Russ & Finno @russandolfindekano - Tumblr Blog

Fëanor Finds Out

Part 2 / ? Fingon surprises Maedhros while the eldest Fëanorians are alone in their father’s house for the day. The ensuing romantic interlude comes to a sudden, decidedly unromantic, halt as Maedhros’ father (focused on a crafting problem he’s come to run by his firstborn) wanders into the room.

Characters: Fingon, Maedhros, Fëanor, Maglor

Place: Valinor

Time: Before the Darkening

Archives: Tumblr Masterlist

"Findekáno, get out of here," Maedhros barked. "Atya," he pleaded, using the name he had not used since he was a child, "say something."

Fingon ignored Maedhros, moving to stand close to him, albeit slightly behind him. He gently touched Maedhros, needing the contact, and with his other hand clutched at the ring hanging upon his chest. He would not, could not, leave Maedhros.

Fëanor remembered to breathe as his eldest began talking, but even as he stood dumb with shock, his eyes catalogued his son’s room. Nolófinwë’s eldest had been on top of his son, thrusting, while his son shook and trembled, tied off with a knotted strip of leather. He winced internally at the painful thought. Even worse, however, was the thought of his firstborn yielding himself to a child, and for what? Some sort of learning experience? But that made little sense. He sighed.

“What would you have me say, Nelyafinwë? That bondings are not to be done lightly, nor should they be done with children? That I did not raise my firstborn to be tied up and used as a plaything by one of Nolofinwë’s offspring?” He glared at Fingon, though his words were directed at Maedhros. “I came here in broad daylight to get your opinion on a project. I can assure you I had no intention of walking in on the…humiliation of my eldest and the degeneracy of the third generation of my father’s house.” He bit back any further thoughts. “Well-- speak.” The command was sharp, authoritative, and not to be ignored.

Maedhros felt a sharp bite of tears threaten at the edge of his eyes and nose, but he bit them back. "I love him, Atar," he said. That was most important, and the rest came in a flood: "He is my chosen and my betrothed." He gulped, and stepped back, bumping against Fingon as Fëanor advanced on them. "I--I was going to tell you--but--and we are not bonded, not yet, in spite of what you saw. We are waiting until Findekáno is of age that we might honor each other, only--only it is hard to wait. Punish me as you will but don't harm Findekáno--" But as Fëanor continued to advance now Maedhros stood his ground, and threw his hand up in front of him, at Fëanor's eye level. "I wear his ring. He made this for me."

If there was one thing that could stop Fëanor on the warpath, it was a new or unique piece of craft. Words set aside for the moment, he eyed the ring. “Flawed. Here, here, the third band close to the middle…” He pulled the ring off his son’s finger, only for it to collapse in his hand. And Fëanor smiled.

“Who taught you this, Findekáno?” He spun the rings, coming close to righting the piece on his first attempt.

“I--n-no one, my lord uncle. I just… I wanted something worthy of Maitimo and it… I just made it.” Fingon shrugged helplessly, internally berating himself for the flaws Fëanor was already finding. The things marring Maedhros’ ring.

"Are your prototypes ever perfect, Atar?" Maedhros shot back, and Fëanor looked up, eyes flashing.

When Fëanor lifted his arm Maedhros flinched, but it was only to put a hand on his shoulder. "One prototype was," he said: "and that was you, my son."

Maedhros' mouth fell open. Fëanor dropped the pieces of the ring into his palm. "Now get dressed and cleaned up, both of you, and meet me in the kitchen, and we will talk this over."

As Fëanor made for the door Maedhros still stood open-mouthed and speechless.

Fingon and Maedhros stared at one another for a full minute after Fëanor disappeared. Fingon was the first to move, dropping the sheet and throwing himself into Maedhros’ arms. “Russ,” he whispered, burying his face in his cousin’s neck and hair. “Russ. Betrothed. My future husband. Russ.” When he pulled back to look at his cousin, tears were running down Fingon’s face and he was smiling. “We can do this.” He breathed the words, barely able to believe them. “It’s going to be okay.” Maedhros’ arms squeezed him, and his cousin lifted him fully off the ground, spinning him in a circle.

Maedhros clutched the pillow to him like a lifeline, and it took him many moments to realize that Fingon was speaking to him, and a few moments more before his words registered. He had expected to be dead, if not from his father then from mortification at what his father had seen--but he was not dead, and Fingon was still here, and maybe his father would approve of this after all, in spite of his complicated relationship with his half-brother. He was so happy he lifted his cousin off the ground, spinning him, and did not set him down until he had kissed him again.

He laughed nervously, and now his legs were really shaking, and he slid to the floor, dragging Fingon down with him. "Oh, Findekáno!" he whispered, pulling him close, and just held him, heart hammering for a few moments while he kissed away his tears. "Oh, damn it, I'm covered in seed--and so are you!" He reached above him to tug a washcloth from the basin beside his bed, and he wet it and drew it over both of them. "I--I am so sorry. I should have locked the door. I can't believe--" he was on edge, perhaps going to burst into tears or scream at what his father had just seen. His face grew hot.

Fingon gently took his wrist, stilling his hand. “I’m sorry Russandol. If anyone is at fault it’s me--I started playing a game in your sitting room and didn’t think to lock that door, I kept this going as long as we did, I--I Valar Russ, I’m so, so sorry. Your father should never have seen you like that.” He rubbed at Maedhros arm. “Are you truly alright? You weren’t hurt, were you? We were… for quite a while… and you--“ his voice tapered off and he dropped his head. “Please forgive me.”

"Don't apologize!" Maedhros snapped, pulling Fingon into an irresistible embrace. "I'm not sorry for that! And no, you didn't hurt me. I might have stayed--where I was--like that--under your power, I mean, for--for hours, and have been content." He growled and kissed Fingon roughly. "Instead I feel as if I've been awoken too early from a pleasant dream. But--" he stood, now, pulling Fingon up with him, "my atar has been waiting too long. Here, here's your tunic..."

“Thanks, Russ.” Fingon pulled on the garment, and stood in front of a large mirror to try to tuck strands of his hair back into place. He twisted the silver ring on his hand, and, boots and breeches on, prepared to head out the door. When Maedhros joined him, he turned to his love, leaning in for a quick embrace and one final kiss. “I love you. Forever.” Maedhros squeezed him tightly, and then they both headed for the kitchen.

Fëanor had his back to them, and was sitting at the head of the long wooden table that was where the family took informal meals (the larger table was only used when they had guests, and in lieu of guests was usually littered with various projects). Fëanor was drinking some sort of clear strong liquor, and he had two empty cups beside him. Maedhros moved to sit at his father's right hand, and Fingon sat across from him at his left.

There was a long silence, which Fëanor did not attempt to break: Maedhros recognized this tactic as one used to get him to confess. It always worked on him, at least when it was either of his parents. "I'm sorry we did not tell you. We were going to--"

"How long?" Fëanor demanded, pouring a half dram for each of them.

"S-seven years," Maedhros answered immediately.

Fëanor downed his cup at that response and quickly poured another. The look he gave them was less than pleased. “I should… I do not even know what. Probably inform Nolófinwë what his child is up to--“ he raised a hand to quell their protests. “I’m hardly likely to do that, am I?” He sighed, considering. “Who knows?”

“Makalaurë and Turko, Irissë, Moryo. Oh, and grandfather,” Fingon contributed. “Though they didn’t find out in that order.”

"Atar knows?" Fëanor repeated. "And he didn't tell me?" He sounded hurt.

"He was going to," Maedhros said. "And Nolófinwë. Before we were bonded, he was--we were going to tell you. But Findekáno was so young--"

"Still is under the age of majority," Fëanor corrected.

"Yes. Which is why we--ahh, we have not--"

"All right, spare me the details, I'm already going to have a headache in the morning," Fëanor said, swallowing another mouthful with a hiss. "Findekáno, let me see the ring Nelyo made for you."

Fingon held out his hand, and at a gesture from Fëanor handed over the ring. He watched his uncle’s eyes widen slightly.

“You've been so serious growing up, Nelyo. Sometimes it is hard to believe you are related to Turko and Ambarussa. But then, at times like this...” Fëanor murmured. “I remember this ring.” He handed it back to Fingon, having no further need for it. “Very well, you two. What are your plans? When will you be bonded? How did Atar find out, and what was his reaction?”

“We’ll be bonded the day I reach my majority,” Fingon replied. “We spend time together as we can for now. Grandfather--erm--walked in on us kissing in his library.” Fëanor raised an eyebrow as both Fingon and Maedhros blushed lightly. “And as for his reaction--“

"He supports our union--I think because he would like to force you and Nolófinwë to get along better," Maedhros answered with a small grin. "He is very--comfortable discussing, ah, carnal matters. He practically mandated that we enjoy ourselves, short of bonding."

"I think he just likes teasing you, Russ," Fingon pointed out. "Your face does the oddest things once we reach the fifth or sixth round of innuendos." He sighed. "But yes. He is very…comfortable discussion things. Especially if we've caused him to lose sleep."

Fëanor raised an eyebrow as Maedhros flushed. "That sounds very much like atar. All right. Drink, drink," he ordered, waving at the glasses and topping everyone off. "But really, only seven years ago? You two always were—close. I would have thought—"

"ATAR!" Maedhros shouted, scandalized.

Fëanor laughed and put his elbows on the table. "Fine. I suppose I need to find another craft to teach him so he can spend the summer here, then. I think ring-forging, don't you, Nelyo?"

Fingon looked across at Maedhros, nodding his head slightly. Though the question had not been addressed with him, he would gladly spend time working with his uncle--with his future father in law. Particularly if doing so gave him reason to spend more time with Maedhros. And, while such studies would doubles be taxing, irritating and painful…he had said he wished to improve himself, to grow closer to Maedhros in stature and skill, and what better way to do so than by learning from the best--from Maedhros’ own teacher.

“Don’t insult him, Atar,” Maedhros said, laying his hand over Fingon’s. “His ring-forging is fine. Don’t you think he could advance to gem-cutting or something that might take half a year rather than a few months?” His grin was broad and self-indulgent, even bold, the way Celegorm looked at mother when he got away with something by father’s permission.

Fëanor huffed. “All right. I was just about to start Moryo on that.” Then he wrinkled his nose in exaggeration. “This of course means I have to speak to my half-brother. What’s in it for me?” Now his eyes sparkled playfully.

“Another pair of hands around the forge and on whatever projects you require or could use an assistant for,” Fingon replied promptly. “And an opportunity to get better acquainted with your future son-in-law outside of formal events? I’d truly appreciate any guidance or assistance you can give in my crafting and general knowledge,” he added seriously. “I wish to improve myself and my work, and if you are offering I could have no better teacher.”

Fëanor huffed. “Don’t, even try that. Your father used to do that.” He waved his hand vaguely, trying to indicate Fingon’s gratuitous complements and what seemed like an attempt to butter him up. He took another drink, staring at his glass contemplatively. “This will killNolófinwë,” he murmured into his drink with a smile. Then he looked back to Fingon. “Work hard, pay attention, study, and you will have a place here.” Fingon nodded earnestly. “And even if you wish to focus on gems,” here he gave Maedhros a quick glance, “I’d appreciate some time discussing my firstborn’s ring, your creative process, and what adaptations of that design you can come up with. In fact, that work should progress quite naturally into jewel craft.”

A laugh of pure joy bubbled up in Maedhros' chest, and he had to swallow it back down for fear of appearing addled. He squeezed Fingon's hand. "You know my gemcraft isn't quite as good as it could be, either, Atar," he said slyly.

"That is because you are a perfectionist worse than your atar," Fëanor replied with a grin. "No, you'll not be in the apprentice forge more than I can help it, and you'll certainly not be found anywhere near Findekáno's work station. Whatever you two get up to on your own time is one thing, but I will *not* have you distracting him from his work."

Maedhros grinned shyly. "Yes, atar."

"Same goes for you, Findekáno."

“Yes, uncle.”

“And if you are living here for months, you will have lessons in more than crafting. I think language, artistry, forensics, history, logic, cartography, engineering, philosophy…and we’ll see about what else seems most pertinent as time passes and add more topics based on that, and any particular interests you have.” Fingon stared at him for a moment. This was… nothing like the way he and his siblings had been taught. But he fairly certain that all seven of his cousins had been taught, were being taught, and would continue to be taught, like this--numerous topics linked together in some subtle fashion that his uncle highlighted. And never a focus so narrow that it wrote out all other areas of study.

“I--I’d like that very much, uncle,” he said, smiling at Maedhros.

"As would I," Maedhros agreed. "But Findekáno is not some rough untutored commoner," he continued, disliking his father's tone. "He is learned already in his own right, and a quick study."

"How else did you think I planned to teach him so much in so short a time?" Fëanor responded, and Maedhros bowed his head.

Then Maedhros lifted up his head and without warning, leaned across to throw his arms around his father's neck. "Thank you, Ata."

Fëanor put an arm around his son’s shoulders and stretched the other to pull Fingon in closer and squeezed gently, before leaning back and pouring each of them another drink.

When Maglor returned, it was to sounds he didn't expect: to raucous laughter, and clinking of plates. As he set his harp down and moved to the kitchens, there was a terrific crash and then another bout of laughter. Maglor rounded the corner and: "What are you doing?!" He demanded, more alarmed than anything. Fëanor was on his hands and knees trying to collect dried pasta out of the pile of glass. "Atar did it!" Maedhros accused, who was listing against the stove stirring a messy pot of some kind of sauce. Fingon was in the corner dying of laughter.

“Káno!” Fingon jumped up, swaying treacherously as he stumbled to Maglor and threw his arms around his neck. Maglor reached out to steady him. “Uncle has said I can marry your brother!” He enunciated each word slowly, clearly, and much louder than was necessary. Fingon grinned, then stumbled and started to fall. Maglor, head whipping around to stare at Fëanor after Fingon’s declaration, barely caught him. He carefully ushered Fingon into a seat before turning to deal with his older brother and father, noting that though Maedhros appeared ready to tumble into his pot, what he was cooking did sell unbelievably enticing, particularly unbelievably given the inebriation of the Elda making it.

"Atar, Atar, stop. Let me do it, you're going to cut yourself!"

"I'll have you know, boy, that I've been drnuk since before you were born!" Fëanor protested, but sat by contentedly as Maglor cleaned up the mess.

"I'm nnnot drunk Macalaurë," Maedhros insisted. "I'm juss watching the pot."

"Valar help me," Maglor sighed, as he pointed out an enticing-looking chair to his father, who immediately crawled toward it.

“Do I even want to know what happened?” Maglor asked hesitantly. Fingon opened his mouth to answer, and Maedhros lost all interest in the pot, moving as quickly as he could to Fingon’s chair and wrapping a hand over his mouth. Fingon tried to speak around it, though the sounds that emerged were muffled and told Maglor far less than his brother’s insistence on silencing him.

“SEX.” The younger Eldar turned as one to face Fëanor, who waved at the others as he looked at Maglor. “All I wanted was a sounding board for an idea. And I walked into sex.” He seemed somewhat perturbed by that, though far less than Maglor was at present.

"It was an accident," Maedhros insisted, as if he had just fallen into bed with Fingon, and all three of them burst out laughing. But at least from here Maglor could manage supper. "What did you all drink?" He wondered, a smile playing at his lips.

“A lot.” Fingon called from beneath Maedhros’ hand. Maedhros simply pointed at the table.

“Two bottles,” Fëanor added. “Accident.” He snorted. “I wonder what your grandfather would think about that.”

Maglor sighed, lowering the flame under the sauce and successfully pouring a different jar of pasta into the boiling water. “You are all going to regret this in the morning. I’m going to regret this in the morning,” he bemoaned. “And I don’t need details, Atar. Please spare your poor, innocent son.”

“Innocent--they’re not bonded, but you wouldn’t believe what they get up to.”

Fingon succeeded in freeing himself from Maedhros, but slid to the ground as he did so. “See, Russ! ‘s not me talking you should be worried about.”

“I resent that.” Fëanor looked down at his nephew and over at Maedhros. “And after what I saw, I have every right to commiserate with Káno or tease you about it--Valar, I’ve just turned into Atar, haven’t I.”

In spite of everything, Maedhros giggled at that last bit, pulling Fingon to him as they tumbled to the floor laughing. "Atar, what--what--I'm almost afraid to ask this--" He was way too drunk for this. "At what point did you walk in?"

Fëanor gave him a Look, and Maglor could not be certain if the light flush to his cheeks was from drinking or from what he was remembering his son doing. “I thought you were injured.” Each word was uttered staccato, as Fëanor tried to keep his voice precise and flat. “Then you started talking, Nelyo. And I wandered in on both of you.”

“On?!” Fingon laughed, imagining that.

Fëanor grimaced. “Well, not on. I wandered into the room. I hope to never see a child of mine in that position again. And… Eru help me…” Fëanor took a deep breath and continued quickly, “Please be careful while you’re trying more adventurous things. I doubt either of you want to be dragging your other half before Este because one of you has wound up in need of actual healing.” Fingon had snorted and begun giggling at the statement about his children, and gasped out something to do with Celegorm, which had both Maedhros and Maglor laughing .

“You… you don’t want to know, Atar,” Maglor informed him, and in this case Fëanor trusted to his judgment.

"I said, not as adventurous as Tyelko!" Maedhros giggled, before Fingon clapped a hand over his mouth and they wrestled on the floor before: "Maglor?" He said, staring up at his brother with Fingon on top of him. "Ithink mdrunk."

“I’m quite sure you are,” Maglor sighed. Fingon leaned down to plant a kiss on Maedhros, sprawling across him.

“This’s nice, Russ,” he mumbled. “You’re more comf’ter’ble than a bed.”

"All right you idiots, yes I mean you, Atar, sit at the table. Food is almost ready."

"Oohh will you be serving us, Káno?" Maedhros asked, before turning to Fingon and pointing at himself. "I made that. I willlmmake a goood house-man. Feed you nice and fat."

"All right, Nelyo, you're going to marry him, not eat him--okay, forget I--" but they had already dissolved into laughter. "Just get on the chairs," Maglor said wearily pouring tall glasses of water and serving plates.

“But I don’t want ‘t be fat!” Fingon leaned back, raising his shirt and poking at his stomach experimentally. “I should be strong and slender like you. And we’ll have adventures!” Fëanor, standing to move to the table, choked and hunched over in a coughing fit. Maedhros appeared to be enjoying the view as his betrothed, sitting aside him, swayed back and forth prodding at himself. Fëanor carefully made his way to the table and sank into a seat with a grateful sigh, sipping at a glass of water. Maglor stood Fingon up, moving him, and then Maedhros, to either side of Fëanor.

"Uugghhh Macalaurë," Maedhros protested. "I wanna sit with Finnooooo," he said, and promptly fell off his seat.

"Damn it, Nelyo!" Maglor cried, but Fëanor removed himself from the bench seat, "So the two drunk lovebirds can sit next to each other," and staggered around to the other side.

Maglor sighed and served them anyway. "Drink," he ordered.

They ate quietly, and after several glasses of water (and a cold glass pressed to his forehead), Fingon began to feel more like himself. “Uncle… what was in that bottle?” He was still leaning against Maedhros, but the world had stopped spinning and he was remembering enough to be more than slightly embarrassed by his… and everyone’s… actions.

“Better that you not know,” Fëanor replied, and his children looked at him sharply.

“Plausible deniability?” Maglor asked. At his father’s nod, he sighed. “Please, Atar, please, please, please keep it away from Turko and Moryo.”

"Ohh, that was your experiment, wasn't it?" Maedhros groaned at his father's distillation projects, holding his dizzy head in his hands. "Maglor, I am so sorry. I may still throw up."

"Eat your pasta, son."

"I know how to my handle alcohol, atar."

"Oh, sorry, my mistake. I was basing that on how you were handling Findekáno--"

"Atar!"

"--by which I mean how he was handling you!" And Fëanor, apparently still drunker than the rest, guffawed while the others stared in horror. "Oh, Valar, I hope I don't remember this in the morning."

"I hate all of you," Maglor said.

“You weren’t the one who walked in on light bondage,” Fëanor pointed out, quite reasonably in his opinion. Maglor blanched.

"I, ah--" Maedhros stammered. "Okay, yeah, that happened." He flushed, but pointed a finger at Fëanor. "But don't think I haven't found yours and mother's...toy chest!"

It was Fëanor's turn to pale.

"It was that one time Maglor had me go in looking for his begetting day presents, and I--I didn't know what they were at the time..."

"WHY are we talking about this?!" Maglor demanded, pouring the almost empty bottle of liquor into his goblet.

“Because your brother doesn’t know how to lock doors.”

“That may have been my fault a little. Apologies, everyone.” Fingon refused to meet anyone’s eyes and focused on trying to drink enough water to help him deal with the amount of alcohol in his system. He debated asking Maedhros about these ‘toys’, but decided he’d rather not know, as he couldn’t imagine enjoying using anything that brought with it strong memories of Fëanor and Nerdanel’s love life. “Uncle? I wasn’t expecting you here, and I’d rather not go home so soon. I’d like to stay with Russ for the next few days, if that’s alright--”

Fëanor gesture to him to stop talking. “Don’t wake me up in the middle of the night; don’t traumatize Kanafinwë. Other than that, have fun.”

"Thank Valar my room is at the other end of the house. Grandfather says Russandol has quite a pair of lungs."

Fëanor nudged Fingon. "You know I can also teach you how to make a very effective gag..."

"Atar," Maedhros ground out, and put his head in his hands.

"All right, all right," Fëanor said, lurching to his feet. "I'm going to go be drunk in my own forge. Thank you and good night."

Fingon gave his cousins a slightly worried look. “Um… I know he’s Fëanáro, but… will he be okay, in a forge, like that?” Maglor rolled his eyes.

“He’ll be fine, Findekáno. No need to worry about him.”

“Shall we adjourn to a sitting room, or should we turn in for the evening?” Fingon looked to both cousins for a response. “Oh--and Kano, did you do anything interesting this afternoon?”

"I’ll tell you in the morning, if you still care." Maglor answered, waving them away. "Now, if you just get out of my face and don't die, I'll clean up in here, go. Wait." He filled a pitcher of water. "Take this." Maedhros held it carefully with two hands, nodding solemnly (and leaned into his brother as a thank-you hug), before staggering back to his room.

Fingon hugged Maglor goodnight and followed after Maedhros. Shutting (and locking) the outer door to his cousin’s suite, Fingon found himself slouching, relaxing in a way different from the alcohol induced stupor. Better, if he were honest. “Russ.” He shook his head and smiled, leaning back against the door. “Valar, Russ. I was not expecting this when I came over- I just wanted to surprise you.”

Maedhros laughed, welcoming Fingon into his arms after setting down the pitcher, and they swayed together for a few moments. "I am glad, Findekáno," he said, "even for this. And I am always glad for your company." He kissed his brow. "It is better than my father knows."

“Tyë melin, Russ. And… I’m very glad that he approves. That he’ll help us, and have me over, and even teach me.” He kissed Maedhros lightly. “I’m sorry we were interrupted, though, and that you were embarrassed, and that we had to sort the situation out as we did. Still- both he and grandfather have given their blessing. And that is wonderful.” Fingon sighed against his cousin, then straightened with a thought. “I have something for you! And I forgot entirely.” He knelt to dig into his bag, set against the wall when he had first arrived and snuck up to Maedhros. “Just something silly,” he added, holding his hands behind his back as he returned to Maedhros.

"We are indeed blessed," Maedhros answered, and then brightened as he moved to sit on the bed, pulling Fingon toward him. "What is it?" He asked, grinning foolishly.

“I warned you, something silly.” Fingon held out a grass crown, made of of golden reeds intricately interwoven with small blue and red flowers. “I saw them while riding over- a field with colors that made me think of us, and it’s a long ride and… I got bored? You can throw it out, I just saw the colors and--” he shrugged. “You should wear it first, though,” he added with a small smile.

"Oh, Finno!" Maedhros cried, placing the crown on his head. "It fits perfectly! But I have nothing for you--unless--well, it's meant to be your begetting day gift...well, a sort of jest gift, really--" But he was drunk and he was going to go through with this, and he pulled a tunic and leggings from his wardrobe. They were entirely sheer, made of black fabric. "Maybe tomorrow..." he said.

Fingon felt lightheaded as he looked at the mostly transparent, pooling fabric. He swayed, and leaned against the back of a chair. “Russ,” he groaned. “You undo me. And without so much as a touch. It really isn’t fair, you know.” He moved towards him, slipping a hand under Maedhros’ tunic and leaning against him. “Tomorrow,”’ he agreed. “For now, will you take me to bed, beloved?”

"Mm," Maedhros said, grasping Findekáno's shoulders and pulling him into a hungry kiss. "You would have had to beat me off with a stick. I really have had too much to drink. And I am wearing a flower crown!" He giggled, then patted Fingon on the backside. "Go get ready for bed. Clean your teeth, wash your face, I have some sleeping clothes you could... not wear," he added with a teasing grin.

“As my princes wishes.” Fingon bowed lightly, dug into his bag for his traveling pouch, and wandered into Maedhros’ washroom. After a day of traveling and… exercise, he removed and folded his clothing, and scrubbed down lightly. He had two flowers in his bag leftover from Maedhros’ crown--a red, and a blue, and he tucked these behind one ear. Leaving his travel clothes on the chair, he wandered out in search of a warm bed and his warmer cousin.

"Oh, now we match," Maedhros said, pulling Fingon into a warm embrace and kissing him. "Well, almost--would you wait for me?" He stood, wobbling, and leaned on Fingon. "Would you pleasure yourself for me, while you waited?"

Fingon nodded and stole another kiss. “I left my travel clothes on the chair--I’ll take care of them in the morning.” He flopped onto Maedhros’ bed, luxuriating in the soft feel of the mattress and sheets. He sprawled out in the middle, closing his eyes and thinking of that afternoon. He brought a hand to himself, lazing stroking his awakening desire while he waited for Maedhros to return.

"I like seeing your clothes in my room without you in them!" he called playfully before shutting the door behind him. He cleaned himself and his teeth and tossed his clothes in the hamper before tossing Fingon's after his: he would be staying long enough for laundry to be done, or at least now he would have to. He emerged quickly, and smiled on Fingon at his task, feeling himself respond. "May I help?" he asked, and crawled up onto the bed over him, stealing a few kisses on the way up.

“Do you really need to ask that question?” Fingon smiled, raising his head to meet Maedhros for a kiss before falling back. “Anything you want,” he added with a smile. “This is--I still can’t believe this.” He laughed, wrapping his free arm around his lover. “I am truly, perfectly happy right now. And I love you.”

"I can scarcely comprehend it," Maedhros giggled, resting his hand over Fingon's, stroking his lover firmly, and he kissed his neck lovingly. "Of all the bliss of Aman, you are the one source of all my happiness, melda heru. Your touch and your love, your joy and light. You are my greatest gift," he sighed.

Fingon shivered at his words and his hand. “As you are mine.” He stroked over Maedhros’ head and down his back, content to let his lover do as he wished. “Love, this Russandol. And I like being in your bed.” He grinned. “I could get used to this.”

"Mm." Maedhros grinned, hugging Fingon close as he continued to pleasure him. "We'll have to sleep in the guest bedrooms just to keep up appearances, for the housekeeper at least." He put Fingon's hand on his own sex now, and for a while this groaned and sighed against each other, their movements slow and thorough, while Maedhros licked and nibbled across the expanse of skin from shoulder to lips.

“Mmm. Melda.” Fingon moaned, unable to reach Maedhros with his mouth. Their arms brushed against one another as they moved, and he found himself entirely covered, blanketed by Maedhros’ larger form. “’s nice.” He tugged at Maedhros hair just hard enough to make his breath catch. They worked one another quietly until Fingon, thinking back on the evening, began to worry slightly about Maedhros’ swaying steps as they made their way into bed. “Russ? Are you still a little drunk, or are you all here with me?”

Maedhros thought carefully about this. "Uhmm--a little," he admtted shyly, pulling back. "But not so much that I won't remember this," he squeezed Fingon, "come morning. But--is--is that all right?" he faltered.

Fingon nodded. He stroked over Maedhros’ face gently with one hand. “Of course. We’ll just need to remember to have a bit more water before we turn in for good.” He blushed slightly. “I probably need to drink another glass as well. Though at least we weren’t as far gone as others at dinner.” He gasped at an unexpected movement from Maedhros’ hand, and squeezed a bit harder on his next stroke in retaliation.

"Agh, damn it, Finno," he laughed, pressing his head to Fingon's shoulder. "I'm never going to get that out of my head!" He was still drunk enough that it was funny, but, "If I ever have performance issues, you can blame my father," he said, and shuddered, shaking his head as if to clear it.

“Ugh. Russ!” Fingon complained. “I made a vague allusion to dinner. I didn’t directly bring up your father. You did that.” He shuddered, the movement shifting their bodies together, and gasped at the friction the movement generated. He added a quarter turn to the end of his next stroke, and smirked at Maedhros. “You don’t seem to be having any performance issues right now, cousin. And don’t worry- I won’t ask Uncle for help designing a gag. I like to hear you when we’re together.”

Maedhros' face heated where it rested against Fingon's neck, and he snorted rather ungracefully. "I imagine I would be aroused and delighted by anything you did to me," he said noncommittally, and hissed as Fingon twisted his hand. "Ahh-hhngghh," he groaned, kissing Fingon sloppily. "I love this, love taking my time with you, F-Ffinno, ahh--" he said, losing coherency. "Love you," he moaned.

“And you.” Fingon’s moans and gasps mingled with his lover’s. “Want to please you, to be everything you’ve ever wanted.” He laughed lightly against Maedhros, dragging his mouth back down for a long kiss. “A tall order, I know. But I will try. I think my greatest wish is to have you pleased and pleasured, content and blissfully happy, and with all that you want in life coming true around you.”

"Ai, Finno," Maedhros sighed, and deepened the kiss. "You already are everything I could ever want." They shared each other's breath for a time, panting, moving, thrusting, until, "Fin, I'm close--just--" he tried backing off, but it was no use. He wanted this to last forever, but he had already waited too long last time, and he was too drunk for stamina to enter into it, and he was so desperately in love. "Together, as always," he demanded.

“Always, melda. Together.” Fingon tightened his hold in Maedhros hair. “With me, Russ. Pleeease.” He gasped as Maedhros changed his rhythm, determined to pull Fingon over the edge with him. They pressed together, tongues sliding in mimicry of what their bodies desired. Fingon sighed as he tumbled over the edge, softly this time, and without all of the teasing that had occurred this afternoon. The feeling was no less strong, however, and he clung to Maedhros, wanting to be connected with him, and to drift down with him this time- to finish with Maedhros above him and around him and their harsh breaths mingling as their hearts slowed and their bodies relaxed.

As Maedhros followed his lover over the edge, he was in a haze of desire and warmth and love--everything was Fingon: his warmth, his scent, Maedhros could almost touch his fëa, they were so close. He wondered if this was what being bonded felt like, and now it was easy to question why they were waiting at all. But it passed quickly enough, and he opened his eyes on blue eyes and dark hair and kissed-pink lips, and he smiled, tangling their limbs together. "Don't move," he begged, pulling the edge of the blanket up over them. "Sleep like this," he murmured, face pressed against Fingon's shoulder.

Fingon considered the pitcher of water they should still be drinking from, and the fact that they would surely wake up filthy and stuck together, and yet this was so perfect… He sighed, pressing his lips to the top of Maedhros’ head. “Yes, just like this,” he agreed, letting the last bit of tension drain from his limbs. He draped his spare arm around Maedhros’ lower back, holding them together. He could smell Maedhros scent, and felt his own heartbeat changing to match his lover’s rhythm. He was weighed down by his lover, grounded by him, and to Fingon it felt as though Maedhros were the entire universe. His eyes slid shut as he let his thoughts drift.

Maedhros woke still on top of Fingon. He could feel where they were stuck together with sweat and seed, but it didn't matter. He was waking in his own bed with Fingon, and in such an intimate position, and with such closeness, and to be honest he wasn't sure how Fingon hadn't suffocated in the night. He was facing away, resting on the pillow beside Fingon's head, but now he turned his head so he could watch Fingon sleep just before his eyes, breathing softly, head tilted back. He didn't move for long minutes, content to watch his lover sleep, and as the light grew brighter, begin to stir. It was a beautiful sight, and he would count himself fulfilled just to wake to this every morning.

Fingon woke slowly, feeling weighted down and content. Blinking, he wondered where he was for a brief moment before recognizing Maedhros’ ceiling, and Maedhros above him. A glance to the side showed his lover already awake and watching him. “Mornin’ Russ,” he croaked, before wetting his lips and swallowing several times. “Did you sleep well?”

"I slept on the finest pillow in all Arda," he said, smiling. "I--I can move if you want me to," he offered, shifting slightly.

Arms wrapped around Maedhros immediately to stay him. “Please don’t,” Fingon protested quietly. “You are… comfortable. Comforting. I very much like having you on top of me.” And he was already blushing lightly at how true that statement was and at Maedhros’ pillow comment. “I slept better than I have in weeks, and I could stay like this all day.”

"Good," Maedhros hummed, arms sliding up beneath the pillow as he stretched out over his cousin. "Because so could I." He leaned in for a kiss, taking his time with it. "Though I think we might show our faces eventually. Only not yet," he said, nipping at Fingon's lower lip.

“We are agreed, then.” Fingon flicked his tongue out to tease at Maedhros’ mouth as his cousin nipped at him. “We should probably spend a bit of time with Kano, and certainly with your father if he is around. Or do you think he will be avoiding everyone after yesterday?”

Maedhros chuckled. "My father is Fëanáro Curúfinwë. Do you really think he has any shame? No, he'll be about. I apologize in advance if he...focuses on you. He does that." He kissed Fingon's neck.

“Russ… he approved. He can treat me any way he wants,” Fingon said sincerely, hand stroking up Maedhros’ back. His other hand found his cousin’s and joined with it, playing with the ring on his finger. “Ugh. Kano will have words for me, though. Then again, I don’t think we drank nearly as much as Turko’s crowd does on a ‘party’ night.”

"No, but I think Káno doesn't care so much about them," Maedhros said, flushing. "I'll make him his favorite stew tonight. And pie to make up for it. You can help, if you like.”

“Of course. When I have the opportunity I’ll rarely choose not to be by your side.” He snuck his leg around his lover’s, further tangling them together. “Of course, at times like this I also like to be under you, or over you, or before you, or behind you…” He smiled cheekily at Maedhros, leaning over to press their lips together.

"Oh, hush, you," Maedhros laughed, talking through the kiss and pulling back. "You know I can't be held accountable for things I say in passion. Well, some things." He paused. "Okay, never mind, it's all true, every word," he laughed, and attacked Fingon's mouth with his. "I suppose the only real truths are the ones you wrench out of me, truths no one else can here," he chuckled. "Oh, listen to me," he scoffed and rolled to one side, pulling Fingon with him so they still lay chest to chest, and kissed him again.

Fingon groaned into the deeper kiss, smiling against Maedhros’ lips as they broke for air. “Good morning,” he said, unable to stop grinning. “A very good morning. And Russ? What I tell you is true as well. And I do want what you want- and soon we will be bonded and your desires shall be mine and mine yours in an even deeper way, if such a thing is possible.” He closed his eyes for a moment at the thought, dreaming of that connection they had yet to share. “We’re so close, Russ. And yet the day seems so far away.” He pressed as closely to Maedhros as he could.

"I know, I--" Maedhros huffed. "Don't laugh, but I almost felt it. Last night. I felt--you. But maybe I was just drunk."

“I’m not laughing, Russ. I wouldn’t. We know each other so well already, and I can read your body better than I’d ever dreamed, at times I can almost feel you, and yet… I think there’s something more, something that’s yet to come.” Fingon huffed, and shrugged. “Ignore me. I suppose I’m being a hopeless romantic- and don’t you dare repeat that to anyone.” He pressed his lips to Maedhros’, humming as he thought. “Last night was good for you? That was… I like doing everything with you, but last night was wonderful.”

Maedhros nodded, squeezing his arms around Fingon. "I thought you might stop when I admitted I was drunk, or something. I--don't ask me why, perhaps if you were concerned about my consent, as if you could be after--" he chuckled and shook his head. "Last night was perfect. And I was already giddy because of what atar said. Well, some of what he said." He flushed at the memory. "I...think I was hoping I would remember less than I do."

Fingon felt his face heating. “Don’t remind me. How will I look him in the eye today? Or Kano.” He sighed, hiding his face against Maedhos’ neck for a minute. “I suppose it is my own comeuppance for drinking as much as I did.” He pulled back as he mulled over Maedhros’ previous comment. “I was still a slight distance from sober last night. I would never intentionally… take from you that which was not freely given. For my part though, for future reference, unless I say otherwise you can assume I am willing.”

"Same for me, of course, and always," Maedhros grinned, nuzzling Fingon's cheek, stretching and wriggling to find a new and comfortable position. His legs were telling him he had been abed too long and he was getting restless, so he sat up. "Are you hungry, yet?" he asked, leaning over and pouring a cup of water, drinking some, and then handing it to Fingon.

“Thanks,” he said, draining the glass. “I could eat.” Fingon moved, and winced. “First though-- I need to rinse off. As much as I like the idea of walking around covered in our mingled essences I’m… dry, cracking, and in some spots still slightly sticky.” His nose wrinkled in distaste.

"Ah--well, I would offer to lick it off, but that may well lead to other things, and we shouldn't be late for breakfast." Maedhros winked and slid out of bed, going to the washroom. "I wish I had a bath in here--though there is a showerhead...if you would like to join me?" He raised his eyebrows playfully. "Though I imagine that may have the same problematic result."

“I’ll join you with the plan of saving time and water. I something else happens… well, it wasn’t the original plan.” Fingon let out a long sigh, then rolled to his feet. “How do you ever get up in the mornings? Your bed is… like sleeping on a cloud. It’s incredible. I think I want to stay forever.” He glanced around the washroom, pulling out a second towel for himself. “And why don’t you have a bath? As Fëanáro’s son I imagined you would have a bath with strong currents to ease sore muscles or a pool or some other incredible thing if you so desired it.”

"Well, not of my own. There's two washrooms with...rather large baths, actually," he said with an inviting wink, "just down the hall. Which I could show you sometime before you leave." He turned on the spray, waiting until it warmed up before pulling Fingon under it with him. And I used to have a bath, but that was before--before Carnister, I suppose. At that point, a bath each for seven children? Amil got bored carving them." He shrugged. "Showers are quicker. The twins refuse baths, so I have to wrangle them in here..." He huffed, reaching up to untie Fingon's braids. "As for the bed-- that is my luxury. Especially since my brothers--well, I'm accustomed to not sleeping alone. Mother and father often work late, and if the children are scared or bored. Even Celegorm, if you'd believe it, occasionally slept in this bed. It's probably less me and more the bed." He laughed as he scrubbed soap into Fingon's scalp.

“Does that mean I should expect additional company while I’m staying here?” Fingon asked with a wink. He groaned as Maedhros continued to massage his scalp and hair. “Russ, your hands should be illegal. That is amazing!” He sighed, caught between the hot spray and Maedhros’ hands. “Perfect bed, scalp massages, your company… I’m getting spoiled again, and it’s been less than a day.”

"Well, I want you to enjoy your stay, before you cease to be a guest and become family." He kissed Fingon's nose and, "Close your eyes," he said as he held him under the spray to wash the suds out. "And that's not a good thing. Well, you'll see. It will be like when you had lessons here when you were younger, only worse." He laughed and started to wash his own hair, now hogging the spray. "And yes, we shall have to be on our guard. The Ambarussa know how to unlock doors." He grimaced.

Laughing, Fingon grabbed for Maedhros’ hands, pulling them away from his hair. “My turn!” Fingon added soap to his hands, rubbing them together before reaching for Maedhros’ hair. “Here, turn- let the spray keep you warm in front, and I’ll keep you warm from behind while I work this in. And think of Ambarussa as a motivation to design better door locks.” Fingon thought for a moment while he dug his hands into Maedhros’ hair, rubbing firm circles against his scalp. “I mean this in the best possible way, but could Uncle be helping them with their lock picking? I can easily imagine him doing so to provide, ah, an incentive for the rest of you to invent better locking systems.”

"You speak as if my father were some sort of cruel, capricious god, toying with us!" Maedhros laughed: "And you'd probably be right." Relaxing and tilting his head back into Fingon's ministrations, he moaned. "Ai, Finno, your hands," he said, and sighed, hoping he wasn't going to react to this as he thought he might.

“My hands?” Fingon pulled them out of his hair, and turned Maedhros, motioning for him to move back so that he could rinse it out. Then he turned him back to work in a softer, conditioning soap. “Tell me, Russandol, what would you have me do with them?” He detoured from Maedhros’ hair, reaching up to knead the muscles of his neck and shoulders. Cold, and with the shower spray entirely block, Fingon moved closer to his lover, soaking in some of Maedhros’ warmth as he worked.

"Unnhh, yes, that," Maedhros moaned, sliding forward to lean forward against the wall, letting his head hang forward, and letting Fingon move under the spray. "Just--touch me," he gasped. "Please."

“Been touching you,” Fingon said softly. “Brace yourself against the wall.” Maedhros put his hands forward, the spray of water landing across is chest, and Fingon began working down his hands down Maedhros’ back, digging into the muscles and trying to loosen them. “Is that a bit better? I can keep going, but I think we’d best get your hair rinsed out before it starts to dry with soap in it. Not that I’d mind,” he added as an afterthought, gently teasing. “But you always seem so particular about your hair.”

Maedhros snorted, straightening and rinsing his hair, pulling Fingon to him and kissing him under the water, briefly, before they finished rinsing and he turned off the spray. He draped a towel around Fingon's shoulders before reaching for one himself. "You brought a change of clothes, I assume? Or we can raid Carnistir's room."

“I dropped a travel bag in your sitting room by the wall. It has a few changes of clothes. Though you took my only travel clothes- I’ll need those back if you want me to get home comfortably.” Fingon shivered, pulling the towel more closely around himself. “Do we need to get dressed right now, or can we sort out our hair first?”

Maedhros wrapped his arms around Fingon, warming him and kissing his damp brow. "No, I suppose we don't have to," he said, pulling Fingon to a chair and sitting him down. With the heat from the floor and and the hot mist in the air, it was not too chill, and he knotted his own hair to deal with later and wrapped the towel around his waist. "How do you want it?" he asked, toweling it off.

“Whatever would best please you, melda. You’re the one who will spend the day looking at it.” Fingon turned to grin at Maedhros, and leaned back for a quick kiss. “What else did you have planned for the day? Do you think Kano will be around?”

"Káno will be around," Maedhros said, pulling a few long cords he occasionally used for his hair and matching them against Fingon's locks (he used the gold, he always chose the gold for Fingon) and wove it into a few medium braids. "I promised him I would help him tune the grand piano. You could help. It is a bit of an ordeal, but it's interesting." He huffed. "You'll get to see Macalaurë the bossiest and sternest you've ever seen him. He makes me look lenient."

“I don’t doubt it.” Fingon shuddered slightly, recalling Maglor’s reaction when any of his instruments were mistreated. And when any of anyone else’s instruments were mistreated-and, for Maglor, mistreatment included the ‘cacophony of sound’ many of the younger Eldar considered music. “I would certainly be interested. And perhaps we can drag him outside for a while when it is finished?” Fingon stretched, trying to keep his head steady for Maedhros. “I didn’t have any plans when I came here- just wanted to see you and tag along on whatever you or Makalaurë were up to.”

Maedhros smiled, continuing to braid (he found it relaxing). "Well we are glad to have you. I am especially glad, of course. I hope mother and the children return before you have to go--I would like to tell her, too, if you think that's all right, and I would like you to be there of course." He tied off the cord, letting some of Fingon's hair hang down wet in the back, and he wrung it out with a towel.

Fingon waited until he removed the towel, and then spun around, putting his arms around Maedhros’ neck. “Of course!” He lost his smile, for a moment. “I hope I’m not becoming too familiar with good fortune- I would not take this for granted ever, but… I feel like it will go well. I feel like it can only go well, if we tell her.” Fingon hesitated. “We should- we should probably tell my father as well.” He instinctively moved closer to Maedhros, his grip around him tightening. “Though it may be best we do so while grandfather is around. And your father as well.”

Maedhros drew in a heavy breath. "Yes. Of course. I, ah, I was thinking to wait until you were formerly and legally of age--but--" he looked down, "of course, if you think he should know now, I'm glad to do it," he finished, straightening his shoulders (though the thought terrified him). "I know he is fond of me and appreciates our friendship: I think I could talk to him," he added easily.

“Perhaps not right away, but before we are bonded.” Fingon looked away, suddenly uncomfortable with the conversation and with a strange heaviness in his breast. “Forgive me, betrothed, but please- let Finwë be nearby, and let me be with you when we speak to him.” Fingon shook his head, removing the thought. “It is probably nothing. A thousand pardons- this is a day to be happy. And a day to celebrate Curúfinwë Fëanáro’s approval and blessing.” Fingon already had most of his weight hanging about Maedhros’ neck, and he pulled himself up, wrapping his legs around Maedhros’ waist, leaving him a few inches higher and looking his cousin from a common height. “It is a good day, my beautiful betrothed.” He leaned in the last inch to finish his statement with a kiss.

Maedhros kissed Fingon, gripping his backside to hold him up and probably squeezing more than was necessary. "You're right on all counts, melda. We will celebrate today, and tomorrow when Amil returns--you know she already calls you her eighth son, I do not think she will be distressed at this news--and we will deal with telling Nolófinwë when the time is right."

“I spent so much time following you around as a child…” Fingon let the statement hang, leaning their foreheads together. “Hopefully that will make it easy for everyone to think of me as part of the family. And I do love you, Russ. So very much. Have I told you that today?” He blinked for a moment as Maedhros’ hands shifted. He was certain that so firm a grip was hardly required, and that the constant movements were not necessary, but he was hardly about to complain.

"Mm, I think you have," Maedhros said, taking a seat on the chair and pulling Fingon close into his lap, "but I love hearing it--as I love telling you how much I love you." He kissed Fingon deeply, and trailed a line of kisses down his neck, punctuating each with, "I love you, I love you."

Fingon melted against him, moaning softly with each new kiss. “Russ.” As Maedhros continued down his neck to his chest Fingon could think of nothing to say but his name. He gripped at the knot Maedhros had thrown his own hair into, and his fingers tried to find purchase along smooth muscles, still damp with water from Maedhros’ hair. “Do we have time?” he asked softly, looking down at his lover.

"Mm," Maedhros said, having given up on his mantra in favor of spending his energies kissing and nipping across Fingon's chest. "I hope so," he said, because he was already hard, with Fingon so warm and moist and naked (and on his *lap* like this, it was shameful). He kneeded his fingers into the flesh at Fingon's backside and pulled him close enough to grind against.

It took several minutes of gasping and choking on air for Fingon to remember how to breathe. “What you do to me,” he muttered. “Valar, Russ.” He almost hissed the last. Fingon was seated firmly in Maedhros’ lap, and they were pressed together from stomach to chest. Fingon smiled at Maedhros, determined to contribute something to this encounter, and wriggled. He shifted himself up momentarily, and dropped down again, so that Maedhros’ arousal was caught under him, sliding between Fingon’s cheeks. Fingon’s eyes slid half-closed at the sensation, and he fisted Maedhros’ hair roughly. “Fuck,” he breathed.

Maedhros practically snarled with need as this very suddenly was definitely not enough. He pressed his mouth and teeth to the side of Fingon's neck, and scratched his nails from his buttocks to his knees. "Need--" he huffed, and lifting Fingon, suddenly they were on the floor on hot, damp towels, and after making sure he didn't crack his cousin's head against the warm brick floor, he flipped Fingon to one side, and pressing his knees together, made a tight channel between his thighs that he could thrust through. He braced himself with one arm as he took hold of Fingon's arousal, and kissed him roughly. "Need you," he concluded.

Fingon whined, moving against him as much as he could in their new position. “You have me,” he gasped. “I am your, betrothed.” After that his voice was lost to plaintive cries and small sounds intermixed with utterances of Maedhros name, praising, pleading, and spoken as though it were the last word in existence. He brought one arm up to grab Maedhros by the hair, and the other pressed to the floor trying to keep him stable as they moved and to give him the leverage to press back against his lover. Pulling Maedhros into a deep kiss, Fingon thrust is tongue into his cousin’s mouth, mimicking Maedhros’ movements below.

Maedhros moaned into the kiss and to Fingon's hands in his hair, words stolen entirely as he thrust quickly, hips pumping. This was nothing like last night--like any part of yesterday--for this was quick, and his hips snapped at the same sharp speed of his hand. "Want to see you undone like this, writhing beneath me," he said, breathless when they broke. "I want this in earnest, want you like this, to hold you down and--hgggguuuh," he growled, unable to finish as he closed his eyes against his own stuttering moments that told him how close he was.

“Close,” Fingon agreed roughly. “Want that to. I want you to undo me at least as much as I did you yesterday. Want to – to forget there’s anything else but you, but us.” His hips stuttered, legs twitching around Maedhros. “Now, Russ,” he choked, drawing their mouths together again even as he began to tumble over the edge.

Maedhros clamped his support arm over Fingon's wrist and leaned in for a possessive kiss, the kind where their teeth ground and left both their lips bruised--and when he tumbled, it was quick and hard and delicious, and he was weary after, practically falling on top of Fingon but instead spooning behind him, throwing an arm and a leg over him, pillowing his head on his bicep. "Sorry--" he said, panting, but quickly: "I'm not sorry," he added, wiping Fingon's seed off his hand on one of the towels.

“Neither ‘m I,” Fingon agreed. Fingon laughed, slightly. “You were certainly… um, commanding. I enjoyed that.” He reached out to squeeze the hand thrown over him, threading their fingers together. “Russ? Your floor’s surprisingly comfortable.”

"Well, I thought I owed you after yesterday--" Maedhros huffed, pressing his face against Fingon's damp hair. "Actually, I just lose control sometimes, when I really want you, when I need you." He kissed Fingon's temple. "And, well, at least it's warm. When I can stand we'll wash off again. Sorry to have ruined our work."

“I suppose we’ll have to shower again. Oh, the horror.” Fingon managed an impressive amount of sarcasm for one so languid and satisfied. He squeezed Maedhros’ hand. “And I like when you lose control Russ. I like that you need me. Surely I’ve needed you every day of my life.” He yawned, and settled against Maedhros, shaking lightly to dislodge stray drops of water that were still making their way from his hair onto his person.

Squeezing Fingon to his chest, Maedhros sat them up, turning Fingon over in his arms and kissing him before helping them up. "You are not so slight as you used to be," Maedhros commented as he turned on the spray once again to rinse them. "Carrying you used to be easier."

“Should I be insulted by that, or pleased that I’m getting stronger?” Fingon smiled in Maedhros’ arms, pressing their lips together a last time before he slid down to stand on his own on the slick tile. “Breakfast next?” he asked. They rinsed off quickly, hair already clean, and soon Fingon found himself wrapped in another large, soft towel and taking quick steps through Maedhros’ suite to find clothing for the day.

"You should be proud. You've grown strong and agile and swift, and I take much delight in your hröa," Maedhros said, following after, letting his hair airdry. He laughed as he picked up the transparent garments he had shown Fingon earlier and set them aside in his wardrobe. "Mm, what did you bring? I think we should dress to match."

Fingon’s breath caught as Maedhros fingered the garments. “I… I may have something that would match--or at least would allow me to look like a pale imitation of you.” He dropped his bag on the bed, flopping down beside it in a casual sprawl. “Of course, I’d prefer to wear something that’s not overly revealing while we’re around your brother and father. I fear Makalaurë’s hröa might fail. And as for uncle… I have not idea how he would respond and no desire to find out.” Fingon rolled his eyes, and rifled through the bag. “But for today… perhaps something with gold to match my hair? I have… um... black and blue and brown clothing. Oh--and red.”

Maedhros grinned. "Red? You brought that for me." Quite casually he fell on top of Fingon on the bed, selecting the red shirt and the brown trousers. "Mm, you look as fetching in red as you do in blue. If only I could pull of blue," he lamented, kissing the back of Fingon's neck before rolling off of him and returning to his wardrobe to choose a long red tunic and brown leggings.

Fingon grinned, sliding into the leggings. He felt a sudden warm rush of emotion as he fingered his ring, immeasurably pleased that he did not need to remove it for the day. “You could pull off any color, Russ, though I admit to having a special fondness for you in red and blown and black. Earth tones become you, which is fitting a prince of the Noldor.” He tugged on the tunic, and light open sandals, pushing back to his feet. “Shall we to breakfast--or lunch, I suppose?”

"Macalaurë also likes to sleep late, so probably breakfast," Maedhros said, pulling on a gold belt over his tunic, but eschewing shoes for the moment as he followed Fingon out into the hall.

"Finally!" Maglor shouted as they emerged. "The coffee is cold and I can't make it right anyway, and father came in grumbling about breakfast before storming off again."

Maedhros grimaced playfully at Fingon before turning back to his brother. "You and father are both perfectly capable of feeding yourselves. I feel no remorse except for how thoroughly sozzled I was last night."

“You’re food is always the best though,” Fingon pointed out. “Not that you should be forced to feed us, of course. Here, cousin, what can I do to help?”

Maglor shot a dirty look at Fingon’s quick backtracking as soon as Maedhros had turned away from them. Fingon returned it with an impish smile.

"Fine, fine, shoo, shoo," Maedhros said, shoving his brother out of the kitchen and promptly dumping the pot of coffee before heating water for a new pot. "And tea instead for my princess--I mean, my betrothed--I mean, Findekáno," he mused with a solemn face as he went through the cupboards. "I am having a strange craving for bacon waffles, so that is what we are having," he decided after rummaging around the kitchen muttering to himself, and reached up to grab the waffle iron from above. "You could cut some fruit, Finno, if you wish."

Fingon’s stomach made an appreciative sound. He leaned against Maedhros’ back, wrapping him in a brief hug. “Can I live with you forever? That sounds… amazing!” He took out a cutting board and a knife, and began setting together a platter to go with breakfast. “And--“ Fingon shook his head. “Just don’t call me that when anyone else is around, darling. Russandoll. Hmm, that’s cute. Russandoll. Darling Russandoll.”

Maglor snorted, lounging smugly on the bench with his harp.

"I should take you over my knee, young man," Maedhros growled, blushing.

"Oh, not this again," Maglor groaned.

“He started it!” Fingon pointed out. “He called me… it doesn’t matter what he called me. But he started it!” Maglor did not look like he particularly cared who had started it, as long as someone finished it. Fingon put the platter at the center of the counter, and moved past Maedhros to wash off the cutting board and knife. On his way back, he stopped behind his lover, chin on his shoulder for a minute, ostensibly to look at his cooking. “Later, Russ,” he purred. “If you want.” Fingon shifted away, too nervous and too embarrassed by what he had just offered to stay there, and went about engaging Maglor in a conversation about his latest style of composition.

Well why did he have to go and do that? Maedhros wondered as he whipped up his favorite waffle batter and began lightly frying strips of bacon while trying to calm his frustrating libido. This would be difficult if Fingon lived with them on a regular basis. When these tasks were done and his mood was calmed, he laid strips of bacon onto the waffle iron, and poured batter on top. "Also, coffee's ready, Maglor. And your tea, Finde-cutie," he added cheekily.

“Thank m’dearest maira Maitimo mairë.” Fingon took the cup and leaned against the edge of the counter. He blew Maedhros a kiss, and stuck his tongue out at Maglor, who made a disgusted sound. “Perfect, Russ. My thanks.” The smell of heating batter filled the kitchen as they snacked on apple slices and waited for the waffles to cook. “Should someone try to find uncle?” Fingon asked hesitantly.

Maglor shook his head. “He’s been up for a while, and will likely be in the middle of a project by now. If the smell of food doesn’t draw him out, it were best we left him to his work. Particularly given the way he looked when he first came out- I think he looked nearly as bad as you did after your betrothal party Findekáno.” Fingon winced.

Maedhros snorted, but, "Do be civil, Kanafinwë--I'm making your favorite breakfast, after all. Findekáno I will deal with later," he said with promising grin. "First waffle," he announced, peeling it out of the iron and splitting it in half, one for his brother and the other for his cousin. "Kano, did you get the syrup?" He had first tried this when he was quite young, at Maglor's insistence, and though it took a while to perfect (it was almost inedible with undercooked meat), it soon became a family favorite.

“Syrup with bacon?” Fingon did not look sold on it. “Breakfast looks delicious as is.” He moved to the table with tea and plate, and went back to grab the platter of fruit and a jug of juice. “Kano, don’t you have some childhood stories I can use to tease Russ back? Surely over the course of your life you’ve been privy to a few?” But Maglor shook his head in amusement.

“Do remember who you are talking about. I can give you unbelievable stories about Turko and Moryo, and sadly believable stores about Curvo and Ambarussa. Russ, though, is in a class all his own.” Fingon poured an extra glass of juice for Maedhros and they settled at the table, waiting for his waffle to finish before they began to eat.

"Please, eat. I will join you soon," Maedhros lied, knowing he would eat where he stood, nursing his cup of hot coffee.

Maglor drowned his waffle in syrup and dug in immediately. "This is the guy who once tattled on Atar to Finwë because Atar had been up at the forge all night and didn't go to bed on time."

"I don't think that happened quite as you remember it, Kano," Maedhros laughed. "Though it might have happened..."

Fingon and Maglor both laughed as he trailed off. “Very well, keep your secrets,” Fingon said. “Surely there’s something in your life worth teasing you over- we just have yet to recall it or find it.” He ate slowly, enjoying the textures of the meal, and the salt of the bacon. Nevertheless, the waffle was gone far too soon. “That was utter perfection, beloved. Maglor, my stomach envies you for living here.” Maglor nodded at him, mouth full.

“Join us Russ?” Fingon asked. “Or should we join you instead?” He moved to the kitchen, for the moment, carrying their plates and taking his tea for a refill.

"Fine, fine," Maedhros said, placing a hot waffle on his own plate as he filled the iron with more batter and waffles, filled Fingon's teacup, and moved to the bench, straddling it for easy getting up and down. He bolted his food, which was well, since the machine beeped at him and he returned with more half-waffles, "For my favorite brother and beloved," he said, filling their plates and drinking his juice.

As he set more food out, Fingon gave snuck in a quick kiss before digging into his second waffle, close behind Maglor who was scarfing his down. “Russ, this is the best breakfast I’ve had in… well, since the last time you cooked for me, at least. Thank you.” The last was sincere and heartfelt. They ate in silence for a time, enjoying the fresh food and ice cold juice.

"You're welcome. You know it is a joy to cook for you both," Maedhros said, wrapping a casual if discreet arm around Fingon while he ate awkwardly with his left hand. "I give Atar five minutes to join us, or he'll not be coming," he said, getting up once again to put a new waffle on, and returning with more coffee.

“Do you and your brothers often place bets on that?” Fingon asked with a smile, adding a few slices of fruit to Maedhros’ plate and to his own. “And where are you in your current project Kano? Will you be locked away all day, or joining us for part of it?”

"If you still wanted to, brother, the piano--?" Maglor asked hesitantly, and Maedhros, mouth full of fruit, nodded. "Today I wish to retune and restring all the stringed instruments. Which should take most of the day, but will be rewarding."

“Piano first or later?” Fingon asked curiously, licking a drop of juice from the back of his hand.

“First,” Maglor replied immediately. “It is the most time consuming, and the tuning will last longest. I would rather have it completed perfectly before working on the true strings. After breakfast if you’re willing?”

“I’d be happy to help as well, if you need an extra pair of hands,” Fingon added.

"Of course I would," Maglor replied. "You have more musical aptitude than my dear brother. I might even let you tune some of the harps." He smiled and eyed the plate of waffles Maedhros set down in front of them as he returned to sit.

“It would be my pleasure.” Fingon snuck a final waffle off the plate, nibbling at it. “Out of curiosity, Russ, about how many stringed instruments does your brother have?”

Maedhros blew out a breath. "Too many," he remarked. "A hundred?"

"Don't be absurd, brother. Eight-four. Five if you count the piano, though that's hardly mine."

Fingon whistled appreciatively. “That’s close enough to a hundred by my count. Do you use them all regularly, or are they for show?”

“Instruments are made to be played, not set out as art alone,” Maglor replied promptly. “They have slightly different tones, and there are others with different keys, different octaves, and I’ve been playing with different scales. There are different shapes and different materials used for the frames and for the strings, and all of that leads to entirely distinct sounds. I use what instrument best suits what I’m trying to create, and that changes from song to song.”

Fingon stared at him. “Sometimes you remind me of Aunt Nerdanel. But then, there are moments when you are at work or thinking of your craft or when you open your mouth and you are so truly your father’s son.”

Maglor bowed, and Maedhros looked on, grinning. "Well, have you both had enough to--Atar!" he beamed, as Fëanor stalked in, looking ravenous. Maedhros scrambled to make him a plate.

Fëanor nodded to each of them. “Son, son, I may as well call you son.” Fingon beamed. Dropping into the seat next to Maglor, Fëanor accepted the plate from Maedhros with a slight smile towards his eldest. “My thanks, Nelyo. I take it you have plans for the day?”

“They’ve agreed to assist with the piano, Atar,” Maglor supplied. “I’m trying to restring it, along with the rest of the stringed instruments currently in use.”

"Mm," Fëanor said, mouth full. He was covered in grease and dust. "First I want to borrow Findekáno for a few hours."

"Atar!" Maedhros protested defensively.

"Fine. An hour."

“Of course, uncle,” Fingon added. Though this was a man he had grown up knowing, he wished to make a good impression as Maedhros’ intended, and was more than willing to spend time with him to help generate a positive image of himself in Fëanor’s mind. “Should I throw on heavier boots, or am I alright as I am now?”

Fëanor looked down. "Do you have any with you?"

“I have traveling boots, uncle, that I often use for hiking. But I was not expecting to be in the forge.”

"Those will do," he said, cleaning up his plate and drinking two full glasses of juice. "Well, go on," he said, and grinned when Fingon jumped up to do his bidding.

"Atar, be nice," Maedhros growled. "If you scare him or give him any of those 'If you hurt my son' speeches..."

Fëanor patted his son on the back disarmingly. "Ah, you're no fun, Maitimo," he said, "but fine. I was merely going to take some measurements, get his station set up. At least let your atar have some fun before I have to go draft a letter to my *brother*." He sounded annoyed, but Maedhros noticed that he did not say 'half-brother.'

Fingon raced to Maedhros’ room, digging through his bag for heavy socks and shoving his feet into his boots. He took a moment to check over his appearance in the mirror- despite what Fëanor looked like in the middle of a project, he knew his uncle valued cleanliness and always expected his family to be presentable. Then he made his way back to the kitchen at a slightly more sedate pace. When he arrived Fëanor had disappeared, and Maedhros was working to clean up the area. He raised an eyebrow at Maglor, who gave him a ‘that way’ gesture in the direction Fëanor had gone. He squeezed Maedhros’ hand. “Wish me luck.”

"You won't need it," Maedhros promised him, but kissed his brow anyway as if to grant it. "I'll come for you in an hour if he doesn't release you," he said with a grin and a wink.

“Good luck with the piano. Even though you won’t need it,” Fingon added teasingly. “Let me know how it goes!” A quick press of lips, and then he made his way down the hall towards the back of the house and the path to the crafting area. Crystals lit the hallways so that the shaded areas were bright as the land outside at the height of day. Stepping outside, under a covered path he made his way the attached shop/laboratory/forge/crafting space. As he grew closer he followed the sound of things being moved and tools being used, until he came upon Fëanor.

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