Work Text:
Maeglin prowled the room, his attention fixed on the deliciously helpless young lord kneeling bound and blindfolded in the center.
One more slow circle, then a glance over at their companion. “Well, cousin? What say you? Is our pretty Tuor ready?”
Idril stood and approached, admiring her cousin’s handiwork. The ropes binding Tuor’s wrists to his ankles and the bar keeping his knees spread wide had her husband’s body pulled into an exquisite arch.
She tugged at the delicate chain draped between the clamps on his nipples, testing the fastness of their hold. His grunt made her smile.
“He’s ready.”