It all started with Finwe, of course. The nights in Middle-earth were cold and drear. To be fair, all of Middle-earth was pretty cold and drear at that point, and Oromë wished heartily that he could just teleport the three Elves back to Valinor, but that wasn't in the Rules.
So instead the representatives of the three races curled up against him in the dark whenever they rested, and sometimes they made interesting noises with each other. He was curious, and Finwe was the one who seemed to make the most noise, so Oromë asked him what it was all about.
Finwe demonstrated. At length (and girth). It was most entertaining! Such a good way to pass the cold, cold nights. How nice of Iluvatar to make his Children so...bendy!
Time went on. Finwe got married, had a child, got married again, had more children. Then those children had children of their own. Oromë didn't pay much attention. There were, after all, dinosaurs to slay, and that was fun too.
Then Tyelkormo showed up, silver-blond hair whipping in the wind, eager for the hunt. Eager for other things, too. He sought Oromë out and wasn't shy at all about his intentions. Oromë, excited by the memories of warmth in the darkness, gave in without hesitation, and Tyelkormo took him to new heights of sensation. One day, he brought along his cousin - a girl! - Aredhel, and she proved quite skilled at the act of pleasure as well, so tempting and vivacious that Oromë began to see Vana in a new light, and approached his wife about the possibility of joining their bodies as well as their spirits in the act of union.
But Vana called him a perv, and compared him to Melian. "You know if you keep having sex in that body, it'll stick like that," she said.
"Really?" Oromë asked. "You mean Melian can't...take off her clothes? I've never had that problem."
So he figured he would try to complete the set. He'd had Tyelkormo, he'd had Aredhel, he'd had Finwe, now he was going to go for Feanor.
He made his way to Feanor's house and presented his proposition forthrightly.
"I don't fuck Valar," Feanor said, "so get thee gone from my lawn!" The door was promptly slammed in Oromë's face. He pouted for a minute, then realised that if Feanor turned him down, well, there were two more Finwions, and maybe they'd be nicer.
On the way to Fingolfin's house, he ran into Melkor, walking along the road in the company of Mairon, and shared how he'd propositioned Feanor only to be rejected.
"You too?" Melkor said.
"Yeah," Oromë groused. "You'd think someone with seven sons would be a bit more interested in sex."
"In sex?" Melkor asked, and then quickly said, "Oh, yes, of course. Sex. Because, sex. Yeah. Hooray for sex I have to go now."
Oromë took his leave of Melkor, and as they parted, he heard him turn to Mairon and ask "so, what's sex?" Oromë didn't need to turn his head to see Mairon literally light up with excitement.
Arriving at Fingolfin's house, he decided to change his tactics slightly. As a confused Fingolfin greeted him, he told him all about how Feanor had cruelly rejected him, and how much he hoped Fingolfin would look on him with favour.
It was about five minutes until he was in Fingolfin's bed, after that. Score!
Arafinwe was the next tempting target, and Oromë made his way to his home one bright afternoon, finding the blond prince and his silver princess alone in the garden. Their clothes were already half off anyway, and Oromë figured he would help.
Once Earwen and Arafinwe recovered from the surprise, they were quite willing to have him join in. Earwen in particular proved very knowledgable in terms of various positions, and soon the three of them were mingling until the Mingling.
Oromë figured like mother, like daughter, and decided he would make a play for Artanis, next. She was running down the streets of Tirion, 'in maiden meditation, fancy-free,' when Oromë saw her. As she paused under a tree to catch her breath, her long hair, silver and gold, streamed out in the breeze, and Orome knew he had to speak to her. What glorious hair! What a glorious body!
So he approached, and forgetting everything he'd learned with Fingolfin, put the proposition to her, straight out. Her eyes narrowed as he went on, and the look on her face was thunderous, by the time he'd finished.
"I'm going to give you the same answer I gave Uncle Feanor," she said. "No. No. And hell no. And don't ask again."
Slightly stunned by the force of her rejection, and somewhat startled at the thought that Feanor, 'get thee gone from my lawn,' Feanor, had apparently propositioned Artanis, he backed off. She, on the other hand, ran off, and the sight of her hair in the light of the Trees was very nearly sufficient to finish him off anyway. He felt a sudden sympathy for Feanor.
After Artanis' rejection, he didn't dare try for any more of Finwe's grandchildren for a while. And in fact, events shortly overtook them, and before he had a chance to think things through, the Trees were gone, and 90% of the Noldor were gone as well.
It was well over 450 years before Oromë had a chance to give thought to his yet-incomplete list of Finwions to fuck. And it had been a very long time since he'd seen Tyelkormo. Now there was a blond who was always accommodating!
Oromë didn't hesitate to grab as much wine as he could carry (which was really a lot of wine, to be honest) and teleport straight to Nargothrond, where Tyelkormo, now known as Celegorm, was as accommodating as ever. He also made the acquaintance of another gorgeous blond, Finrod, son of Arafinwe, of whom he had such fond memories, and of Feanor's oddly-identical-to-him son, Curufin, who was prickly at first, but warmed up significantly after a large amount of wine.
Emboldened by his success, he figured he would see if he could find any other grandchildren of Finwe who'd be up for a good fuck. He knew well enough not to venture into Doriath - he was not going to try his luck with Artanis again, and after hearing so much about Melian, was worried that her fate would somehow rub off on him and he'd stop being able to change form at will, which frankly was a useful skill.
He headed off to Barad Eithel instead, where he found Fingon and Maedhros in close conference, discussing weighty matters of state, and such. Fingon looked extremely intrigued by his proposal, but Maedhros looked more and more upset the more Fingon looked intrigued.
Finally, as Oromë brought his pitch to a close, Maedhros stood up, cried out, "Oh, I knew you'd like him better than me, Findekano! He has two hands after all!" and stormed out of the room in tears. Fingon's shoulders slumped.
"I'm really sorry," Fingon said, standing up and making his way toward the door. "Sometimes he gets like this." He rubbed his temples, with a sigh. "You know how it is." He left the room, calling out, "Snookums? Honey bear? It's okay, you know it's only you I want."
Oromë, left to himself, made all haste to get out of that as quick as teleportation could do it. That was a disaster waiting to happen, and no mistake. He shuddered.
His next stop was Gondolin. Turgon was a very gracious host, and Oromë found himself daring to hope that at least one of Fingolfin's boys would be up for a good time. Turgon looked quite serious, but maybe looks weren't everything.
Turgon leaned forward, putting a hand on Oromë's knee. "I really like what you're saying," he said. "And you were talking about how you can change form, and that's very interesting." He looked up at Oromë, and Oromë started to feel like he was about to score like never before.
"Do you think you could take on the form of my wife?" Turgon said with pleading eyes. "Vanyarin, short, golden hair, name of Elenwe?"
Oromë noped out of there so fast that he travelled back in time.
He really did travel back in time, about fifty years or so, to Dorthonion, where he encountered Angrod.
"I love my wife," Angrod said.
"That didn't stop your father," Oromë countered.
Angrod made a disgusted noise. "Of all the things I never needed to know, that was undoubtedly the very top of the list. But the point stands. Vala or not, I'm not interested. Go bother someone else."
"Is Aegnor about?" Oromë asked.
Angrod smiled. It was not a nice smile. "Yes. Aegnor. Go proposition Aegnor. I'll just stay over here." He pointed off in the direction of a spiky hairdo, and Oromë made his way over, feeling very apprehensive for some reason.
"She's mortal," Aegnor wailed inconsolably. "She's going to die anytime now. And I will never love again. So I'm sorry, Oromë, but I can't be untrue to Andreth." He sniffled. "I mean, you would understand if you had seen her." He sighed romantically. "She had a star caught in her hair. It was so pretty."
Oromë was starting to feel a bit sick. "Maybe what you need is a good fuck, to take your mind off things," he suggested, without much hope. "I mean, I'm not suggesting marriage. I'm not Melian."
Aegnor stared up at him with eyes full of tears. "Don't talk to me about marriage," he said, lower lip wobbling. "If only it wasn't for this war, I could have married Andreth. We could have had, like, three or four eyeblinks worth of bliss, before she died and was parted from me for ever." He let out a sob. "Did I tell you she was wise as well as beautiful? So wise. And beautiful. And super wise."
"And she loved you?" Oromë said, trying to keep the sarcasm out of his voice and failing quite a lot. But Aegnor didn't seem to notice it.
"Yes, I think she did. It's so sad. I wish she didn't, it would be easier for me to never see her again if I knew she didn't." He broke down into actual tears and sobbing at that point, hiding his face in his hands. Oromë patted him on the shoulder.
"There, there," he said.
Sorting out the accidental timeline tangle he'd got himself snafu'd into took some doing, but eventually he figured it out and made his way to Himring, where Maglor was now.
Fortunately, Maedhros was out, probably still at Barad Eithel 'holding conference' with Fingon, and Maglor was very happy to see him.
Really very happy. Bed-breakingly happy. Compose eight-verse songs and sing them to him afterwards, happy. Cling to him and beg him to take him back to Valinor happy.
"Please," he begged. "I hate it here. It's cold and wet. I keep losing battles. And my talents aren't appreciated like they were in Valinor. People think that ponce Daeron is better than me, which is just wrong in every way."
"Can't do it, babes," Oromë said. "I can only teleport myself. That's the Rules."
Maglor pouted, quite a lot, after that. And Oromë found himself getting bored with the clinginess, so he mentally went through his list.
Dismissing Caranthir completely as out of the question, he realised he only had two more names on his list. Twins. Red-headed twins.
Talk about save the best for last.
Finding the twins proved to be a bit of a problem, but once he finally made it to their secret hideout (a little too close to Doriath for his liking, but hey, you had to deal with what you were given), they were very pleased to see him.
They took him hunting, which, hey, Huntsman of the Valar, totally his thing! They proved to have considerable skills both in the field and the forest, and more than once took him by surprise with the force of their passion. He spent well more time than he thought he would hanging out with them, until they received a letter from Maedhros.
"Oh, come on, do you have to listen to him?" Oromë said as they packed up for a winter raid on an underground fortress. "I mean, really, Silmarils? Psh. Dinosaurs are way more fun."
"Sorry," Amras said. "Kind of Oath, you know, and stuff."
"We have to go," Amrod said with a shrug.
"Fine," Oromë said. "But I won't be here when you get back."
They left anyway. And with a rush of teleportation, so did Oromë.
Vana was pissed.
"Do you actually realise how long you've been gone?" she said. "What were you doing in Beleriand, anyway?"
"Oh, you know," Oromë said with a casual wave of his hand. "People to do, things to see."