair and pulls, he is not stopped. It tastes a little like the decadence of a long-forgotten time, when pleasure had been something simple, when he had not always had thoughts in the back of his mind of how to twist things in order to gain something. This tastes of pleasure that can simply be enjoyed for the sake of enjoyment. It makes him even greedier. 

Even in this new form, even with Tyelpe now knowing him for who he really is, they know each other’s bodies. Or perhaps they just know each other, bodies notwithstanding. It is all sweat and slick heat, robes pushed aside in a desperate rush, fingers shakily interlocked as they stroke each other, Tyelpe’s teeth sinking into the fragile skin of his neck. 

“I should tear your throat out,” Tyelpe says, voice rough. 

The idea of it makes him shudder. He likely should not find the idea of Tyelpe's face covered in blood so appealing given their past. But it makes his blood burn even hotter, and he whimpers before he can think to stop himself. Tyelpe only scoffs and mutters, of course you’d like that, and then sets about bruising his skin. It will be painfully obvious what he has been up to whenever the Valar retrieve him, but he does not care. It is not as if they can fling him into the void twice. 

He tugs Tyelpe's face back up to his, intent on kissing that smart mouth, trying to immortalize the memory of it into the very core of himself, so that when he is stuck in the void he has something warm to remember. They melt into each other in a way that defies logic, and how is it, that out of everyone Sauron has ever met, this singular elf is the one who matches his exact melting point? Surely it must defy not only logic but the very music of Arda.

"I hate you," Tyelpe mutters, pressing them together even tighter. His fingers tighten around them nearly to the point of pain, and it is too dry, harsher than they had ever before been with each other; it should not be sending them both spiraling so high, so very quickly.

Sauron sucks on Tyelpe's lip, relishing in the groan it earns him, before biting down violently. Copper bursts bright between them, and Tyelpe shudders all over, spilling over their fingers. Sauron follows only seconds later, the blood lingering on his tongue so sweet after an age of missing Tyelpe. 

They stay there, pressed against each other and breathing heavily. He can feel Tyelpe's heart hammering against his own, and it is such a comforting feeling that his eyes burn. His eyes have been closed, but he opens them when Tyelpe presses two fingers to his lips. Accepts the fingers easily, lets the bitter, salty taste burst across his tongue, and hopes that he will be able to remember the taste later. 

“You said they are sending you to the void,” Tyelpe says, eyes fixed on Sauron’s mouth. 

He hums agreeably, feeling very content for someone who is destined for the void. This is more than he had expected to get from this visit, and he is quite happy with the results. 

Tyelpe meets his eyes then, fingers slipping free from his mouth. Tyelpe's thumb digs into his bottom lip, tacky fingers digging into the curve of his jaw, and Sauron feels giddy with recognition at the look in his eyes. It is the same look Tyelpe had gotten before every great invention. The look that made Sauron's blood burn even brighter than when he had Tyelpe's skin pressed against his. 

"No, I don't think they will," Tyelpe says, smiling sardonically. "I will be called a fool, but I think I'm going to keep you. You owe me after all." 

He cannot help it—he laughs. "Ah, Tyelpe, you have not changed at all, have you?" he asks, so very fond and pleased. "I will pay whatever debt you wish of me. Do you wish me to swear you an oath?" 

“No,” Tyelpe says softly, “No more oaths. I will choose once more to believe your promises.”

“That is very foolish of you. They will not like it.” 

“Indeed. But I still believe that people deserve a second chance. For all that it got me killed.” There’s a smile still tugging at the corner of his mouth, his nail biting into Sauron’s bottom lip, and Sauron does not know what love is meant to feel like, but perhaps this is it. “Will you take that chance this time? In truth?” 

“Oh, Tyelpe,” he sighs, “can’t you see? I’ll take whatever you’ll give me. Besides, I already tried winning my way and failed. What is the harm in trying it your way this time?” 

"Not the most comforting response,” Tyelpe says, sighing that same fond sigh. "But it will do, I suppose. Now come, let us go argue with the Valar." 

Oh yes, Sauron thinks, giddily stealing another kiss, this—this must be love.

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Chapter End Notes

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