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Angmar’s teeth scrape against his throat. 

Khamul redirects him before he can bite down, unceremoniously shoving Angmar’s face towards his shoulder. He does not particularly enjoy when Angmar decides to involve teeth, but he’ll settle for a bite over his hair being pulled. 

Angmar bites down and there is no tenderness in the way he clenches his jaw, tilts his head to get a better angle, then clenches his jaw again. Khamul winces as Angmar’s sharp teeth dig into his skin, his broad shoulders blocking Khamul’s view as Angmar carries them both forward. The fact Angmar is too impatient to wait until they are properly in bed is annoying, but that is something he does not anticipate he will easily be able to train out of Angmar. If their lord has not managed it, Khamul doubts he stands a chance.

Luckily it takes no more than a few seconds for his backside to connect with something hard which must be the edge of the bed as Angmar moves away from trying to tear a chunk out of his shoulder to kiss him and-

It wobbles.

The thing Angmar has propped him up against wobbles in a way the sturdy bed should not, slopes upwards in a way the bed does not, and Khamul cannot feel soft sheets anywhere. 

“No,” Khamul scolds, pressing his palm to the underside of Angmar’s chin and upwards, forcing Angmar’s face into the air and away from him, thoroughly ruining the moment. He glances around the room properly now that Angmar’s ugly features are not clouding his view, and grimaces when he finds Angmar has apparently decided the library to be an appropriate place for their activities. It is not even a desk that Angmar has pinned him up against, but a lectern barely stable enough to support his weight, let alone the weight of Angmar leaning against him. “Absolutely not,” Khamul adds, nose scrunched up slightly in distaste. 

“Khamul,” Angmar all but snarls in turn, clearly impatient, hands already beginning to drift over Khamul’s hips now that they no longer have to support his weight. Out of the two of them, Khamul has much more restraint and clearly higher standards than this. 

He is also, despite what one may think, the one completely in control here. 

“You’ll find us a proper room,” Khamul snaps back. “Or I’ll leave you to enjoy the company of yourself.”

“This is a room,” Angmar protests with a growl, and moves back in for a kiss which Khamul cleverly dodges.

“A bedroom, Angmar,” Khamul hisses in turn, pushing Angmar’s face away from his once more. “You know my rules well enough at this point.”

Angmar huffs, clearly growing more annoyed despite the mistake being his and his alone. It is not as if Khamul was the one carrying them both. It is not as if Khamul decided to stop in the library of all places. “Our bedrooms are several flights upwards.”

“Ah, I did not realize you were too weak to climb a few stairs,” Khamul gasps with mock concern. He gives Angmar a condescending pat on the shoulder, then begins to slide off the lectern before the damn thing breaks under him. Khamul may be light, but he is much heavier than any book here. “Clearly other vigorous activities are also beyond you right now. We’ll just have to reconnect later, hmm?”

“I do not feel like waiting,” Angmar growls back, cutting Khamul’s escape off with an arm. Before Khamul can try to escape the other way, Angmar boxes him in completely with his other arm. 

Unimpressed, Khamul glances back up at Angmar, scowling slightly, eyebrow rising at Angmar’s impertinence. “I do not see how your impatience is my problem.”

“A wall is a wall,” Angmar snarls, and he is obviously growing more and more impatient. 

Khamul only glances downwards and shifts his weight slightly, feeling the wood wobble and creak beneath him.

“This is a lectern.”

Khamul wheezes slightly as a hand suddenly grabs him by the throat, a second one grabbing a great handful of the fabric of the front of his tunic. In a quick movement Angmar lifts him entirely off the lecture by his clothing and pushes him against the wall. The lectern is kicked to the side and it crashes unceremoniously to the ground, giving Angmar enough space to draw closer to Khamul until he can feel Angmar’s breath against his skin. 

“A wall is a wall,” Angmar repeats, voice low and threatening, but the hand around Khamul’s throat has not tightened its grip much so Khamul only offers him a coy grin in turn.

“I’d prefer a bed.”

“What are you doing?”

The room freezes over. Khamul feels Angmar go still, sees the way his shoulders hunch in surprise and then remain there, leaving Khamul to tilt his head as best he can to peer over his shoulder with the hand around his throat still limiting a great deal of movement. Their lord stands in the doorway, form framed by the light of the hallway, lips pursed together slightly as he stares at them.

It must be quite the scene. 

Khamul can only imagine what he looks like. Ruffled, likely. Bruised. His shoulder aches slightly from where Angmar decided it would be a marvelous idea to bite him, and he knows both of his sleeves have fallen down to rest over his upper arms. One of Angmar’s hands holding him against the wall, the other at his throat. Angmar’s hair disheveled in a way Khamul would never allow his to be. 

Khamul takes a moment to lift his sleeves upward, casually covering the imprint of Angmar’s teeth as if it were never there. 

A glance at Angmar reveals he is going to be no help here at all, despite the fact their current predicament is his fault. Their lord would not have casually walked in on them in a room with a locking door. Actually, now that Khamul reflects on it, he is not sure Angmar had bothered to even close the door. 

Very well. While Khamul has long since abandoned any shame he may have had, he’ll take pity on Angmar just this once. 

“Fighting,” Khamul supplies helpfully, several moments after he probably should have responded, and it is barely a lie. 

“Fighting?” His lord arches an eyebrow ever so slightly, an absolutely staggering amount of judgement hidden behind the single, tiny action. His gaze scrapes over them like a rusty nail, and out of the corner of his eye Khamul sees Angmar go a funny sort of purple color around the ears.

“Fighting,” Khamul agrees with a nod. A few moments of silence pass between them, and when that eyebrow arches up just a fraction more, Khamul slams his knee up into Angmar’s chin hard enough to leave a bruise.

“Hey!” Angmar barks in surprise. Predictably, Angmar recoils slightly before slamming Khamul back against the wall, knocking the back of his skull against the stone brick hard enough to crack something. Probably Khamul’s skull, since Khamul is not nearly as thick headed as Angmar is. 

“Fighting,” Khamul repeats with a grunt, shrugging as best he can with Angmar’s hand still wrapped around his throat. At least Angmar has the sense not to tighten his grip since he still leaves the explanation to Khamul’s hands. 

Good. Angmar is a horrid liar. 

“Fighting,” his lord repeats slowly. His face is expressionless, and there are not even any twitching muscles that would reveal his inner thoughts. But Khamul knows his lord well. He sees the way in which he begins to tilt his head to the side like a bird in curiosity, as if he may pry further, before deciding it is better to let some lies lie. He stops short with his head just barely inclined, makes one last soft, judgmental noise, then abruptly changes topics, glancing down at the papers held in his hands. “I have finished reviewing your proposed treaty for the division of territories in Rhun. I have made some amendments, but the division looks appropriate for now.”

“Oh, lovely!” Khamul declares, and reaches out over Angmar’s shoulders, making a few grabbing motions into the air as he does so. A childish gesture, yes, but it gets his point across. “Here, I’ll look over the changes and then we can send it out quickly. No point in waiting any longer.”

His lord steps forward, making his way across the room, and offers the papers to Khamul over Angmar’s shoulder. Khamul accepts them easily and allows his arms to rest on Angmar’s shoulder as he glances over the words on the page. He’s forced to look down at the page with just his eyes since Angmar still has not bothered to release his neck, and after quickly deciding this is not a pleasant way to read, lifts the pages upwards and rests them against Angmar’s forehead instead. 

“Khamul,” Angmar grumbles softly, but wisely shuts his mouth when Khamul gives him a warning kick to the gut. More of a nudge, really. 

“Your framework worked well,” his lord murmurs softly from where he stands behind Angmar, and they’ve both decided to just ignore him, haven’t they? “I have only altered the division of rivers to allow more allotment to the southern regions.”

“The others won’t appreciate being given less water,” Khamul comments, glancing at the map on the next page. 

“They may collect rain water. The southern lands are simply more arid, so they must have more control over more rivers so they may survive the summers. We could avoid the issue entirely by having them move locations now, before the towns increase in size any further.”

“They wouldn’t,” Khamul hums softly, “They’d much rather die in the desert than be forced to move.”

“Wasteful,” his lord murmurs in distaste with a small shake of his head. 

“These look fine though,” Khamul quickly reassures him, returning the papers back over Angmar’s shoulder. “We can send them out now and begin work outlying where the roads should lie.”

“The new city layouts as well,” his lord agrees with a nod, turning back towards the door and gesturing for Khamul to follow him as he begins to walk away. Presumably back to his study so they may review theoretical designs together. “A grid or perhaps concentric circles would be ideal.”

Khamul gives a tiny nod in agreement, and wiggles insistently until Angmar finally gets a clue and releases him. He drops to the ground and quickly slips past him, ducking under his arm and hurrying to follow his lord. 

“Khamul?” Angmar calls after him, sounding slightly lost with the sudden change in conversation. Oh, right. Angmar holds onto his emotions very strongly. It must be hard for him to suddenly go from leisure to business. 

It is a problem Khamul does not share.

“Ah, sorry Angmar,” Khamul laughs, waving his hand dismissively. “That’s what you get for trying to fight me in a library. You just never know who might interrupt us.”

He offers Angmar one last knowing smirk, then hurries out the door after his lord.