i'll do anything you say // if you say it with your hands by atlantablack  

---

i'll do anything you say // if you say it with your hands

---

Put your lips close to mine
As long as they don't touch
Out of focus, eye to eye
'Til the gravity's too much
And I'll do anything you say
If you say it with your hands
And I'd be smart to walk away
But you're quicksand

Treacherous | Taylor Swift

☀︎

Ñolofinwë is getting ready to attempt to sleep, the events of the past weeks weighing heavily on his mind, when his tent flap is flung aside and Fëanáro strides in. For why, he thinks wryly, would one announce themselves as is appropriate when they can instead dramatically stride in.

“Brother, has something happened?” He asks and then watches in confusion as Fëanáro does not grimace at the title as he usually does. A habit Ñolofinwë does not think Fëanáro even realizes he has after this long.

Fëanáro does not respond, watching Ñolofinwë with a strange look he has not before seen directed at him. His eyes track over Ñolofinwë’s face and then down his body, lingering on the loosened ties of Ñolofinwë’s robes. “I was preparing to rest,” he tells him, carefully keeping any irritation out of his voice.

“You said,” Fëanáro says quietly, taking a step forward, “that I shall lead, and you shall follow.”

Ñolofinwë bites down the urge to take a step back as Fëanáro takes another step forward. “I said those words and I meant them. You are my brother and now my king, why should I not follow where you go?”

Fëanáro is regarding him far more seriously than he had that night as they stood in front of Manwë and Ñolofinwë wishes to know what brought this on. “And if I were not your king?” Fëanáro asks. “If I were your half-brother only?”

Ñolofinwë nearly sighs aloud at the qualifier Fëanáro insists on placing before the word. Then gets caught on the question itself and does not know how to respond. If their father were still alive, would he stay in Tirion following his father and proving Fëanáro right? Would he follow his brother and leave his father behind? Or worse, if his father were to follow Fëanáro faithfully still even to Beleriand, would Ñolofinwë go and continue to stand in the shadow of resentment Fëanáro always casts?

“I—" he hesitates, does not want to lie, but does not know what the truth is. “I do not know what I would do,” he says, unable to think of anything better to say.

Fëanáro hums, stepping even closer and Ñolofinwë can nearly feel the heat of him now, its presence so much more obvious this close to the cold of the helcaraxë. “How can I trust you to follow anywhere I lead if you do not even know your own heart?”

Something cold trickles down Ñolofinwë’s spine. What exactly does Fëanáro plan on doing if the answer is that he cannot? But still. He will not lie. “I will not kill my kin for you,” he says quietly, holding Fëanáro’s gaze. “Never that. But in all other things I will follow.”

“Your son did.”

“I know," he says, instead of I fear my son loves your son more than sense.

Fëanáro hums again, the sound floating through the air between them, all searching heat, though what it is searching for he could not say. Fëanáro steps even closer and it takes all of Ñolofinwë’s willpower to not retreat, his mind screaming danger. He is so close that all Ñolofinwë would have to do is shift forward the barest inch and their robes would brush. “Anywhere? In all things?” Fëanáro asks once more, voice dangerously quiet, his eyes fixed unerringly on Ñolofinwë’s.

He swallows, feeling as if he is about to make a deal he should not. Still says, “Anywhere. In all things but the one.”

He has only a moment to catch the challenge that sparks to life in Fëanáro’s eyes before his hand is coming up to grasp Ñolofinwë’s chin, Fëanáro’s thumb pressing against his bottom lip. His heart skips several beats and then takes off racing. Fëanáro’s eyes are blazing with challenge as they stare at each other and Ñolofinwë is sure this is a test but he does not know to what end, or even the correct answer.

“In all things,” Fëanáro says viciously, taking the last step forward and catching Ñolofinwë by the waist when he instinctively tries to step back. “Are you sure?” He runs his thumb along Ñolofinwë’s lip and tugs him somehow closer.

There is no way to mistake what he is asking even if Ñolofinwë wanted to try and he. He does not know what to do. Knows that his traitorous body instinctively wants to melt into Fëanáro and give him whatever he wants. But Ñolofinwë does not understand why Fëanáro wants this. Does not understand what he is trying to prove. “You are my brother,” he says softly, shivering as Fëanáro’s thumb follows the movement.

“Half,” Fëanáro corrects, as if that makes any difference in this matter. “And that does not answer my question.”

He searches Fëanáro face, looking for any indication that this is some new, cruel trick that has been designed to be used against him. Finds nothing but blazing heat and impatience. He thinks this is a mistake. Thinks it is an awful idea that can have nothing but negative consequences. But his brother is touching him without any violence hiding in his hands and Ñolofinwë has never claimed to not be selfish. Does he want what Fëanáro is asking for? He does not know. He does know that he wants the implied trust hanging in the balance between them. Wants it with a viciousness that tears through him and digs its teeth into his heart.

“All things,” he says, the words tasting too much like an oath.

Surprise flares in Fëanáro’s eyes and Ñolofinwë does not get a chance to feel smug before Fëanáro has replaced his thumb with his mouth. And for all that he had known what was being asked of him. For all that he had agreed. The impact of Fëanáro’s mouth on his still tears the breath out of him. He opens his mouth instinctively when Fëanáro seeks entrance and fists his hands in Fëanáro’s shirt.

Fëanáro is kissing him with a seemingly single-minded intensity, as if the slide of their lips and the wet heat of their mouths holds the answer to some question he hadn’t realized had been asked. His grip on Ñolofinwë’s waist is bruising and his other hand is cradling Ñolofinwë’s cheek so gently that it makes his chest grow tight, for he had never thought to have Fëanáro touch him with anything other than barely constrained violence. Still vividly remembers the feeling of cool steel pressed to the hollow of his throat. He finds all he can do is hang on, his grip on Fëanáro’s shirt growing tighter, for Fëanáro’s tongue is in his mouth and their spit is mixed together and for all that he had not known if he wanted this in truth there is a heat building in him that says he does. Fëanáro sucks at his bottom lip and he hears himself make a noise caught somewhere between desperation and need. It is completely overwhelming and he finally must pull back to greedily drag in a breath of air.

Fëanáro stays pressed close, his mouth hovering over Ñolofinwë’s as they both drink in the air other is breathing out. When he opens his eyes all he can see is the dark gray of Fëanáro’s eyes eclipsed by desire. A heady emotion to be regarded with when he has only ever seen thinly veiled dislike or outright hate directed at him. Fëanáro tugs at one of the loose ties on Ñolofinwë’s robes, runs his hand down Ñolofinwë’s neck, over his shoulder, and he tries to remember to breathe.

"I do not understand," he whispers. "Why this? Why now?"

Fëanáro kisses him again and he cannot help but sigh into it. Flattens his hands against Fëanáro's chest and feels his brother’s heart racing beneath his palm. He finds himself chasing Fëanáro's mouth when he pulls away which earns him a pleased smirk. "I wished to know how much you were willing to give," Fëanáro says lowly, pushing his shirt off his shoulder. "I will freely admit I did not expect you to give me this."

"But why this?" He cannot help but push. Wishes dearly to know why this, of all things, is what Fëanáro chose to ask for as proof.

Fëanáro does not answer. Bites lightly at the curve of his jaw, trails his mouth down the side of Ñolofinwë's neck, and sucks a bruise onto the junction where his shoulder meets his neck. A strangled noise works its way out of his throat, want slithering up his spine, slick and heady.

"I was thinking about you on your knees," Fëanáro says darkly, the words ghosting across his collarbone. "About you in your proper place."

A bolt of irritation goes through him and he must bite the inside of his cheek to hold back the words he'd like to say in response to that. And then, as the full implication of that sinks in, want bubbling up his throat and pooling beneath his tongue. He cannot help but wonder if this want has always lived within him. Surely this much desire cannot appear from nowhere.

He maintains that this is an awful idea but knowing that does not stop him from taking a deep breath and slowly dropping to his knees. He looks up at Fëanáro, feeling raw and broken open. Does not know how he is ever meant to come back from this.

Fëanáro stares down at him, mouth slightly open in shock, eyes bright and greedy. He runs his hand over the crown of Ñolofinwë's head, grips his hair and tugs his head back. "Look at you," he says softly, "where you belong at last."

The problem is that Ñolofinwë still wants what he's always wanted — to make Fëanáro see him as someone worthy of standing next to him. And yet, he also wants to trap that greedy look in Fëanáro's eyes there forever so that he can always be something that his brother wants. Does not know if it is possible to have both.

Fëanáro lets go of his hair and gently runs his knuckles along Ñolofinwë's cheek. "Go on then," he says, a little mean, a little daring, all want.

He sucks in a wavering breath and with hands that he refuses to let shake he reaches up and unties the laces of Fëanáro's pants. Feels a hot, heavy stone of lust settle in his stomach as his hand closes around Fëanáro's cock. There's a sharp, hissed in breath from above him and Fëanáro's fingers slipping through his hair.

Fëanáro's cock is thick and blood-hot in his hand and he cannot believe that this is truly happening. Does not know how he could ever dream such a thing up. He affords himself one more deep breath and then leans forward and takes just the head into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it curiously, and sucking. Fëanáro's fingers go tight in his hair, a startled moan floating through the air above him, sparks of pain shooting through his scalp, and he abruptly very much wants Fëanáro closer. Wants more. He swallows Fëanáro's cock down as quickly as he dares, moaning when it hits the back of his throat. Glances up and finds Fëanáro staring back looking utterly entranced.

"Look at you," he breathes, pulling out and then slowly pushing back in, groaning as Ñolofinwë sucks, his hand stroking what he cannot take in his mouth.

His eyes slip close as Fëanáro fucks his mouth, his entire stream of awareness narrowed down to the heavy weight on his tongue and the ache in his jaw, he can hear himself moaning and then Fëanáro fucks in farther, forcing his cock down Ñolofinwë's throat past what is comfortable. He swallows convulsively and only narrowly stops himself from gagging. Digs his nails into Fëanáro's thigh in retaliation even as he pushes forward, tries to take him even deeper.

Fëanáro curses. “Open your eyes, look at me," he says, voice rough and demanding. His face is blurry when Ñolofinwë opens his eyes, tears slipping down his cheeks as he blinks. Fëanáro looks cracked open and more vulnerable than Ñolofinwë has ever seen him. Eyes wild and mouth soft with pleasure, watching Ñolofinwë like he's never seen him before. He brushes his fingers over Ñolofinwë's face, smearing the tears across his skin; shudders as Ñolofinwë hollows his cheeks and sucks hard and spills down Ñolofinwë's throat with a deep groan.

Ñolofinwë swallows it all, taking everything Fëanáro gives him. Pulls off and rests his forehead against Fëanáro's hip, dragging in a breath. He feels dizzy and so turned on it hurts, is shaking a little as he grips Fëanáro's thigh. He had not had time to give any of this much thought but if he had he would not have thought to be so affected by any of it.

"Come here," Fëanáro says quietly, gripping his wrist and pulling him to his feet. Fëanáro cradles his face with both hands and kisses him, licking into Ñolofinwë's mouth like he's desperate to taste the proof of what Ñolofinwë just did.

He leans into it, wrapping his arms around Fëanáro’s neck and clinging, wants, wants. He wants to spend the next century in this little bubble of quiet where he can pretend that Fëanáro will always look at him with eyes dark with want, mouth only ever a soft punch against his own. Does not ever want to see hatred in them again. He moans into Fëanáro's mouth when he reaches between them and gets his hand around Ñolofinwë's cock. Fëanáro drinks it down and bites his lip, tries to crawl down his throat as he kisses him and jerks Ñolofinwë off with quick, sure strokes, thumb swiping over the head of his cock. It does not take much for him to spill over Fëanáro's hand with how hot and overstimulated he feels. Fëanáro kisses him through it, swallowing down the desperate noises crawling out Ñolofinwë's mouth, his fingers clenched tight in Ñolofinwë's hair.

Afterward, he presses his face to Fëanáro's neck, breathing shakily as he tries to gather himself together. Does not know if Fëanáro will let him have this and finds himself pleasantly surprised when all Fëanáro does is tug him closer by the waist, his fingers gentling as they run through his hair.

"You were preparing to rest," Fëanáro says sometime later, after Ñolofinwë's breathing has settled and he is simply enjoying the warmth of Fëanáro's body against his.

"Yes," he says, and then, because it is not as if this can become more compromising than it already is, "Lay with me?"

Fëanáro is quiet for a moment before stepping back, looking at Ñolofinwë with serious eyes. Most of that fey, grief-fueled fury seems to have faded from them at the moment and Ñolofinwë is going to punch his brother if he begins regretting this when he is the one who started it. But Fëanáro only stares for a moment before reaching up to grip his chin, once again running his thumb over Ñolofinwë's mouth, a spark of wonder flaring to life in his eyes before vanishing. "I was going to leave you," he says and there's no regret on his face. "We've already prepared the boats."

Ñolofinwë blankly takes the words in and feels that same chill from earlier go sweeping down his spine. "Of course you were," he says flatly. Does not bother trying to pick apart all the messy emotions that have sprung to life in his chest. Instead jerks his chin out of Fëanáro's hand and punches him in the face.

Fëanáro stumbles back, one hand coming up to press against his cheek. Ñolofinwë watches him, chest tight, heart aching. Fëanáro's eyes are glittering with anger when they meet his and he can muster up nothing inside of himself except for a furious resignation that this is all he is ever going to be to his brother. A challenge to be met again and again with betrayal. No matter what he gives, no matter what promises he makes — none of it will matter because in the deepest corners of his heart Fëanáro does not trust him and never will. He does not know, precisely, what his face is doing, but whatever Fëanáro sees on it causes the anger to flicker and dim. "You—" he tries, chokes on the word, the helpless fury clogging his throat. Feels a little like he wants to cry, a lot like he wants to punch his brother again.

Fëanáro purses his lips. Says tightly, "I could not trust you."

He laughs harshly. "But because I've sucked your cock now you can?" He takes a step forward, fists clenched at his side. "Do you truly think that abandoning me and my people because of your—" he fumbles for the words, clenching and unclenching his fists. “— your inability to think of me as anything other than your unwanted half-brother would stop me from following you?” He spits out, and it isn’t loyalty spearing through the words, though he thinks it would be easier if it were. Only a deep unending need to prove Fëanáro wrong that has been dogging his footsteps all his life. “I have already followed you into exile. I am not going to return and seek forgiveness now.”

“You would have no boats to follow me with,” Fëanáro says slowly, a strange look passing over his face.

“Then I will walk.” There’s a sticky, drawn out moment where he watches the comprehension dawn on Fëanáro’s face and thinks, I wish I did not love you, I wish I hated you as dearly as you hate me. A useless wish. He was born with the knowledge of how to love Fëanáro carved into his bones. Will never be able to scrape himself free.

“The helcaraxë is not crossable,” Fëanáro snaps out, his hand half-raising as if to reach for Ñolofinwë and then dropping.

“Has anyone ever tried?” he asks. Smiles mockingly at the agitation he can see in the clench of Fëanáro’s jaw.

Fëanáro’s hand rises lightning fast, and for a second Ñolofinwë thinks that he is going to be punched, but Fëanáro only grabs his shirt and hauls him into a brutal, biting kiss. He tastes blood at one point, his or Fëanáro’s he could not say. He shoves his hands beneath Fëanáro’s shirt and digs his nails in until he’s sure there will ten perfect bloody crescents for Fëanáro to remember him by. Fëanáro grabs a fistful of his hair and pulls it so tight Ñolofinwë’s scalp is singing with pain. And despite it all, despite the fresh betrayal hanging between them, despite the brutality, kissing Fëanáro still feels a little like the sanctification of something he hadn’t even known he’d wanted.  

Fëanáro pushes him backwards and they go stumbling back until they reach the sleeping pallet and tumble down onto it. Fëanáro tries to grab his wrists and he snarls, bites at Fëanáro's mouth and manages to twist them so that he's straddling Fëanáro. "Fuck you," he gasps out, pulling away to press his forehead against Fëanáro's. They're both breathing hard and he wants to find a way to hurt Fëanáro in return. Has not, despite his words of forgiveness, truly forgotten the feel of cool steel against his throat. Has not forgotten Fëanáro never apologized, never showed any remorse. Has not forgotten that he’d spent twelve years swallowing the urge to storm out to Formenos and properly start the fight that Fëanáro so clearly wanted. But Fëanáro's hands come up to frame his face, his touch turning unbearably gentle as Ñolofinwë shakes on top of him, and the urge to simply give-in mixes with the urge to inflict hurt. Leaves him frozen, unable to do anything at all.

"I am not going to leave you," Fëanáro says seriously, the words warm against his mouth.

He pulls back enough to look Fëanáro in the eyes, feels as if he must be the most foolish elf in Aman to still intend to follow his brother after all he's done. "Because I gave you what you wanted," he says bitterly. "And if I had not, would you not already be on a boat abandoning me?"

Fëanáro blinks at him and runs a finger down his cheek, a definite note of confused wonder in his stare. "You kissed me back," he says. "I did not envision a path in which you did so."

"By the Valar," he snaps, fighting the urge to simply strangle his brother. "Of course I kissed you back you asshole. That is not the point! I should not have needed to! I swore to follow you, why is my oath deemed less binding than yours?"

Fëanáro studies his face for a long while, eyes searching for something Ñolofinwë cannot guess at, before he tugs Ñolofinwë down into another kiss. And he wants to stay angry but Fëanáro is kissing him so slowly, feeling every movement out like he's trying to understand a language he's never heard. It is completely impossible for Ñolofinwë to do anything other than kiss back. To let himself get lost in the simplicity of a warm mouth on his. One of Fëanáro’s hands shifts, tangling in his hair and then slipping down his back, pushing under his shirt to chart his spine. He presses the tips of all ten of his fingers to his brother’s temples and tries to not think of how this feels less like fealty, more like worship of an act that shouldn’t be occurring.

He is not sure how long they kiss for, only that when they finally pull apart his mouth feels raw and his breathing has turned slow and steady, his body lulled into complacency. He collapses onto Fëanáro properly and buries his face against his neck. Wishes to think about nothing other than how comfortable he is in the moment. Fëanáro hums and grabs his right hand from where it's clutching the blanket, tangles their fingers together. A stupidly simple action that makes his chest go tight. His other hand is still tracing random patterns across Ñolofinwë’s back, an irritatingly soothing feeling. He does not know how he is meant to stay angry when Fëanáro’s every action is conspiring to make him otherwise.

“Did you ask for this only because you believed I would refuse?” he asks, voice muffled. Cannot help but smile a bit as Fëanáro shivers beneath his mouth. “Were you only looking for an excuse to leave me behind?”

Fëanáro’s hand stills for a moment before resuming its movement. “I spoke no untruth,” Fëanáro says. “I wished to know how much you were willing to give.”

“But you did not believe I would give it.”

“I do not believe it was an unreasonable assumption to make,” Fëanáro says dryly, sounding so very much like himself — the him from before Morgoth, before the paranoia and the silmarils and the festering anger and resentment that had burned away everything civil between them — that Ñolofinwë must raise his head to kiss him once more.

Fëanáro makes a surprised noise but kisses him back. “Of course I gave it to you,” he says once more when he pulls back. Fëanáro stares up at him with bright eyes and Ñolofinwë does not think but knows that this is an awful idea. Knows that another betrayal will break something irreparably inside of him. “Do you not— Fëanáro, I would give you nearly anything if you would only trust me to do so.”

Before he can blink Fëanáro has twisted them so that Ñolofinwë is now beneath him and this time Ñolofinwë lets it happen. Goes loose and pliant and opens his mouth eagerly when Fëanáro kisses him. Fëanáro kisses him viciously, does not let up until he’s out of breath, a whine caught in the back of his throat. Pulls away after nipping sharply at his bottom lip and presses his mouth to Ñolofinwë's pulse. Says very quietly against his throat, "I hate you," and Ñolofinwë would feel hurt if he had not heard those words before in a tone that actually spoke of hate. Fëanáro says, I hate you, but it sounds closer to, I'm sorry, than anything Ñolofinwë has ever heard said to him from his brother’s mouth.

“Okay,” he says softly, tangling his fingers in Fëanáro’s hair and holding him close. “Okay, Fëanáro.”

Fëanáro shifts so that he is half-covering Ñolofinwë with his own body and Ñolofinwë turns into the embrace as he presses their foreheads together. They lay like that for some time, Fëanáro’s fingers splayed wide over his heart and Ñolofinwë trying to not think too deeply on that.

“I am not going to leave you,” Fëanáro says quietly into the space between them.

Ñolofinwë swallows roughly, tells himself to just accept the words. Stills says a little accusingly, “You already said that.”

“Yes,” his brother say heavily, “but I mean it fully this time.”

He must close his eyes against the disappointed hurt that spears through him. “And I suppose this time I am supposed to believe you,” he says, feeling very tired. Fëanáro does not answer, instead leans in and kisses him. Despite himself he kisses back, presses in as close as he can get, tries to believe that this is not all going to blow up in his face. Tries to believe that this is the beginning of Fëanáro looking at him instead of through him. Still quietly asks, “Stay?” Unwilling to admit that he does not trust that he will not wake and find the boats gone regardless if he does not keep Fëanáro next to him, but thinking it regardless.

He will not admit it but Fëanáro surely can tell for he tangles them together even further and blindly reaches for the blanket to cover them both with. “Yes, Nolvo,” he says, voice gentler than Ñolofinwë has ever heard it. “I’ll stay.”

---

Chapter End Notes

I just want y'all to know I almost ended this with Fëanáro abandoning him anyway. He was gonna wake up alone and walk outside to find the boats gone :) and then I got sad about it and so that's not happening.

anyway. Hope you enjoyed them being very weird about each other again <3