half awake, takin' your chances by atlantablack  

Half asleep, takin' your time
In the tangerine, neon light, this is luxury
You're not sayin' you're in love with me
But you're going to
Half awake, takin' your chances
It's a big mistake, I said, "It might blow up in your pretty face"
I'm not saying, "Do it anyway"
But you're going to

Slut! | Taylor Swift

☀︎

The first time that Finrod allows Curufin back into his bed, he calls himself a fool and expects everything to end terribly, even if it cannot match the brutal ending of the first age. He wakes the next morning, expecting Curufin to have left while he slept, only to find that he is still being held tight in Curufin's arms.

Curufin had said that he was trying, had watched Finrod the same way one might watch an animal they are planning to spear, had touched Finrod like he was rediscovering the definition of desire. Finrod had still not thought he meant it. Finrod had not let Curufin back into his bed because he believed Curufin, though that makes him an even bigger fool. No, he had allowed Curufin back into his bed for no reason other than Finrod had missed him. A humiliating truth considering the way they had left things, but a truth nonetheless.

But now, he has woken to the first rays of sunshine beginning to filter through the windows, and Curufin still a brand of heat curled around him. Curufin’s mouth is pressed to Finrod’s shoulder, the damp warmth of his breathing leaving gooseflesh behind. His arm is draped across Finrod’s body, palm pressed atop Finrod’s heart, fingers splayed wide as if he had been counting the beats while he fell asleep. Curufin has shoved a leg between Finrod’s, hooking them together so that there is no way for Finrod to escape without waking Curufin. Though, he does not particularly wish to escape.

It is nice, the sunlight and the warmth of a solid body against his. It is nice to be able to think, at least for a little while, that perhaps Curufin had been speaking true when he said he was trying. Nice in a way that means Finrod will miss it terribly when it is gone again.

“You are thinking too loudly,” Curufin mumbles against his shoulder. “Go back to sleep, Ingo.”

Finrod blinks, the dust motes dancing in the sunbeams blurring before his eyes, and then he twists, putting them face to face. Curufin grumbles, eyes still closed even as he pulls Finrod in tight, slotting them back together. His fingers slip through Finrod’s hair as he pulls Finrod in close enough that he can see the barely there freckles sprinkled across the bridge of Curufin’s nose.

Curufin has not called him Ingo since long, long before the trees went dark. Had used the nickname so rarely, Finrod had not noticed when he erased it from his vocabulary fully. For the name to have so easily slipped off of Curufin's tongue now, when Finrod knows that even half-asleep Curufin does not say anything without meaning to, it tastes too much like hope.

Finrod presses his thumb to Curufin's bottom lip and exhales in a rush when Curufin nips sharply at it, grumbling again at being disturbed. The grumbling cuts off when Finrod kisses him; Curufin's hand slides slowly down his back, settling on the small of it and pulling Finrod in closer. It is such a strange, languid kiss, Curufin letting Finrod take the kiss where he wishes, and the hope swells without permission.

“You meant it,” he says quietly when he pulls away, “you actually intend to try.”

Curufin’s eyes finally open, half-lidded and weighed down still by sleep. “I meant it.” There is nothing so simple as softness in his voice, only a bullheaded stubbornness that Finrod recognizes well. 

“Will you promise me?”

“Would you be able to believe me if I did?” Curufin asks, voice knowing.

Finrod traces Curufin's collarbone with his finger, sighing at the truth of it. "No," he admits. "The lies always sound just as sweet as the truth when they are from your mouth."

Curufin’s mouth quirks up at the corner as he raises his hand to brush his knuckles over Finrod’s cheek. “I meant it. You’ll see.”

It is so stupid of him, foolish wants from a heart that has been lovelorn too long, but Finrod has missed being seen. Curufin had seen him clearer than anyone else, even if he had used all he saw against Finrod in the end. “Please, do not make me regret this,” he says quietly, tucking his head beneath Curufin’s chin and hiding his face.

Curufin hums quietly, pressing a kiss to his hair. “I won’t,” he says, voice the closest to gentle that Finrod has heard it in a very, very long time.

It is not a promise, it is not an oath, it is not enough to build anything on at all. Finrod should throw Curufin out of his house; if he had any sense at all, he would, but he only presses his mouth to Curufin's pulse and thinks of blood, warm and sharp in his mouth. Feels Curufin shiver against him and knows that Curufin has heard everything he has not said.

It is not enough to build anything on, but Curufin's hands are gentle, and the bed is warm, and it is hard to feel fear with the golden sunlight streaming through the windows.

It is not enough.

But Finrod can be patient until it is.

☀︎

Chapter End Notes

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