and love is not a victory march by atlantablack  

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and from your lips he drew the Hallelujah

sigh. there was not meant to be a second chapter and yet, here we are. This is what happens when you let people enable you - only 1/2 sure I even like the ending of this but also quite frankly if I stare at it any longer I'm to throw it off a cliff so it is good enough peace and love - enjoy the guys being soft!! <3

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☀︎

When Fëanor awakes the mingling has only just begun. He has a moment of disorientation at the feeling of another body in the bed, in his arms, before the events of the day flood back into his mind. He then has another moment of disorientation at the idea that the events of the day had in fact truly happened. But Ñolofinwë is solid and warm in his arms, one leg pressed between his, one arm slung over his waist, the soft feel of his brother’s breathing a damp heat against his throat.

It is strange to have his brother so soft and trusting in his arms this way. Stranger still how much he finds himself enjoying it. But he runs his hand down Ñolofinwë’s back and then gently through his hair, takes in the quiet noise his brother makes in response, and feels that same softness from before go skittering through his chest. Part of him still thinks that he should run. Kick Ñolofinwë out and shut him out once more for nothing lies this direction but far more vulnerability than he ever wanted to show. But Ñolofinwë's fingers flex slightly against his skin as he makes another soft noise in his sleep and Fëanáro cannot, he cannot, he is greedy and wants to keep his brother and he has never been in the habit of denying himself things.

It is so easy to twist and press Ñolofinwë down into the bed, he presses his mouth to Ñolofinwë's neck, his pulse. Moves up and kisses him slowly until Ñolofinwë makes a soft noise and begins to kiss him back, hands raising and running down Fëanáro's back. He coaxes Ñolofinwë's mouth open, deepens the kiss, and his brother, still sleep-soft, opens his mouth and allows Fëanáro to take whatever he wishes and the hunger in his chest ripples out in contentment.

He pulls away only to press his mouth to Ñolofinwë's neck once more, to the necklace still hanging about Ñolofinwë's neck. All the jewelry but this one necklace have been removed in the interest of comfort, but it pleases him deeply to have the symbol of his house around Ñolofinwë's neck. Please him greatly to think of his brother as his. Ñolofinwë hums quietly and begins running his fingers through Fëanáro's hair and they stay as such for a long while.

☀︎

They do eventually rise and get dressed once more, for dinner has long passed and they wish to eat. It is not until they've left the room and walked into the dining room, eight faces all turning to stare at them with varying levels of disbelief, that he realizes he has forgotten to take their father into account. To take his sons into account. It changes nothing but it is still an unfortunate oversight.

They also, he belatedly realizes, as the faces all grow more disbelieving by the second, had not thought to attempt to look as if they have not just crawled out of the same bed.

The silence grows thorns the longer it stretches and Fëanáro meets his father's eyes challengingly. His father has asked over and over through the years for him to simply give his half-siblings a chance and he has finally done so. He will not apologize for the manner in which that chance came about though he knows he likely should. But Fëanáro is not in the habit of apologizing when he feels no remorse.

"Please," their father says in a carefully measured tone, "tell me this is not what it looks like." The words fall heavily between them all.

Maitimo's eyebrows are near his hairline in shock. Fëanáro resists the urge to sigh at Tyelkormo half-bent over and very clearly suppressing laughter. Atarinkë eyes are fixed upon Ñolofinwë, a furious expression fixed on his face that does not bode well for the current conversation.

"It is not what it looks like," Ñolofinwë says easily before Fëanáro can respond. It is his court voice, so smooth that if they were not the visible proof their father might even believe him.

"What does it look like?" he asks, raising an eyebrow.

His father's jaw is clenched tight, eyes tracking down to Fëanáro's neck and then over Ñolofinwë, lingering on the necklace still hanging around his neck. "It looks, as if my sons have taken each other to bed," he says finally, voice very tight and controlled. "But surely my sons would never be so foolish as to commit such an act."

He considers this. It is foolish. This much is true and undeniable. It will be far from the first time he has been called foolish for undertaking some task others said he should not undertake. "Then it is what it looks like," he says, seeing no point in speaking unbelievable lies.

Ñolofinwë audibly sighs at the look of anger growing upon their father's face. None of his sons but Atarinkë look angry precisely, they all look primarily bewildered and unsure of what to do, with the exception of Tyelkormo who has his hand clapped over his mouth as he continues to silently laugh. Maitimo glances over at him and scowls, slapping him around the head which does not discourage his laughter in the slightest.

"I will not allow it," their father says after another breathless minute where he seems to struggle to find the words. "I will not. Ñolofinwë will return to Tirion tomorrow."

He looks to Ñolofinwë as his brother looks to him and there is a question very clear in his eyes. Fëanáro loves his father dearly and will obey him in most things for he holds his father in high esteem. It is not unreasonable for Ñolofinwë to think he will listen in this as well. But that hunger is still writhing about in his chest and he does not want Ñolofinwë to leave. He does not. He wishes to have dinner and then he wishes to take Ñolofinwë back to bed and learn how many ways he can be pulled apart. And those only the most immediate wishes.

Stay, he mouths. Ñolofinwë’s eyes go painfully soft around the edges for a moment before his face smooths back out. “I have already promised Fëanáro that I would stay at Formenos for the foreseeable future,” his brother says, meeting their father’s eyes evenly.

One of his sons makes a strangled noise but he’s far more focused on the anger on his father’s face. It is not a look he has often had turned his way and it is just as strange and uncomfortable to witness now as it has been every other time. But there is also a warm ball of spiteful pleasure curling up in his chest at his brother choosing to listen to him instead — at his brother choosing him.

“You will not,” their father says furiously. “I will not have you sharing a bed with your brother under the same roof as me.”

There’s a terrible beat of silence, all eyes turning to him, and he hesitates, knows he must choose and does not wish to. Studies the anger on his father’s face. Looks to his brother and studies him, finds a calm facade that would almost fool him if he could not also see shadowed resignation settling in his eyes. His sons, when he spares them a glance, all look quietly expectant. All but Maitimo who is looking between him and Ñolofinwë with a furrowed brow; he meets Fëanáro’s eyes and he thinks Maitimo figures it out before he even accepts it himself for Maitimo straightens and sets his jaw.

He looks to Ñolofinwë once more, to the necklace still strung around his neck, and he cannot. He cannot. “Tirion will need a king since Nolvo will be staying with me,” he says finally, steeling himself to meet his father’s eyes. “And so we shall not be under the same roof at all, atar.”

His father takes a step back, blinking rapidly as the silence smothers the room. When he glances at Ñolofinwë he finds his brother staring at him with wide, awe-stricken eyes and Fëanáro wishes deeply to kiss him. Looks away before he can lose all sense and act on the wish.

His father is looking between them with troubled eyes & then narrows them at Ñolofinwë. “And what of Anairë, Ñolofinwë,” he demands, “Fëanáro and Nerdanel may be estranged but what of Anairë?”

Fëanáro nearly startles, had not even thought to consider Anairë. Cannot help but frown for he had not thought to consider her but it is true that last he’d been aware Ñolofinwë's marriage was still strong and happy. When he turns the frown toward Ñolofinwë he finds that his brother is still staring at him.

“What about Anairë?” Ñolofinwë says, seeming to tear his eyes from Fëanáro with great difficulty to look at their father.

His father’s mouth drops for only a second before he snaps, “Your wife, Ñolofinwë. You would betray her in such a way?”

Ñolofinwë blinks, frowning for a moment, as if the question makes no sense. “Do you believe that she does not already know? She is my wife, atar. How would I hide such a thing from her? Why would I wish to hide things from her?” He sounds genuinely bewildered by the idea.

Fëanáro had not thought the tension in the room could grow any worse and yet, somehow it has. He cannot stop himself from being slightly taken aback as well. “She knows everything?” he asks, wondering how far her knowledge stretches.

“Of course,” Ñolofinwë says, an amused smile tugging at the corner of his mouth when he meets Fëanáro’s eyes. “I spoke with her this morning as we dressed. She knows. She’s promised to arrange for any belongings I’ll need to be brought out here when she visits.”

He does not blanch at the idea of facing Anairë no matter that he wants to. He had not taken into consideration that Anairë would be relevant because it had seemed absurd to believe that she would be accepting of her husband sleeping with another, let alone that other being his brother. It would seem he had miscalculated, something he so rarely must admit to.

“Anairë knows,” their father echoes faintly and Fëanáro can see that his father is accepting defeat. For if Ñolofinwë’s wife knows and has no objections then what will their father be able to say that would convince them to stop.

“Come, Nóatar,” Carnistir says abruptly, stepping forward and taking his grandfather by the arm, “I will help you with travel arrangements. It will not do to leave Tirion un-kinged for too long.” He has efficiently guided his grandfather out of the room before Fëanáro can blink twice.

“Well,” Ñolofinwë says into the silence. “You rather look as if you have something to say Curufinwë, please, let us get it all over with now.”

Atarinkë does indeed look as if he wishes to say something but he only stares at Ñolofinwë with burning eyes for a moment before looking to Fëanáro. He raises his eyebrows in return, will not stop his son from voicing his discontent.

“You are not only taking him to bed to keep him from the throne?” Is the question that finally emerges.

Makalaurë sighs loudly. “Very subtle, Curvo. You could not wait until our Uncle is not right there to ask the question?”

He cannot help but snort at the question. “I can assure you, that if that were my only reason for bedding him then I would have done so decades ago. No, that is not the reason.” He does not volunteer the true reason and thankfully, none of his sons ask.

“Hey, Nelyo,” Tyelkormo says in an exaggerated whisper, an amused smirk tugging at his mouth, “guess it won’t be weird anymore if you fuck our cousin, huh?” There’s a strained beat of silence in which Maitimo’s face goes completely red and then Tyelkormo takes off running right as Maitimo lunges for him. Makalaurë and Atarinkë are left staring after their brothers looking equal parts exasperated and amused.

“Are there any other concerns,” he asks dryly, deciding to ignore Tyelkormo’s comment for the moment.

The Ambarussa exchange a glance, look to Ñolofinwë and then to him before shrugging. “Seems weird,” Pityo says, pulling a face. “and gross. But no, I have no concerns.”

Telvo nods in agreement. “Really, really gross, for the record, but I suppose it is better than what led to us being out here,” he says before reeling back with a pained shout for Makalaurë has hit him on the arm.

“I have no concerns, atar,” Makalaurë says with a smile, though it is terribly tight around the edges and Fëanáro does not believe him in the slightest. But he is sure it will come out eventually one way or another if they are all to be stuck out here for the next eleven years and so he will not push right now. He will give it time to settle.

“Good,” he says, finds himself almost surprised to mean it. “That’s good.”

☀︎

 "She truly does not mind?" he asks Ñolofinwë later as they eat. He finds that he still cannot quite accept the idea that Anairë does not mind her husband sleeping with him. It seems the most nonsensical part of this entire affair.

Ñolofinwë makes a strange face, equal parts sheepish and embarrassed and reluctantly amused. "It is simply an idea that she has become used to. She is okay with it though I do not think it would be quite accurate to say that she is happy with it only that we wish each other happy. Besides," he says, smiling wryly, "if she did not wish this to happen she perhaps should not have brought my attention to the fact that I have feelings for you."

He takes a moment to parse that before narrowing his eyes. "Do you mean to tell me that your wife knew of your feelings before you did yourself?"

Ñolofinwë shrugs. “I do not mind. It hurt her less this way. And truly Fëanáro, why would I look at my brother and realize my feeling on my own? It is not as if this is a normal occurrence or something I thought to look for.”

"And what are these feelings of yours exactly?"

There is a long pause, the food long forgotten, Ñolofinwë's eyes wide and endless. "Fëanáro," he says helplessly and Fëanáro does not know if he simply does not know what to say or if he fears to say it but he has an urgent need to take his brother back to bed and wring the words from him. Ñolofinwë must see it on his face for his breath audibly catches.

"That's disgusting," Carnistir says suddenly from the doorway, "can you please not do whatever that is where we have to see it?"

Fëanáro levels Carnistir with an unimpressed look but his son only stares back with a mulish glare, a splotchy red flush spreading across his face. "You are my father," he says evenly, "and I will continue to follow you as I always have. But I think whatever this is you're doing is disgusting. That is all I'll say on the matter. Also, Nóatar is making ready to depart and should be ready within a day or two." He nods shortly, does not look at Ñolofinwë even once, and turns and leaves.

Fëanáro stares after him, for the first time actually feeling rather at a loss as to what he should do. Has the uncomfortable feeling that there is nothing he can do. It is not a feeling he enjoys nor one he is accustomed to. When he looks away from the doorway he finds Ñolofinwë watching him carefully, wary concern caught on the corners of his frown and in his eyes. Fëanáro considers this, considers the resignation that had so swiftly begun to sweep through Ñolofinwë’s eyes earlier, finds himself saying, “I am not going to change my mind. I am not so weak-willed as to be swayed by the disapproval of others.”

Ñolofinwë blinks, mouth shaping a word Fëanáro cannot understand. But the desire that leaps to life in his brother’s eyes he can read well and he is out of his chair and ushering them both down the hall before he can think much further on it.

☀︎

He pins Ñolofinwë against the door the moment it closes behind them and kisses him in the next second. Wants to crawl inside of him and find out how his body works, pull him apart piece by piece until Fëanáro knows the exact points of pressure that will make him fall apart. Ñolofinwë goes completely loose beneath him, hands clutching at his shirt, giving in before Fëanáro has even started. Fëanáro groans into the kiss, swallows the answering moan. He does not pull back far, keeps their mouths just barely ghosting against each other as he says, "Tell me of your feelings."

Ñolofinwë makes a distressed noise and tries to kiss him once more but he pulls back a bit farther, does not allow it. "Tell me," he says once more.

"Fëanáro," Ñolofinwë says and he can hear all the emotion in its overwhelming glory pressed into his name. Can see it in the stretch of sky caught in his brother's eyes.

He cannot help but kiss Ñolofinwë again, licks into his mouth and tries to memorize the imprint of his name in his brother’s mouth. Ñolofinwë makes a breathy noise into the kiss, pulls him closer, their bodies pressed so tightly together that Fëanáro thinks if he focused he would be able to feel Ñolofinwë’s heart beating next to his. Fëanáro, in a fit of curiosity, shoves his knee between Ñolofinwë’s legs and pulls lightly at his hips. He is not as desperate this time and has time to take Ñolofinwë apart slowly if he wishes to.

“Show me,” he says against Ñolofinwë’s mouth, swallows the whine that he receives in response. Buries his fingers in Ñolofinwë’s hair and clenches his fingers tight, pulls Ñolofinwë’s head back just far enough to feel the strain. “Show me, brother," he demands, scrapes his teeth along Ñolofinwë’s jaw, sets to work sucking a bruise high on his neck. His brother makes a strangled, gasping noise, his hips jerking upwards seemingly of their own accord.  

“Fëanáro, I—,” Ñolofinwë starts, cuts off with a low moan as Fëanáro grinds up against him. His mouth falls opens for Fëanáro to take as he pleases and he mimics Ñolofinwë’s movements from earlier, slowly slides two fingers into his mouth and watches avidly as Ñolofinwë sucks on them, his hips jerking as he grinds up against Fëanáro’s leg.

“Good,” he murmurs, kisses Ñolofinwë again and slips his hand beneath Ñolofinwë’s shirt to toy with his nipples as they kiss, his other hand he keeps on Ñolofinwë’s hip, lightly encouraging him to move. Kisses his brother deeply and swallows every bitten-off whine and moan. “Keep going,” he says quietly, pulling away to trail his mouth back down Ñolofinwë’s throat.

His name is a constant refrain on Ñolofinwë’s tongue and it is enchanting; the scrape of his name through the air, his brother’s cock a hard brand of heat against his thigh, the needy whines clawing through the air as he sucks another bruise onto Ñolofinwë’s throat and twists his nipple a little meanly. He knows it will make others uncomfortable, the visible evidence of what it is they are doing, but he cannot be bothered to care when the sight of blooming bruises on Ñolofinwë’s throat leaves heat trickling through his ribcage, down his spine.

He grinds up against Ñolofinwë again and his brother groans and arches up against him, says his name in a tone dripping with need. A tone that leaves Fëanáro's resolve to draw this out wavering. “Could you get off just like this?" he asks softly, pulling back enough to watch Ñolofinwë's face; the corners of his mouth soft with pleasure, his eyes a thin ring of blue and filled with an emotion Fëanáro cannot name, will not name.

"I don't— Fëanáro, please," Ñolofinwë says, making a wretched, needy noise as he tries to pull Fëanáro into another kiss.

And Fëanáro's patience rather abruptly gives out, leaves him on his knees fumbling with Ñolofinwë's laces before he knows what he's doing. He does not give himself even a moment to contemplate the seriousness of such an act; the implications involved in going to his knees in front of Ñolofinwë; the weight of Ñolofinwë’s cock in his hand; the way he has not done this before and had not thought to do it ever and especially not on his knees to his brother. He considers none of it, does not bother attempting finesse; instead grips Ñolofinwë's cock at the base and licks a stripe up it before taking as much of it as he can into his mouth, groaning as Ñolofinwë pulls at his hair. Ñolofinwë's thighs are trembling and when he glances up he finds his brother staring down at him with wide astonished eyes, mouth parted around Fëanáro's name.

It is a heady, exhilarating feeling to have such attention, to be able to hold his brother's hips still and draw the prettiest, neediest noises from him. He swirls his tongue around the head of Ñolofinwë’s cock and dares to take more of it into his mouth. Ñolofinwë's grip on his hair tightens, his moans rising in pitch, and Fëanáro, who had not thought to enjoy the weight on his tongue or the taste of Ñolofinwë's cock as much as he does, groans in response. The strangled gasp that slices through the air is all the warning he gets before Ñolofinwë spills into his mouth, Fëanáro's name floating through the air wrapped up in each shaking moan that leaves Ñolofinwë's mouth.

He swallows most of what he is given and stands, grabbing a fistful of Ñolofinwë's hair and pulling his head back. Grips Ñolofinwë's jaw and forces his mouth open before spitting the rest of Ñolofinwë's seed into his mouth. His brother makes a strangled noise and swallows, greedily leaning into the kiss that follows.

They stay like that for several minutes, leaning against the door and slowly kissing. Fëanáro has still not taken his own pleasure but the desperation has cooled again now that Ñolofinwë has calmed. His own pleasure can wait and there is something terribly addicting about the way Ñolofinwë’s body feels beneath his when it is loose and trusting. A steadily growing fire fueled by the question, how much will he give me?

They kiss for what could be an age and he presses his hand to his brother’s chest, splays his fingers wide, and follows the beat of Ñolofinwë’s heart. Lets the tempo guide him.

"Tell me," he says once again against his brother's mouth, noses at his cheek and presses their foreheads together.

"Fëanáro," Ñolofinwë sighs, the un-nameable caught between syllables, "take me back to bed."

So he does.

They end up back in bed with Fëanáro sitting against the headboard, Ñolofinwë in his lap. He reaches for the bracelets sitting on the bedside table and slips them back onto Ñolofinwë's wrists, kisses the inside of each wrist and scrapes his teeth over his brother's pulse.

"Do you wish to shackle me?" Ñolofinwë asks mildly, seemingly nothing but curiosity in his voice. "Is that why these please you so much?"

He considers that, for it does not sound outside the realm of possibility. "Not shackling," he says after a moment, "I have no wish, nor need, to forcefully chain you to me. Not that, but a claim that states you are mine and that no one else may touch you. That I wish for."

Ñolofinwë is silent for a moment, considering Fëanáro seriously. "Anairë is still my wife," is what he finally says, "she has just as much of a claim on me. You do not get to try and push her out simply because I—" he cuts off abruptly, something like trepidation flashing through his eyes.

"I suppose most would argue more of a claim," Fëanáro says, smiling wryly. He had forgotten Anairë again, this is true. He will not say that he is pleased at the prospect of sharing but he cannot deny the truth in the statement. Cannot deny that there is a likely chance Ñolofinwë would never have breathed a word of his feelings to Fëanáro if Anairë had not given him permission to.

"And she will argue it," Ñolofinwë says, a fond smile tugging at his lips. "But I will still wear your claim as well if you wish me to."

"Because of your feelings for me," he says quietly, not having forgotten the way Ñolofinwë cut himself off. He pulls Ñolofinwë in closer, until they are pressed tightly together, his head tipped back as Ñolofinwë frames Fëanáro's face with his hands. The look on his brother's face is not one he has ever had directed him; a painfully soft expression that melts Ñolofinwë's face into something that speaks of things too big for Fëanáro to even think. It makes him wonder at how good of a liar Ñolofinwë must be in truth to have kept this from Fëanáro for so long.

"Because of my feelings for you," Ñolofinwë agrees softly, traces a finger beneath Fëanáro's eye, down his cheek. "Wanting me in your bed is not the same as wanting me," he says, a wistful note to the words, "ask me of my feelings later when you can tell me in truth you want me for more than that."

Fëanáro takes that in and chews on it for a moment as he runs his hands up Ñolofinwë's sides. He does not believe he would wish to keep Ñolofinwë around if it were only to warm his bed but he also does not believe he can truthfully say that he wants his brother for anything more than that. A strange and uncomfortable predicament to be in.

He pulls Ñolofinwë into a slow kiss instead of replying. Takes his time memorizing the way Ñolofinwë's mouth feels against his, the weight of his contented sighs, the way his body shifts slightly trying to move closer despite how close they already are. Perhaps Fëanáro does not yet want his brother for the reasons Ñolofinwë wishes to be wanted for, but he does still want his brother. A strange feeling to adjust to. As if a dam has broken and is now water-falling into a never-ending pool. It makes something in his chest twist uncomfortably in ways he does not necessarily care to examine.

He does not stop kissing Ñolofinwë as he fumbles for the oil, intently focused on the way Ñolofinwë keeps making muffles noises against his mouth as they kiss and the greedy way he wishes to learn what other noises he can pull out. Slides his hand between Ñolofinwë’s thighs and slowly presses a finger inside of him, brushes his mouth down Ñolofinwë’s neck when he pulls away to throw his head back. “It will come in time,” he says quietly against Ñolofinwë’s throat as he presses a second finger inside, Ñolofinwë’s groan reverberating against his mouth. “I am a quick study and,” he forces Ñolofinwë to meet his eyes as he says, “you are my brother are you not?”

“Fëanáro,” Ñolofinwë gasps desperately, hips shifting as he bears down on Fëanáro’s slow moving fingers.

“Are you not?” he asks once more, tightening his grip on Ñolofinwë’s hair and scissoring his fingers apart. A choked whine tears out of Ñolofinwë and he pulls his fingers fully out, slowly circles Ñolofinwë’s rim with his fingers while he waits. His brother’s eyes are blown out with want and it is still just as disarming to have such a look focused on him. He does not know if it will ever stop being disarming.

“Full in heart,” Ñolofinwë gasps out, leaning in and pressing their foreheads together, breath sweet and warm against Fëanáro’s mouth. “Always full in heart my brother.”

Fëanáro drags in a deep breath, the air strange as it slides up his windpipe and over his tongue, kissing Ñolofinwë’s mouth before dispersing. There is a wealth of emotion in Ñolofinwë’s voice that he cannot touch yet, so much that he hears and knows and yet cannot acknowledge except to acknowledge that he cannot. “Full in heart,” he murmurs back, knowing he does not yet mean it fully on his part but terrifyingly confident in the inevitability of it becoming a cornerstone of his heart. He brushes their mouths together, presses his fingers back inside, says “My brother,” and feels that same terrifying wrenching feeling twist its way through his chest.

Ñolofinwë shivers against him and makes a low noise in his throat. Fëanáro’s chest feels as if it is cracking open, heat rippling through him and making it hard to breathe. The idea that he could ever let Ñolofinwë simply walk away from him after this is an absurd thought. He pulls his brother as close as he can and continues fucking him open with slow, precise movements, taking every half-bitten off whimper and choked whine falling from Ñolofinwë’s mouth and memorizing the sound of it.

It is Ñolofinwë who loses patience this time, slicking Fëanáro’s cock up and slowly sinking down onto it before he has even gone past two fingers. Fëanáro watches, entranced by the sight of Ñolofinwë with his mouth fallen open as he gasps for breath, eyes half-lidded and growing hazy as the dizzying rush of pleasure sitting just on the edge of pain begins to gather — it is a sight that Fëanáro does not think he will ever manage to banish from his mind.

If it was overwhelming to have Ñolofinwë inside of him then it is just as overwhelming in an entirely new way to be inside of his brother. The warm, slick heat of him; the way Ñolofinwë moans and tries to press in closer as he grinds down on Fëanáro’s cock. He runs a hand up Ñolofinwë’s back and tangles his fingers in his brother’s hair, clenching it tight in his fist and pulling Ñolofinwë’s head back as he fucks up into him.

Ñolofinwë’s nails are digging into his shoulders, his moans filling the room and making Fëanáro’s mind hazy with want. He presses his mouth to Ñolofinwë’s collarbone, gets his hand around Ñolofinwë’s cock so that he’s fucking into Fëanáro’s grip as he rides Fëanáro’s cock, and Fëanáro has been too worked up for too long to last very long. He ghosts his mouth up Ñolofinwë’s neck and bites down sharply, twisting his wrist as he fists Ñolofinwë’s cock, and then spills inside of his brother when a groan when Ñolofinwë gasps and clenches tight around him. He lets go of Ñolofinwë’s hair to grip his hip, holding him still, and Ñolofinwë pulls him into a messy, desperate kiss immediately, whining high in the back of his throat as Fëanáro grinds up into him.

He’s shaking under Fëanáro’s hands and he tightens his grip on Ñolofinwë’s cock as the pleasure continues melting through him. Speeds his hand up and sharply drags his nails over Ñolofinwë’s ribs, smiles into the kiss when his brother jerks and spills over his hand with a choked moan. Ñolofinwë buries his face against Fëanáro’s neck, still shaking under his hands, and he presses his face against Ñolofinwë hair, breathes in deeply around the strange tenderness filling his lungs.

They sit like that for some time, Fëanáro tracing random patterns on Ñolofinwë’s back as they both simply breathe. Fëanáro still partly believes that this is a mistake, that it will not be worth the trouble it is bringing. But he thinks of Ñolofinwë leaving and hates the idea with a viciousness that still surprises him. Perhaps it is a mistake. But it is one he is making with his eyes wide-open and one he cannot bring himself to regret. Ñolofinwë shifts slightly, pressing a kiss to his neck, and he pulls his brother up into a kiss. Thinks, I dare someone to try and take him from me, and then, fiercer as he presses his palm to Ñolofinwë’s chest, his heartbeat singing beneath Fëanáro’s splayed fingers, I will not give him up. I defy the gods to try and steal him away.

He may regret that thought one day, but in the moment, he kisses his brother and is perfectly content.

☀︎

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Chapter End Notes

[points threateningly] there will be no more of this AU - I have to work on other things bless <3