we begin in Eden, with an apple and a kiss by atlantablack  

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we begin in Eden, with an apple and a kiss

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Babe
There's something wretched about this
Something so precious about this
Where to begin?

Babe
There's something broken about this
But I might be hoping about this
Oh, what a sin

From Eden | Hozier

☀︎

Fëanáro, when he had originally come up with his, admittedly, rather weak plan, had not expected it to be a simple accomplishment. But unsettling rumors of treachery were more and more often beginning to reach his ears, and though he could threaten his half-brother, that would not ensure him truthful answers. This does not either, but he feels it has a greater chance of gaining him some sort of true explanation.

The hardest part of the entire endeavor had been convincing Ñolofinwë to go on a hunting trip alone with him. It had taken far more patience than he usually cared to put forth when speaking with his half-brother. Fëanáro has accused Ñolofinwë of many things over the years, but stupidity has never been one of them. So, reasonably, he was suspicious of Fëanáro's sudden insistence on spending time together, so reluctant to agree that Fëanáro had not been sure the plan would even have a chance to come to fruition. Ñolofinwë was correct to be suspicious, but it was still deeply irritating to have his words so innately distrusted.

The part of this absurd plan that he has dreaded the most is the days that he must spend in Ñolofinwë's company as they hunt. It is a necessary pain to endure in order to lull Ñolofinwë into a sense of security so that he will be open to drinking once they have settled for the night.

It is… less tedious than he had expected. Annoying at times, of course, but Ñolofinwë is a skilled conversationalist, even when that skill is being used to irritate Fëanáro. Ñolofinwë gives no indication that he still harbors any suspicion about the reason for this trip. Smiles easily, though still reserved. Goes along with any topic of conversation that Fëanáro leads them to and makes no effort to avoid speaking of court.

Ñolofinwë is perfectly agreeable the entire day and Fëanáro has never trusted anything less.

Still, for all that the day had been easy, he had still not expected the most important part of the plan to go so easily. Had, in truth, expected it to not fully work until the second or third night at least. He had been prepared for such a thing and had planned accordingly. However, it seems that his half-brother is either a terrible lightweight or Fëanáro had not paid enough attention to how freely he poured the wine, for Ñolofinwë is completely and utterly drunk.

This would be ideal if not for the fact that he has not managed to get a single interesting piece of information out of Ñolofinwë regarding the usurpation rumors that have been circulating. Has not managed to get a single piece of interesting information out of him at all.

What he has gained, is an irritatingly handsy half-brother who will not stop continuously trying to sprawl across his lap or lean up against him. If he had realized that Ñolofinwë was such a touchy drunk he may have rethought this plan. This alone would not be so utterly irritating if not for the way he is holding himself back from snapping as he wishes to, the way he is carefully not pushing Ñolofinwë away with too much force. He is unsure how Ñolofinwë handles being upset when drunk, but is sure it will not get him the answers he wants if his half-brother becomes so. But, despite Fëanáro several times already having gently redirected Ñolofinwë to his own spot on the blanket they have been sitting on, even to his own blankets once in hopes he would simply go to sleep, it has done no good. Ñolofinwë has once again crept closer and closer before shamelessly lying down and placing his head in Fëanáro’s lap. 

“If I did not know better,” he says in a low voice, patience frayed thin, “so close do you insist on being to me, that were you anyone else, I would think you are trying to seduce me.” 

Ñolofinwë blinks up at him, eyes hazy and unfocused and so very, very blue. “Would it work if I were?” Ñolofinwë asks in the tone of one who is trying very hard to focus.  

Fëanáro stares. Locks his jaw and does not allow his mouth to drop open in shock. "I know you are drunk, but do be serious, Ñolofinwë," he snaps after a tense moment of indecision on how to respond to such an absurd statement. "You cannot seduce those you share blood with, no matter how little it may be."

“Should not,” Ñolofinwë says promptly, one hand coming up to clutch at Fëanáro’s shirt. “You should not seduce kin. But it is possible if one wishes to.” 

A shiver goes through Fëanáro despite the mild warmth of the night. He is suddenly far too aware of how close Ñolofinwë's face is to his cock. Does not know how to feel about the quickness with which Ñolofinwë had answered, when he had, not even ten minutes earlier, struggled to think of the answer to how a specific court policy he had proposed last month worked. "Something the perfect Ñolofinwë would never wish for, I'm sure," he says snidely, attempting to pull Ñolofinwë's hand from his shirt and succeeding only in suddenly having Ñolofinwë grasping his wrist tightly instead.

"Do you truly think I'm perfect?" Ñolofinwë asks, eyes very bright. His thumb is rubbing a slow circle on the underside of Fëanáro's wrist, and he suddenly is quite sure that he needs to get Ñolofinwë out of his space before his half-brother does something incomparably stupid.

“No,” he says, managing to extricate his wrist from Ñolofinwë’s grip. “I think you pretend to be so and that you wish for others to think so. Now get off me.” 

Ñolofinwë hums and does not move, his hand settling on Fëanáro’s hip instead. “Do you think that I’m beautiful?” he asks in a deceptively casual voice, as if his thumb has not begun rubbing circles against Fëanáro’s hip. Fëanáro swallows hard. Tells himself to simply push Ñolofinwë off of his lap and onto the ground. But finds himself unable to break away from Ñolofinwë’s gaze, the blue of his eyes gone dangerously dark as he watches Fëanáro. 

"Of course you are beautiful," he manages after a moment. "You are of Finwë's line, are you not?"

The hand on his hip shifts, as if to move to spots it should not, and he grabs Ñolofinwë's wrist, squeezing tight enough that it must hurt, for he feels the bones beneath his palm shift. Ñolofinwë makes a low noise, body shifting, and Fëanáro makes the mistake of glancing sideways, running his gaze down Ñolofinwë's body, eyes instantly catching on where Ñolofinwë's cock is straining against his breeches. It is one thing, to have the nebulous suspicion that your half-brother is attempting to seduce you. It is another entirely to see proof of your half-brother’s attraction.

“I have perhaps gotten you too drunk,” he mutters, once again meeting Ñolofinwë’s gaze. 

Ñolofinwë smiles up at him, bright and mischievous in a way Fëanáro has never had directed at him. "Perhaps, I allowed you to get me drunk," he says, and before Fëanáro can ask why he would do something so stupid, Ñolofinwë has shifted and pressed his mouth to Fëanáro's cock. The warm, damp heat of Ñolofinwë mouthing at his cock is so shocking that for a moment his hips jerk up as if to welcome the warmth. He hisses out a breath and shakes the shock off quickly, hauling Ñolofinwë back by his hair. This does not have quite the effect he had wished for as all it does is earn him a low moan, Ñolofinwë’s mouth falling open, his pupils slowly beginning to edge out the icy blue. 

Fëanáro, after a moment of effort, manages to topple Ñolofinwë onto his back a safe distance away. He sits back down and clenches his fists, digging his nails into his palms as he takes in the wanton position Ñolofinwë has sprawled out in. His knees half-bent, legs spread invitingly, head tipped sideways so that he can look at Fëanáro. It should be disgust running through him at the sight, at what he knows has caused Ñolofinwë’s arousal, and the disgust is there, but even more so, there is a visceral desire that has latched onto him. 

Ñolofinwë blinks lazily at him, arching his back slightly as he stretches, and Fëanáro bites the inside of his cheek until he tastes blood, proof that it has not all rushed to his cock though it feels that way. He is painfully, brutally aware of how very drunk Ñolofinwë is and how utterly alone they are out here in the forest. There is absolutely nothing stopping him from taking what Ñolofinwë is so easily offering. And now that the thought has been planted in his head, it is terribly tempting to pin Ñolofinwë down and fuck him hard enough that he cries, that he regrets ever offering such a thing. He wishes to call it comeuppance, to give himself a reason, but it is only so if Ñolofinwë regrets it. Otherwise, it is simply Fëanáro giving his half-brother exactly what he wants. 

“You want me,” Ñolofinwë says suddenly into the thick silence that’s taken over the clearing, voice terribly sure. 

“I want you to shut up,” he snaps. “I believe you’ve said quite enough that you’ll regret later.” 

Ñolofinwë laughs quietly, stretching languidly once more, legs falling open another inch as he reaches down to palm himself. “Is that not what you wanted from this, brother? For me to incriminate myself?” 

Fëanáro swallows hard, mouth gone dry. Finds himself unable to tear his eyes away as Ñolofinwë makes an impatient noise and begins undoing his laces. His heart thumps painfully in his chest as Ñolofinwë’s cock comes into view, hard and leaking against his belly as he takes himself in hand. Ñolofinwë’s eyes stay perfectly steady on Fëanáro’s face even as he begins slowly stroking himself.

"You care so little for how terribly you are incriminating yourself right now?" he asks, nearly startled at the sound of his own voice gone low and raspy.

“Whoever would believe you if you told them of this, brother?” In any other circumstance, he would call the smile on Ñolofinwë’s face gentle. As it is, he has never felt more sure that he is being quietly mocked. He is sure Ñolofinwë is drunk and is suddenly just as sure that he had become so knowing exactly what it was Fëanáro was attempting to do.

He has no reply, for it is true. He does not know who he could tell of this that would believe him. Ñolofinwë has built himself such a reputation that the idea of him attempting to seduce Fëanáro in such a way is absurd. Surely, he would have said so if someone had suggested the idea to him. The truth of it is before him, and the idea still feels absurd. "And what is the point of this then?"

Ñolofinwë raises an eyebrow even as he twists his wrist and fucks up into his hand, moaning quietly. “I was rather hoping to actually seduce you,” he says, only slightly breathless. “But having you watch me is satisfying as well.” 

Fëanáro should look away. Should deprive Ñolofinwë of any satisfaction at all. He should. Yet, he cannot seem to tear his eyes away as Ñolofinwë continues to stroke himself, thumb running over the head of his cock and smearing the white liquid that had been beading there. The fire is casting shadows around them, leaving everything just hazy and dream-like enough that it would be so easy to give in to the desire thrumming through his veins. His cock is hard and aching against his thigh, and he has a terrible desire to find out what Ñolofinwë tastes like.

“You are drunk,” he says, even as he shifts closer, eyes locked on Ñolofinwë’s cock. 

“And this matters to you now?” Ñolofinwë reaches his free hand out toward Fëanáro, eyes blown out with want when Fëanáro meets them. “Come, brother. Do you not wish to hurt me? To shame me? I am offering it.” 

If forced to admit why he is hesitating, he would say that it is a reluctance to give Ñolofinwë what he so clearly wants. And this is true, though not the full reason. There is also, despite himself, an uneasy twisting to his stomach at the idea of taking Ñolofinwë when he is drunk and clearly not in his right mind. Though the sight of Ñolofinwë pleasuring himself is sorely testing his self-control. Ñolofinwë makes a breathless, impatient noise, whimpering as he tightens his grip on his cock and speeds up, hips canting upward. 

“Stop,” Fëanáro says harshly without meaning to. He finds himself reaching out and running his fingers down the soft skin of Ñolofinwë’s palm. Pulling away when Ñolofinwë attempts to grab his hand. “Go slowly. As you were.” 

The moan that falls out of Ñolofinwë’s mouth is raw and jagged with desire as his hand slows once more, grip still tight as he fists himself. Fëanáro touches his hand again, lightly tracing Ñolofinwë’s fingers, thoughts blurring as he watches. “Loosen your grip,” he says, his own voice gone helplessly thick with desire. He pulls his hand away when Ñolofinwë makes to grab it and receives a quiet whine in response, even as he obediently loosens his grip.

“Fëanáro,” Ñolofinwë says softly, a thin, pleading note to his voice. “Will you not fuck me?” 

He swallows, feeling nearly dizzy with how all the blood has rushed to his cock and how terribly he wishes to do exactly that. Instead he touches Ñolofinwë's hand again, moving even closer and picking it up, cradling it between his own when this time Ñolofinwë obediently does not grab at him. "Speed up again," he says as he presses his mouth to Ñolofinwë's wrist, drinking in the whine he receives in response. He scrapes his teeth over Ñolofinwë's pulse and watches the blur of Ñolofinwë's hand as he drags himself closer to the edge, whimpers sneaking out of his mouth as he fucks up into his hand, his eyes never leaving Fëanáro's face.

“Stop. Slowly again if you must, don’t spill yet.” 

Ñolofinwë makes a pained noise, biting at his lip as he slows down. Fucks up hard into his fist with a strangled gasp when Fëanáro takes his thumb into his mouth, scraping his teeth across the pad, and sucking hard as he hollows his cheeks. “Fëanáro, please,” Ñolofinwë says, nearly begging, mouth parted as he watches Fëanáro with such pure, naked want on his face that it is suddenly quite impossible for him to do anything other than taste that want for himself. 

He has dropped Ñolofinwë's hand and moved to kneel next to him before he has even processed the decision to do so. Has leaned down in the next second and claimed his half-brother's mouth, tangling his fingers in Ñolofinwë's hair and wrapping a hand around his throat to hold him still. Kissing Ñolofinwë is so painfully sweet, his mouth immediately falling open for Fëanáro to explore, a myriad of soft, bitten-off moans being passed from his tongue to Fëanáro's. He is clutching at Fëanáro's shirt, trying to pull him in closer. He can feel that Ñolofinwë has stopped touching himself, distracted by Fëanáro's mouth, by trying to pull Fëanáro on top of him.

“Keep touching yourself,” he murmurs, pulling back only as much as he must to get the words out. “I am not going to fuck you.” 

Ñolofinwë whines and strains to reclaim his mouth even as he begins moving his hand once more. “You want to,” he accuses. “Why not give me what we both want?” 

“You. Are. Drunk.” He emphasizes each word by sharply nipping at Ñolofinwë’s bottom lip and then shudders when Ñolofinwë’s wandering hand finds his cock and begins to stroke it through his breeches. Knows his self-control will not survive if he allows Ñolofinwë to continue touching him so. Lets go of Ñolofinwë’s throat to grab his wrist and pin it above his head. “You would not so easily offer yourself up to me this way if you were not.” 

The laughter that shakes through Ñolofinwë's body is a surprise, the wry smile that follows one as well. "If I believed you to be open to it perhaps I would. It is strange that my drunkenness bothers you so."

"Indeed," he mutters, kissing Ñolofinwë again. He could not say how long they kiss for as Ñolofinwë slowly fists his cock. Knows that the moans slowly become more and more desperate, Ñolofinwë shifting restlessly. He attempts once to pull his wrist from where Fëanáro has it pinned, making a needy noise when Fëanáro tightens his grip hard enough that it will surely leave a bruise. It is dangerously intoxicating having Ñolofinwë's mouth on his. Having his half-brother pinned down and craving his touch, begging for his cock. He did not allow himself to drink enough to get drunk but he swears it must still be the alcohol buzzing in his veins that is making him want so desperately to fuck his half-brother.

His cock is painfully hard, the want buzzing through him and leaving him dizzy as he pulls away from Ñolofinwë’s mouth. He looks down to where Ñolofinwë’s hand is still slowly moving, his cock flushed red, and wants and wants and wants. He is not thinking anymore when he reaches down and gently grasps Ñolofinwë’s wrist, pulling his hand from his cock and bringing it to his own mouth. He takes two fingers into his mouth, curling his tongue around them as bitterness bursts across his tongue. Ñolofinwë is watching him with a dark, mindless want, mouth parted as he fights to pull his wrist from Fëanáro’s grip.

If Fëanáro were not utterly sure that letting go of Ñolofinwë's wrist would end with him fucking his half-brother into the ground then perhaps he would let him go. Instead, he lets Ñolofinwë's hand drop back down, fingers slick with Fëanáro's spit.

 "Keep touching yourself," he rasps out, watching as Ñolofinwë obeys, stroking himself tight and fast. "Good, that's good," and his voice comes out too soft, too gentle as he watches Ñolofinwë arch upward with a strangled moan at the words. "Go on then," he continues softly, reaching down, as if through a dream, and tangling his fingers with Ñolofinwë's so that they're fisting his cock together, "Spill for me."

Ñolofinwë’s cock is blood-hot beneath Fëanáro’s fingers as he spills, moaning so loudly that the sound echoes through the trees. Fëanáro strokes him through it, watching avidly as he shakes apart. Finally releases Ñolofinwë’s wrist once he’s gone still, panting slightly as he comes down. Moves instead to fumble with his own laces, feeling mildly desperate, and groans in relief as he gets a hand around himself, Ñolofinwë’s seed still sticky on his fingers. Only manages to stroke himself once before Ñolofinwë has made an inarticulate noise of want and surged upward, forcefully toppling him backwards. 

He curses as he lands awkwardly on his back and then curses for an entirely different reason when Ñolofinwë’s mouth is suddenly upon him. He quickly takes as much of Fëanáro’s cock as he can into his mouth, groaning with pleasure around him, and Fëanáro no longer possesses the self-restraint to pull him off. Can only tangle his fingers in Ñolofinwë’s hair and brutally fuck up into the warm mouth being so freely offered, groaning with pleasure as Ñolofinwë chokes slightly around his cock. He gets his feet beneath him and holds Ñolofinwë still by his hair as Fëanáro takes his mouth with short, quick thrusts of his hips.

Fëanáro has been on edge for too long to savor this as long as he would like. Ñolofinwë’s nails are digging into his hips, the wet heat of his mouth, and his moans as Fëanáro fucks down his throat, sending Fëanáro over the edge far too quickly. He pulls hard at Ñolofinwë’s hair as he spills, moaning as Ñolofinwë swallows around him. Ñolofinwë does not pull off until Fëanáro is shivering and spent and tugging hard at his hair to pull him away. Buries his face against Fëanáro’s hip afterward, breath warm and shaking against his skin. 

Fëanáro stares up at the canopy of leaves above his head, fighting to catch his breath, and gentling his touch as he takes to stroking Ñolofinwë's hair. Considers the entire situation and has the irritating feeling that he might as well have simply fucked Ñolofinwë as he'd wanted to for all the good that denying them both did him. He's rather certain as well that he should be feeling far more regretful or dismayed about the entire situation now that his mind is clearer. He finds though, that the only truly strong emotion he has about the entire thing is an intense desire to find out if Ñolofinwë will want this once he is sober as well.

A breeze blows through the forest, and he shivers, sitting up and making an amused noise when Ñolofinwë rolls onto his side, grumbling at being dislodged from his position. He curls in toward Fëanáro, blinking up at him sleepily, and there is not a trace of regret to be found anywhere on his face. Fëanáro knows that there is a story behind Ñolofinwë’s decision to pull such a foolhardy move. Knows that it cannot be explained away by alcohol and bad decisions, and make no mistake, he will be pulling the true reasoning from his half-brother after they have slept. In the moment though, Ñolofinwë is soft and sleepy and watching him quietly, and Fëanáro finds that he wants nothing more than to claim another kiss.

He sighs and grabs both of their blankets before lying down next to Ñolofinwë and pulling him in close. Ñolofinwë hums softly when Fëanáro kisses him, pressing up against him fully and draping an arm over his waist. “Are you going to remember this properly when you wake?” he asks, wondering if he should not make them sleep separately. He does not particularly feel like being punched if Ñolofinwë wakes up with no memory of this.

"Hm, I hope so," Ñolofinwë mutters, shoving a leg between Fëanáro's and clenching his fingers in the back of Fëanáro's shirt as if daring him to try moving away. "If I don't, I suppose you will simply have to remind me. With your mouth on mine preferably."

“Remind you,” he says flatly. “You seem sure that you would take that well even if you do not remember.” 

"Oh, Fëanáro," Ñolofinwë says quietly, kissing him again and sighing softly when Fëanáro begrudgingly kisses him back. "Ask me why after we have slept and my head is no longer spinning unpleasantly, perhaps then you will actually believe me." He buries his face against Fëanáro's throat after, and he huffs in annoyance at the non-answer, but does not push. Is rather sure that Ñolofinwë is not exaggerating about his head spinning.

"Fine, sleep then, Nolvo," he says, pressing his face to Ñolofinwë's hair. He has the feeling, that though it is not the answer he had been looking for or wanted, he has gotten an answer. He is only not sure what question it is answering. But, they are meant to be out hunting for several days, which means he has plenty of time to pin Ñolofinwë down and fuck the answers out of him if necessary. It is a far more pleasurable tactic than he’d been expecting to use, and one far more likely to land them both in a good deal of trouble if it is found out, but he cannot find it in himself to complain regardless.

For now, he holds Ñolofinwë closer than he ever has before and listens to the soft sound of his half-brother's breathing, his breath warm again Fëanáro's throat. He knows that he should feel guilty and resentful, that it should not be so easy to wrap himself around his half-brother after committing such acts, but Ñolofinwë makes a soft noise and tightens his grip on Fëanáro's shirt, and nothing has ever felt easier than to tug their blankets over them more securely and press his lips to Ñolofinwë's hair. He lets the sound of Ñolofinwë's breathing slowly lull him to sleep, and though he should not, in the back of his mind, he is already plotting how to keep this.

☀︎

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Chapter End Notes

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