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cilil · 11 months ago

Text

A little more warmth

Eönwë was more surprised that the Balrog had actually remembered the concept of payment in lieu of pillaging than by the offer, but his head and ears were nicely warm now, and he was more fond of the cute white and yellow patterns on blue than he had assumed; he did, however, fear for the bobble's safety just a little bit. "If it isn't too much trouble," he said, polite as always, yet failed to suppress a giddy smile and blush. Who would've thought that one day he would be the one getting pampered by a big, strong Maia instead of all the expectations of courtship resting on his shoulders?

❅ Pairings: Gothmog x Eönwë, background Fingon x Maedhros

❅ Characters: Eönwë, Gothmog, Ori, Maedhros, Fingon, Caranthir, Aiwendil (briefly), Nári (mentioned), a guest appearance by a very special mortal

❅ Synopsis: After Gothmog successfully talked Eönwë into going on a date asked Eönwë out, the two Maiar visit the market together to buy some gifts, argue and enjoy each other's company - while making everyone else's day significantly worse. Also featuring a few fun cameos from my giftee's favourite characters.

❅ Featuring: Canondivergence/AU - everyone's alive and happy, holiday fluff, awkward dates, bickering, marketplace stroll, kissing, holding hands, fluff & humor

❅ Warnings: Some sexual humor and innuendo

❅ A gift for @i-did-not-mean-to, written for the @whiteoliphaunt exchange. IDNMT also kindly let me use this super cute star divider.

➥ Read on AO3

"Do you think this is... appropriate?" Eönwë asked bashfully, referring to the fact that his hand was presently being held by a larger, clawed one.

"How else am I supposed to let everyone know that this hot piece of ass is mine?" Gothmog retorted, chuckling when he looked over to see his not-quite-official lover blushing furiously.

"Language," Eönwë hissed and squeezed his hand for emphasis, but made no move to pull away. Gothmog had suspected for a while now that he secretly enjoyed open displays of affection and even desire more than he would like to admit, stuck in his mindset of etiquette and propriety as he was.

"Let's get you something to keep your ears warm, hm? The tips are all red," Gothmog teased, gently tugging on the smaller Maia's feathered ear before pulling him over to the nearest market stand that had any sort of textiles for sale.

A Dwarf with reddish brown hair was currently leaning over a box filled with wool, engaged in spirited conversation with a dark-haired Human, only for their fun to be woefully interrupted by the appearance of a Balrog.

"Hey you," Gothmog addressed the Dwarf. "Do you have something to put on the head of a pretty little hero? He's all red from the cold."

"Gothmog, please." Eönwë flashed the duo an apologetic smile. "He is... very enthusiastic today."

"Oh, um... that's lovely!" the Dwarf replied with as much elation as he could muster, still seemingly spooked by the way two Maiar had just interrupted his conversation. "I have a couple of hats you could try... woolly ones, some with bobbles too –"

"A bobble hat. Blue if you have that," Gothmog interrupted, grinning from one non-existent ear to another.

"Must you always attempt to ridicule me?" Eönwë grumbled, his plumage fluffing up defensively, but the Balrog patted his head as their unwilling acquaintances beheld the spectacle. While the Dwarf searched his wares, nervous but determined and smiling unerringly, the Human appeared to be strangely entertained by the scene she was witnessing.

"I have blue with a bit of yellow –"

"Perfect." Gothmog snatched the hat he was offered and placed it on the smaller Maia's lovingly patted head, pulling it over his eyes in his enthusiasm.

"Aww. You look cute. Do you like it?" He flicked the bobble with his claw while Eönwë adjusted the hat and smiled at the friendly Dwarf.

"It is very lovely, my dear –" His sharp eyes caught the small name tag made of clay that was attached to a thick woolly shawl. "Ori."

"And it suits you, good sir," Ori complimented, "the blue matches your eyes. Well, um, your current ones, I mean. Mahal told us that your kind can change that at will, but –"

"Yes, he's very pretty, with and without his blue eyes. And he's my boyfriend," Gothmog cut in, a hint of smugness in his tone. "Do you want the hat, bird? I'll get it for you."

"If it isn't too much trouble," he said, polite as always, yet failed to suppress a giddy smile and blush. Who would've thought that one day he would be the one getting pampered by a big, strong Maia instead of all the expectations of courtship resting on his shoulders?

Gothmog, lord and brother to the bane of dwarven kind, leaned closer to Ori who flinched a little. "You. Do you accept gems as payment?"

"G-gems? Yes, certainly... uh... which ones do you have?"

Instead of answering, Gothmog merely pointed at his gem-encrusted shoulders. Ori's eyes widened. "Oh! Yes, one of those is quite alright!"

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"I am most grateful for your kindness, but did you have to scare the poor Dwarf like that?" Eönwë rebuked, the bobble on his head wobbling from the force of his righteous indignation.

Gothmog took advantage of his momentary distraction to reclaim his hand and hold it as they continued their market stroll.

"Hey. Now the little guy has a trophy for his bravery, facing the mightiest and most terrible of all Balrogs!" He chuckled to himself. "Nári would try to fight me on that, but she isn't here."

"Thankfully so." While Eönwë feared no opponent on the battlefield, neither the bite of a Balrog's whip nor the edge of their blades, he knew to respect the sharpness of her tongue.

"Don't let her hear that either." Gothmog looked around for other things of interest, then suddenly pointed at another stand. "Speaking of people with flaming hair, isn't that the Elf who escaped you back in the day?"

It was indeed. The former high king of the Noldor, known as Maedhros after his time in Beleriand, was busying himself with the making of candles, carefully dipping them in wax over and over again until he was satisfied with their shape and thickness.

"How do you even know about that?" Eönwë asked, referring to his companion's previous question.

"Mairon told us everything," Gothmog shrugged, "and this one escaped us too. Slippery little Elf. But still just as flammable as his father."

Eönwë elbowed him warningly. "If we are to talk to him, please refrain from making such comments. And don't set anything on fire."

"Fine."

Maedhros appeared to be blissfully oblivious to their approach, focused on his candles as well as a certain other Noldo manning a stand close by, carving soap and exchanging the occasional glance and smile with him. Eönwë recognised Fingon, yet realised too late that this other former high king was, unfortunately, yet another victim of Gothmog in particular.

Before he could intervene, they had already spotted each other, and a huge grin appeared on the Balrog's face.

"Soap, huh?"

"Would you prefer me carving something out of your horns?" Fingon retorted, managing a smile that was a little too pleasant in return.

"You could certainly try, little Elf."

"I could indeed. You don't have your friends with you this time."

"Enough. No more of this," Eönwë said firmly and greeted the two Noldor with a respectful nod. "May we have a look at your wonderful work?"

"Sure. Though I am not sure what you need a candle for if you have a Balrog with you," Fingon said with a cheeky wink at Maedhros.

"Some of them are scented," the red-haired Elf hummed, watching wax drip from the candles he was currently working on. "I suspect Balrogs are not."

"Perfume is even more flammable than incarnates," Gothmog said lightly and walked closer to Maedhros' stand to take a whiff. "What's that supposed to be?"

"Berries. The others are vanilla and sandalwood."

"Ah." Gothmog continued sniffing. "Interesting."

"Nothing you would find in Angband."

"Heh. You know it."

Eönwë made sure to stay close to his companion and admired the candles.

"I didn't know this was one of your hobbies," he said.

"He has developed quite the skill with candles and other things like them."

Maedhros blushed furiously, and Gothmog eyed the two Elves as if there was something suspicious about the comment, though whatever hidden meaning it held was lost on the ever innocent wind spirit.

"And you with soap it seems," Eönwë chirped happily, ignoring the awkward atmosphere, and walked over. "So many lovely scents too... may I touch these?"

He pointed at the artfully sorted and stacked bars of soap.

"Of course."

"I've had candles, but never soap," Gothmog commented and lowered his head to sniff a green bar Eönwë had picked up for closer inspection. "What's this scent even?"

"Fir," Fingon answered. "You probably didn't have that in Angband either."

"What's a Balrog supposed to do with a tree anyway? Turn it into firewood?"

"Please never repeat that when Lady Yavanna is near," Eönwë chided. "Speaking of the lords and ladies though – which scent do you think would please Lord Manwë and Lady Varda, Fingon?"

"Vanilla," Gothmog snorted and proceeded to heartily laugh at his own joke while his three former and current enemies stared at him in silent disbelief.

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"No. Absolutely not."

"Yes. Very yes."

"Gothmog, please. How am I supposed to look anyone in the eye after this?"

"You don't have to. I could just take you home and keep you as my pet bird until the end of Arda."

Eönwë glowered at the grinning Balrog.

"You are not going to publicly purchase lace underwear for me," he said, slowly and empathically. "Neither I nor poor Caranthir want to have that conversation, I would imagine."

"If that angry little Elf doesn't want to talk about lace, he shouldn't be making it," Gothmog huffed and gripped Eönwë's hand to pull him over to the stand of Caranthir who was already eyeing them with mild dismay. Unfortunately for the heroic herald, he lacked both the size and strength to prevent the inevitable embarrassment.

"Hey you," Gothmog greeted the Noldorin prince with his usual lack of courtesy. "Do you think you have something that would look cute on my boyfriend?"

Eönwë's sigh of exasperation caused all nearby textiles to flutter dangerously and Caranthir to stare in disbelief.

"Manwë's herald is dating a Balrog of Morgoth?"

"You watch what you're saying, Elf. The boss doesn't like that name," Gothmog growled before the other Maia could respond.

Caranthir was still staring. Eönwë resisted the urge to hide his face underneath his wings and cleared his throat. "We have... become more closely acquainted."

"That's his way of saying we're dating, yes." Gothmog smacked the counter with his free hand. "While I'm at it: Be sure tell your uncle too. Tell him that I meet up with the pretty bird to train now, and afterwards we f–"

"Gothmog!"

"What?! Just making sure."

"You have said more than enough!"

Caranthir blinked a few times, watching as the two Maiar turned back to face him after their brief argument.

"You... you meant that?"

"Yes! Need I say it again?"

"No. Please don't."

He cast one last glance at Eönwë who merely closed his eyes and prayed that all his embarrassment would be cleansed in Arda Healed.

"Well..." Fighting to regain his composure, Caranthir began to look through his completed pieces. "Are you looking for anything specific?"

Gothmog shrugged. "No idea. I don't wear underwear myself, so..."

"Just look for... any sort of bottoms," Eönwë mumbled, the word alone causing him to blush. He didn't consider himself overly squeamish with language – at least not after all the foul words he had heard during the War of Wrath and after – but part of him feared this statement could somehow end up revealing too much.

"Good idea, bird." Gothmog pulled him closer and rubbed his cheek against the side of his head. "I can already imagine how cute your ass would look in some nice lace panties –"

Caranthir let out a choked noise of discomfort, but Eönwë's attention was preoccupied with something different. He had dealt with the lewd and vulgar behaviour of Melkor's servants enough times to predict what might be coming next and seized Gothmog's wrist before he could touch the part of his anatomy he was referring to.

"Not in public," he hissed. "Or else I shall be forced to draw my sword and take your hand."

"Feisty bird."

"I am a warrior. Never forget that."

In the meantime, Caranthir had selected a few pieces. With an expression that spoke of defeat, the fire in his dark eyes dim, he showed a skimpy piece of soft blue fabric with white lace.

"That one would match your hat," he commented.

Eönwë was unsure whether it was mockery or an earnest attempt at being helpful.

"Thank you for your trouble," he said with as much grace as he could. "Though I am not sure if you need my measurements or anything...?"

"You could just try it on," Gothmog suggested with a gentle nudge.

Maia and Elf alike stared at him, utterly mortified.

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"You are terrible."

Eönwë's tone was still accusatory, but Gothmog remained unfazed.

"Drink, bird," he encouraged with a gentle nudge – one that would have still sent any incarnate flying, but caused only a mild rustle of feathers thanks to the smaller Maia's impeccable stance and balance.

"Fine," Eönwë mumbled and took a sip of mulled wine, critically eyeing the beverage. The taste was more pleasant than he had anticipated, but he needed to be careful not to drink too much, lest he be seen tipsy or even drunk in the company of a Balrog. His lack of alcohol tolerance was something other Maiar, particularly those in Oromë's, Tulkas' and of course Melkor's service, liked to tease him about.

"Hey, don't look so glum. Don't you like shopping?" Gothmog held the bag filled with various items they had acquired up with one claw, and Eönwë couldn't help chuckling lightly. Neither of them seemed like the type to enjoy a quiet marketplace stroll, but it had been surprisingly pleasant, even with the Balrog's tendency to tease and intimidate other visitors.

"I will never hear the end of this," Eönwë lamented, though more for show than out of actual annoyance, and downed half of his cup for dramatic effect. "Buying underwear together with the Lord of Balrogs... oh the amount of questions I will have to answer."

"I don't get why people are even wondering," Gothmog shrugged and practically inhaled his wine, causing steam to rise from his mouth and nostrils. "I mean, what's there to ask? Everyone's seen that cute ass of yours, and I bet I'm not the only one who –"

"Enough," Eönwë hissed. Aiwendil, who had been feeding some pigeons nearby, was staring at them with wide, curious eyes, but squirrelled away when he realised he had been noticed.

"Anyway. It's mine and I want it to look pretty."

"If you insist."

"Aw, birdie..." Gothmog wrapped one arm around his shoulder, and Eönwë found himself reflexively leaning against him despite his (futile) attempts at salvaging his dignity. "I was hoping that, if I get you some nice stuff for your collection, you'll be in the mood to try on those panties later... and show me how pretty you look in them..."

"We shall see if your behaviour warrants such a reward."

"Must you always be so strict with me? And with yourself too?"

When Eönwë looked up at his companion, surprised by his observation, Gothmog's smile was weirdly disarming.

"Y-you need to understand that I need to maintain a certain decorum, even though I... admittedly have grown quite fond of you," he attempted to explain himself.

Gothmog shook his head. "Eh, I'm sure they want you to believe that, but you also know we think differently. You deserve to have fun too."

His expression shifted to a devious grin. "As do I. May I perhaps have a kiss then?"

"In public?" Eönwë asked nervously.

In lieu of a response, Gothmog dropped the bag, fished a mistletoe twig out of it and held it over their heads with his free hand – an easy feat thanks to his greater size.

"See? Now we're basically socially obligated to kiss."

"Did... did I already say you are –"

"Terrible? Yes. And smart and handsome too."

"Was this Melkor's idea?"

"Maybe. Does it matter?"

It didn't, and Eönwë knew just as well as Gothmog did that he tended to talk too much and ask too many questions when he was flustered. Accepting that he had been outsmarted by his fiery lover and mortal enemy, he proudly raised his head to receive a searing hot yet gentle kiss.

taglist: @a-contemplation-upon-flowers @asianbutnotjapanese @a-world-of-whimsy-5 @bluezenzennie @edensrose @eunoiaastralwings @i-did-not-mean-to @melkors-big-tits @singleteapot @wandererindreams

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