by Milly of Isengard

Pairing: Gandalf/Saruman

Rating: NC-17

Disclaimer: no bread made, of course. Saru belongs to me (I wish) everybody else JRR's.

Warnings: strong slash / angst / violence / torture (halfling and otherwise)

Summary: Gandalf goes alone to Isengard in an attempt to parlay Saruman into surrendering - or failing that, to at least bring him back alive. It goes badly, and Gandalf falls prey to his former friend. To make it even worse, the halflings Merry and Pippin are captured and brought to Orthanc.

Chapter 3 - Torment

Curunír awoke with a shudder and an icy chill -Mithrandir had set up their camp on the very edge of Fangorn Forest - much to his dismay - and neither had spoken at all to the other until Mithrandir had offered Curumo some of his rations -

At first, Curunír had turned away scornfully, though he was very hungry

- but when Mithrandir offered a second time, he accepted - the hunger was too much.

But now- the dream, the nightmare- he had just awakened from- oh, how horrible!

The details were foggy, but he could still feel the terror of it.

The main elements were graphic visions of what lay ahead for him- his own fate, not only at Mithrandir's hand, but the others as well.

It began with what seemed like endless confinement, in a cell that grew smaller and smaller, until it began to choke the life out of him-

And there were various horrors - various tortures and punishments, all accompanied by the laughter and glee of Mithrandir and Co. -

It finally culminated in an unspeakable sequence in which Curumo found himself tied to four horses- all of them white doubles of Shadowfax- and with Mithrandir himself astride every one- and as the ripping apart had begun, he had awakened in the cold sweat of panic.

Badly shaken, and shaking badly, he lay silently, in mute terror.

The voice in his head- just the same voice as in the Palantir- slithered into his head, telling him that this was, indeed, his fate- and he was a fool to have been captured.

I could feel the pain, he thought dismally, I could feel it! I could hear my bones breaking, and the joints separating -

He sat up abruptly, ill and upset. It had been so very real, so vivid.

The cold voice spoke into his mind again- I will help you - you do not deserve it- but I will help you-

He suddenly was aware of Mithrandir looking at him intently - as if he knew what had transpired.

"Saruman - are you - do you feel alright?" he whispered softly, and Curunír, unwilling to admit any weakness - even if Mithrandir already knew of his horrific dream- merely answered back "Don't you ever sleep? Why are you watching me? I will never let you use me again - like you did - I assure you!"

Mithrandir sighed, and lay back- and then replied:

"Curumo- you must not think I did- what I did- to you and with you- from a desire to trick you. I truly desired it- did you not, as well? If not, you certainly appeared to!"

Saruman said nothing, and Mithrandir continued:

"I made love with you out of - a sudden passion, a yearning for you. I have no need to lie. You can believe it, or not. But it would serve nothing for me to lie to you about it."

Curunír listened, irritated that Mithrandir would not be silent, and yet somehow comforted by hearing his voice. Why should it be so?, he wondered, why do I find comfort in hearing him?

But the truth was, that he knew well that the dream - frightening as it was- was very likely a "gift" from Sauron- to terrify him into - into what, he did not know.

He very seriously doubted that he would ever see the day that Mithrandir Stormcrow ever lifted a cruel hand against anyone. Even him.

"Mithrandir- I- I- " - he stopped, unsure what to say, or how to continue- and then his lips were covered by Mithrandir's, very suddenly -and his heart skipped a beat, in alarm, as well as excitement.

"Don't." he whispered in halfhearted resistance, although he was more excited than annoyed- "Don't, Mithrandir - leave me be! Do not touch me!"-

Mithrandir did not answer or make a reply, but only drove his tongue softly between Curunír's thinly pressed lips, and then into his mouth - and wrapping his arms around Curunír's back as he did so.

Trying desperately to not cry out, to not express any pleasure, Curunír stifled the moans that were nearly issuing from him -Mithrandir was kissing his chest now, working his way slowly downward, and he could feel his cock stiffen and throb, with a life of its own- and a need of its own.

Mithrandir's lips caressed his stomach now, and gentle but utterly insistent fingers crept into - and then opened- his robe.

Curunír continued to choke back any sounds of what he was feeling, even as he felt a warm, soft tongue lick just above where the large silver white tangle of hair began, pressing and probing with sweet, wet pleasure that sent deep shivers down his entire spine.

Mithrandir's strong fingers wrapped around Curunír's now fully swollen and aching cock, and he stroked it slowly, making the throbbing rise to a thunderous roar - then he lowered his head on it, and took the very tip in his mouth.

Ever so gently, and with the softest of pressure, he sucked tantalizingly - still only the very end, and it seemed to thrum under his tongue -

Curunír was having an extremely difficult time of it, trying to hold back what was rapidly becoming unbearable - irresistible- and as Mithrandir took down several more inches of his painfully hard prick, he finally could not keep silent any longer, and a long, shivering groan escaped his lips.

Mithrandir gave the task at hand the benefit of thousands of years of lovemaking, and the skill he possessed was having a decided effect:

Curunír was clutching the ground, digging his long nails in, and gasping quite loudly now - thrusting upwards towards the undeniable need, the shockingly intense sensations.

He had never had anyone do this before- most of his sexual experiences had involved servant girls and assorted village rabble-but none of them had ever done this to him.

He could feel it coming again, just like earlier, how long ago had it been? Twelve hours, or even less?

The rush of ecstasy, driving his heartbeat to a spinning, dizzy speed, and making his entire body convulse in warm spasms.

Mithrandir felt it begin, the pulsing in his mouth becoming so intense, and then the flood erupted in hot explosions, drenching his tongue and beard, and he heard Curunír's quiet sounds of pleasure, and was glad for it.

"Leave me - leave me!" Curunír gasped, and Mithrandir said nothing, but got up, and went back to his bedroll.

They lay silently- both in their own thoughts -and finally fell into a troubled sleep.

But Mithrandir kept his eyes open.