In the darkness of his cell, Melkor awoke to the sound of a door slamming shut – his door. He had few visitors. Namo sometimes came to keep an empty, ivory-white eye on him. Nienna visited too, far less often than her brother, but regularly still. She would sit in front of him and talk, or remain utterly silent. It depended. In the first days of his captivity, Tulkas had visited too, and Melkor wished never to see him here ever again.
He tried to see something in the dark. Undoubtedly it was Namo – he would recognize his silhouette even in the blackest night, and he was used to his presence now. But there was someone else.
He frowned, not remembering the last time he saw him. He had never come here at all.
As he recalled him – for the shadows did not allow him to see clearly, Irmo favoured elegant, light-coloured raiment, in complete opposition with his brother. He remembered him to be handsome, too. He was fair, as though his features had been hand-drawn upon his porcelain face, as perfectly as a dream, which he was the master of.
Irmo had always unsettled him. He was the one to create reveries, so he knew what everyone had in mind when they were at rest, and the Valar were no exception.
''As you can see,'' Melkor started, ''I am here and unable to move. If you came to make sure of it, you may leave – I fear there is not much more to see.''
An etheral laughter chimed. Irmo stepped forward, and put up a hand to caress his cheek.
''My brother had an idea,'' Namo declared in a flat tone. He always was as expressive as a rock.
''What idea ?'' Melkor snapped. '' If you wish to torture me, you should perhaps leave it to Tulkas. I do not think he fancies me.''
Irmo shook his head, sighing.
''Melkor dear, do not say such things. We have not come here to inflict you pain of any kind. It is much more the contrary.''
He frowned, unsure what to think of this. He could feel both their presence, and if he was quite used to Namo's, Irmo's was odd. The master of Dreams had a faint scent of lillies about him, as though the Gardens of Lorien had been brought along with him. Irmo's body seemed to be formed of thousands of flowers in bloom, light and soft.
Disgusting, Melkor thought.
''It must not be enjoyable, to be alone in here all the time,'' Irmo sighed, absently tracing Melkor's cheekbone with a long finger. ''Surely you would not mind some company ?''
He was almost startled by the touch. But little by little an idea of what the brothers wanted took place in his mind, and he bit down on a smirk. Not utterly unpleasant, he had to admit.
''Tell me what you have in mind, Lord of Dreams,'' he grinned.
This could be distracting after all. He must recognize neither of the brothers was physically repellent. And in this situation, chained tightly with his arms up, and feet not touching the cold floor, he was not really in position to protest anyway. It all felt as though he was dreaming – surely because of Irmo's surreal presence. He felt him closing his arms around his waist, and brushing his cheek against his chest.
''Just some fun for the three of us,'' Irmo explained in a soft voice. ''No one will know about it, if it can comfort you.'' He glanced behind his shoulder, to Namo. ''Can you bring him down a little ?''
Namo nodded, and with a simple gesture of his hand, the chains that held him in the air gave in. Melkor gasped at the feeling of his arms suddenly free, and at the pain that jolted all through his body, from the tip of his fingers to his toes. His legs were not used to carry him anymore, and he collapsed forward, caught by Irmo's arms. He heard him laughing.
''I knew it would not be hard to convince you, but I did not expect you to fall in my arms so quickly.''
He heard Namo mumbling something, and sighing in exasperation.
It took him a moment to stand up properly, but when he did, he felt his strength coming back to him at once.
Despite Angainor still wrapped tightly around his neck, biting in his skin, he felt it would not be much of a problem if he truly wanted to escape. Yet as soon as this thought crossed his mind, Namo stepped behind him, and took hold of the chain.
''I do not think it will be necessary to bind you, will it ?'' Namo whispered at his ear.
He was tempted to claim otherwise, just to spice things up a little bit. But in this situation, tightly pressed between the brothers, it was interesting enough already.
They wanted to have fun ? Great. They would get it.
Now standing upright, he definitely was taller than Irmo. The Lord of Dreams eyed him with shameless hunger, one of his long, pale hands accompaigning the caress of his insisting stare, from Melkor's chest down to his stomach.
He saw him standing on his toes, and cupping his face, Irmo pulled him into a deep kiss. He did not wait before responding, as much as Namo's unyielding hand on the chain allowed him to. He rested his own hands on Irmo's hips.
Be it a dream or not, he wanted this now, and he would have it.
It was quite a pleasant interlude to his captivity. He felt Irmo slightly tensing, and muffling a moan as their bodies met. One of Namo's hands was stroking his brother's hair, probably encouraging him.
What a twisted pair. Exactly what Melkor loved.
''I knew it would work'', Irmo whispered against his lips. But those words were not directed to him, Melkor understood, as he heard Namo chuckling behind him.
''Of course it works,'' he moaned at his ear. ''You always have brilliant ideas.''
So, Melkor just was a means for them to tease each other ? It was not revulsing at all. To be just a tool for their pleasure, literaly in the middle of them, and being fisrt row to witness them going wild...
Melkor had watched this sort of interraction in the past, in the dungeons of Utumno. Mairon's methods with prisoners were... interesting. He forced himself to focus, chasing away the thoughts of his – now lonely – husband. Now was not the moment.
The proximity of their three bodies closely pressed together, and the teasing kisses Irmo was covering his chest with, was enough to bring him back to reality. Namo wound a hand in his hair, yanking his head back, exposing his throat for Irmo's lips.
Namo's breathing had changed, he noticed. It was not as calm, as controlled as before, and he could definitely feel something pressed against his backside, under Namo's robe.
''As much as I enjoy it,'' Melkor smirked, ''I am sure you do not need me, to fuck each other.''
Irmo's laughter chimed at his ear. He gave a swift lick there.
''Not really indeed,'' he whispered. ''But it was an opportunity.''
Namo's second hand slid down to Melkor's side, to his hip, and wandered down. He was bare, unlike the brothers, and he could hardly hide himself. He held back a sigh as Namo's fingers brushed against his length. It had been so long since someone had touched him here.
''An opportunity truly,'' Namo resumed his brother's words. ''Having the Dark One here, in my halls, chained and at our mercy ? Believe me, Irmo's mind was quick to understand the possibilities.'' He gave a stroke at his member, stealing a moan from him.
Irmo claimed his mouth once more, sliding his talented tongue past his lips, as one of his pale hands joined Namo's down.
''We know you want it,'' Namo whispered at his ear. ''How long has it been for you, tell me ? Have your ever even bedded someone talented ?''
Melkor bit down at Irmo's lip, as to protest against those words. But the Lord of Dreams only took it as an invitation, and he sank his fingernails into his shoulder, scratching long deep lines.
Hell. He knew how to turn him on.
Irmo chuckled at the long moan he got from him, and stepped back, watching for a moment at the image before him. He started to disrobe, catching Namo's stare, and gave him a half-lidded, lustful gaze as he revealed his porcelain skin. He was calculating every movement, knowing how to keep his brother's attention.
Melkor had closed his eyes, as Namo's hands were holding his head backwards, and stroking him in a slow rhythm, stealing quiet sighs from him.
''Leave him to me,'' Irmo demanded, still staring at his brother.
Yes, Melkor was only a tool. But what a wonderfully-built one. Irmo gestured him to come closer, and was almost surprised when the dark Vala shut the space between them, devouring his mouth with hunger, holding Irmo's frailer shape to his own tall, strong one. Irmo closed his eyes for a moment, but soon opened them again to catch Namo's, still focused on him. He saw the effect this scenery had on him, and the Master of Dreams was not unproud of it.
''Do not be shy, Melkor,'' he breathed out, not breaking eye contact with Namo. ''If it can help you, just imagine I am someone else. What is his name, again ?''
Melkor yanked his head back by the hair, glaring threateningly at him.
''Shut up,'' he growled low.
Irmo let out a surprised sound as he was hauled up against the wall. He saw Namo nearly jumping, ready to intervene if things were to get out of hand. But he briefly shook his head, making him understand not to. He wound his legs around Melkor's waist, chuckling as he felt their warm, bare flesh together.
''Shall I say his name, to warm you up a little ?'' He provoked, tightening his legs around him. ''You could picture him there,'' he sighed at his ear. ''Mai– ''
''Shut up,'' he repeated, as he breached him without any gentleness, wrenching a cry from the Lord of Dreams, whose nails wildly scratched his back.
''Yes,'' Irmo moaned, in a mixture of pleasure and pain, extending a hand to his brother, bidding to come closer. Within seconds Namo was behing Melkor again, and his hand on Angainor anew, pulling it slightly.
''Be gentle,'' he said low at Melkor's ear. ''He is not used to it.''
And he obeyed. He took Irmo with tenderness, as Namo ordered him to, his hand clenching around the chain when Melkor was being too rough. Namo kept eye contact with his brother, witnessing all the ravaging sensations he was taking with glee, and knew what Irmo imagined.
Melkor just was a toy. A means to pleasure each other through him, and to simply soothe their mutual, burning desire.
Irmo cried out in pain as Melkor bit his neck hard, and immediately Namo gave a sharp tug on Angainor.
''Why don't you fuck him yourself,'' Melkor hissed in anger.
''I would like to,'' Namo sighed. ''Believe me, I would love it.''
Whatever. Whatever those twisted brothers wanted, whatever their plan was, Melkor was enjoying himself, and he would take it to the end. And Irmo was quite good, he could not deny it. He reached down, stroking his length, smirking at the surprised moan he got in return. Irmo would not last long anymore.
He kept this slow, smooth rhythm Namo imposed him, and observed with sadistic pleasure how quickly Irmo was losing himself. He brought him to climax with a couple more thrusts and strokes, delecting himself of every of his moans and near screams.
The Lord of Dreams spasmed violently, muffling Namo's name in Melkor's shoulder as he came, his whole body clenching tightly.
Melkor gave him a moment to recover from his heavenly flight. When Namo saw the discomfort that started to manifest in his brother, he violently yanked Melkor's head back.
''Let go of him,'' he ordered.
Melkor clicked his tongue, and obeyed, frustrated not to get to his own end. But he had little choice anyway. He withdrew, and let Irmo get on his feet again, though he could hardly stand upright, his legs sore from having been knotted so tightly around Melkor's waist.
He thought they were done with him. Their little game was starting to annoy him, and he knew they would not care to pleasure him. They would soon chain him up again and leave.
But Namo suddenly pushed him down to his knees, forcing his head up as he pulled on Angainor.
Melkor saw the brothers kissing with passion, their tongues sensually dancing with each other. Irmo started to undo Namo's robe, and as it slid down, revealing his bareness, Melkor's face was pressed against his erected member.
Fuck off, he thought. But he had no saying in this. He glanced up at Namo in fury, wincing at Irmo's hand in his hair, trying to aid him to his task.
''I see, and create some of your dreams,'' Irmo purred. ''I know that you quite enjoy this.''
Fuck you too, he shouted in mind. Already done, he smirked.
But he could not risk provoking Irmo – if indeed he saw his dreams, he of course knew what delightful visions he had of Mairon. He was not sure whether or not Irmo would use them against him, but he would rather not try to find out.
He closed his eyes as he licked Namo's length, working his tongue on the already fully-hardened shaft. He had visibly enjoyed himself while watching his brother getting screwed.
He took Namo in his mouth, looking up when he heard a muffled moan. Irmo was kissing him again, his hand still on Melkor's head, pressing him tightly against Namo's groin, encouraging his movements. The Lord of Dreams had his brother whimpering and moaning, with kisses and whispered words, and Melkor beheld it all, as Namo started to thrust in his mouth, using him as he pleased.
It amused Melkor. If he could see the grand and ever-so-calm Namo come undone, even if he had to swallow him, he would. He was talented at it, anyway. He flattened his tongue on Namo's underside, opening his throat for him to push deeper, fighting back the gagging reflex with expertise.
Irmo was voraciously devouring his brother's mouth, both of them moaning now, losing themselves in each other's presence and sensations. Namo had trouble controlling his voice – he was close. Irmo took advantage of it. Steeling his grip on Melkor's head, and moaning luscious words at Namo's ear, he had him come apart.
Namo poured his seed down Melkor's throat, as he brutally pulled on Angainor, forcing him to swallow. Melkor did, fighting back disgust, and feeling with shame a wave of warmth jolting all through his body. He truly did not need this.
He looked up, at the brothers pressing their foreheads together, both panting hard. Melkor felt a strange emotion taking hold of him, as though he could feel the genuine love that came out of them, envelopping them in a peaceful aura.
Finally Namo let go of him, and he coughed violently, his stomach revulsing. He must keep it down, to at least preserve this bit of dignity. He was feeling horribly weak, about to throw up and still strangely aroused. He nearly disgusted himself.
''You did well,'' Irmo said in a soft voice. He crouched before him, tilting his chin up with one finger. ''Maybe I should give you a hand,'' he suggestively glanced down.
''Get off me,'' he hissed between clenched teeth.
But Irmo ignored it, and positioned himself behind him, his lips at his ear, his pale hand around his member.
''Now,'' he sighed. ''You can imagine him at my place. Just close your eyes.''
Melkor tried to resist. But Irmo's hand started to stroke him, and his sighs at his ear, so soft and somehow naughty, truly reminded him of someone else. He bit his lip, urging himself not to whisper Mairon's name. It did not take long for him to come, already far too aroused by all that happened before, and this delicious image in mind. Irmo let him enjoy this satisfaction for a bit.
''Thank you, Melkor,'' he whispered at his ear. ''You've been good. Now, sleep.''
He did not understand how, or why he suddenly felt his eyelids heavy, but he fell forward, and darkness claimed him. He fell unconscious on the cold floor, at the feet of the two brothers.
''Will he remember ?'' Namo asked, a hint of concern in his tone.
Irmo smiled reassuringly.
''Only as you remember a dream. Worry not, Sweet Brother.'' He wound his arms around his neck, kissing him tenderly, eyes closed. ''Our secret is safe.''
They minded not their nakedness, as they embraced each other again, enjoying this intimate moment as long as they could.
They put each other's robe back on, and cleaned all trace of their little interlude, putting all things as before, as though nothing had occured. They chained Melkor up anew, and Irmo gently kissed his cheek before leaving, whispering his gratitude at his ear.
They walked out of the cell hand in hand, exchanging silent looks that spoke volumes of their love.