Only Us by cytryne  

The rasp of stone across metal filled the air as he sharpened his blades, a bloodstained cloth from cleaning it resting against the rocks next to him. Curufin had finished his own maintenance long before. He sat across from him on the boulder still, eyes fixed on the bustling camp far below them. Packing up to move again. Ugh.

Celegorm’s nose wrinkled that the thought. Nargothrond. This was a terrible idea.

“We could still head east, go under Doriath to Ossiriand or Thargelion.”

Curufin laughed. It was tight with pain, the thick white bandages stretching up onto his lower neck. A nasty side wound from a lucky orc. “With what supplies? What army? We cannot afford months spent detouring south.”

“Better than months to years spent with Arafinweans,” he sneered. The decision from earlier in the day still sat uneasily with him, outvoted as he was. There was a reason Curufin was given the political controls, but this…it felt like an axe above their heads. Orodreth’s assurances only made it worse. “Do you really believe they’ll let us leave their precious hidden city once we’ve regained our strength?”

“They’ve let trade go in and out plenty. We’ll be fine.” Curufin waved a hand at him without even looking. 

Celegorm rolled his eyes, his words coming out a touch more annoyed now. Confident was Curufin’s worst mood. “Trade with others, not us. Finrod may be forgiving but he will not trust us enough to freely come and go.”

“Would you prefer to keep throwing ourselves against the Enemy until we all die?” Curufin glanced at him for only a second to glare. “We may have beat them back for now but we cannot hold out for long with these losses. We lost the Pass, we failed to cover Himring, and now we’ve lost the damned Vales too. Retreat is our only option.”

“But to a hole in the ground to cower with the rest of them? Hide until we die?” Disgust filled his tone and he shook his head, scraping the edge of his blade with more force than necessary. “Watch, they’ll turn us out at the last moment just to laugh at us as we die.”

Curufin turned fully to him. He brought a knee to his chest, leaning forward and inspecting Celegorm with those too clever eyes. His hair shone in the orange light of sunset. “What has gotten into you? They are still our kin, no matter our disagreements. They will not be so unkind.”

“You give them far too much credit. All they’ve given us is empty words, promises of support that vanish at the first sign of trouble while they hide away in hidden kingdoms and Thingol’s lands. They’ve left us to hold the line and suffer while they get rich in their cities.”

“They have at least tried. Tol-Sirion—“

“—ah yes, because Orodreth—“ Tyelko threw his arm out over the camp, the visible demonstration of what they’d suffered rescuing Orodreth—“was such a help. One of us could have held that outpost with half the effort, and better for it too.”

Curufin grimaced, but conceded that point. Celegorm continued his rant unabated. “At least the Nolofinweans have tried to stay north with us. They keep a portion of the line still. But the Arafinweans? This is all they do. And you believe limping to Finrod will help?”

“I believe kinship will be deterrent enough against bad behavior. Finrod has always been sentimental for the good old days, and he’d never risk spilling elven blood again. It would ruin his connections to Doriath.”

Risk spilling elven blood. The words echoed in his mind, the memories of the Oath and Alqualondë suddenly pulled to the forefront, and his heart sank as an uncomfortable suspicion grew in his mind. No, they would not. Many would not. But his brothers would not have the same luxury if any elven kindred stood in their way again, and if Curufin were so strongly in support of them…

Celegorm looked his brother in the eyes, deathly serious. “Would you?”

Curufin blinked. “Excuse me?”

“Would you risk spilling their blood? Would you kill our cousins if they blocked us from our Oath?”

Curufin laughed, resettling his weight and glancing to the side. He’d never heard something so obviously fake from his perfect little liar of a brother. “They would never.”

“But would you?” Celegorm pressed, urged on by some instinct he didn’t know how to name. He needed this confirmation that Curufin was still with him. He needed to know this, like a tether yanking at his fëa until he couldn’t think of anything else. “If they were to block us in there when Maedhros calls, if we were to get an advantage they don’t like, if someone else managed to get ahold of the Silmarilli first and gain their protection? Would you fight them?”

Curufin shook his head. “We will never need to, Tyelko. They know better than that. They might have their grudges against us, but they know what we swore and why. They won’t get in the way.”

Dismissal. Denial. He was avoiding the question. Celegorm picked at the ground, tossing pebbles off the boulder. Anger rose the longer Curufin dismissed him, the more he insisted everything would be fine instead of listening to anything he had to offer. He spoke harshly now, irritation and the sick sense of fear urging him into anything, anything that may force Curufin to listen. This mattered more than comfort.

“I would.” 

Curufin looked back at him, eyes wide, and Celegorm bared his teeth. The words came out just a touch faster. Rougher. His blood boiled the longer he thought on it, that tugging an irresistible force he needed to fulfill. Curufin needed to agree with him. Curufin always agreed with him, on everything that mattered. He’d stepped up as eagerly as him for the Oath. This couldn’t be the breaking point. Not over Arafinweans.

He couldn’t be the wrong one here. He’d prove it, even if he had to drag it out of Curufin.

“I’d do it happily, painting their precious little hidey holes red with the blood of anyone who dared stand in our way. Let them see what happens when they interfere.”

The blood drained from his brother’s face as he spoke. Curufin looked vaguely sick. He knew what that looked like, now. Curufin had thrown up every time he remembered Alqualondë for a year. Too soft. Possibly even soft enough to step aside when he had to fight, to force them to treat him as an enemy as well. Celegorm’s hand curled into a fist.

“This isn’t funny, Tyelkormo.”

“I’m not joking.” He placed his blade and stone to the side, leaning forward into Curufin’s space. The words kept coming out in a rush, deadly serious. It felt like he’d been taken over by some other instinct, fear burrowing into his heart and allowing this other urge to hurt and hurt and hurt until it made his blood sing in glee and Curufin was the only target. And oh, did he know how to hurt Curufin. He knew everything that made his brother tick, good and bad and every depraved desire he’d ever tried to hide.

Curufin shook his head again, a touch quicker this time. Less controlled. He seemed shaky. He tried to scoot back, away from Celegorm, and Celegorm grabbed his wrist tight. The sky burned the red of blood as the sun dipped even lower.

Fine. Fine. His blood roared in his ears, dizzy with the force of his own anger. This need to lash out, to put the shame and horror of being alone in this on the hands of someone else. 

“I’d kill all of them. Spill their blood all over the floor at even the hint of blocking us from our path, make them beg for mercy, laugh as they failed to defend everything they treasure. It would be fun.”

Curufin wrenched his wrist back and Celegorm yanked it forward. Curufin cried out in pain as the motion bent his injured side but he ignored it, grabbing his opposite shoulder to keep Curufin close. His breath puffed onto his face as he spoke, visible in the cold air.

“Then I’d fuck you in it.“ 

Curufin froze. He shook his head slowly, mouth open to give countless finely worded denials, but he didn’t get a chance.

Celegorm kissed him. Curufin snapped his mouth shut, biting deep into his lower lip, and Celegorm moaned. He could feel Curufin grimace against him, but he didn’t let it stop him from pressing his entire body closer as he broke the kiss.

“You’re disgusting,” Curufin snapped immediately, free hand coming up to wipe blood off his lips, and Celegorm laughed. He didn’t know what he was saying anymore. 

“You aren’t as stealthy as you’d like, little brother, feeling me up every time I get back from fighting. You wouldn’t care if the blood you’re fucked in is red or black so long as you get a dick up your ass and blood on your skin.”

Curufin stared at him like he’d never seen him before. “I would. I would, like everyone would, because killing other Eldar, our kin, is fundamentally different than orcs. It would be disgusting and wrong.”

The words hit him like a knee to the gut. Celegorm laughed, sharp and full of a cruelty he only rarely directed towards Curufin. Disgusting and wrong, was he? Fine. He’d prove Curufin was too, and that would fix the whole little Arafinwean problem. Curufin would never let himself lean into a relationship with them if he was burdened down with enough guilt. He'd stick to the people who would understand him, like Celegorm.

“You’d stop caring as soon as the thrill of the hunt got you,” he dismissed, letting go of Curufin’s shoulder to twine his fingers through all that pretty black hair. “You did at Alqualondë, after all.”

Curufin recoiled like he’d been punched. Celegorm wasn’t done.

“But this isn’t going to happen, is it? If you’re so convinced they’re trustworthy and we’ll never need to fight them, what’s the harm in indulging a little?” He pulled Curufin’s hair tight, running his tongue up the point of Curufin’s ear. Curvo shuddered against him. “No one needs to know.”

“I don’t wa—“ Celegorm bit the tip of his ear and Curufin cried out, words cut off in their tracks. Arousal tainted the sound no matter what he’d try to claim.

Celegorm licked around the bite mark then closed his mouth around it and sucked. Curufin squirmed, high bitched, breathy gasps escaping him as he tried not to give Celegorm what he wanted. 

“I—nnn—I’ll tell Nelyo.”

That made Celegorm actually laugh, pulling away from his little brother to meet him face to face again. “No you won’t, because then you’d have to admit it made you hard too.”

“I’d never.”

The resolve in Curufin’s voice was rather undermined by the gasp he let out as Tyelko pulled on his hair again. Celegorm grinned, the sharp, smug thing his friends had learned to fear just as much as his enemies. Confident. He’d enjoy this, Curvo too whether he admitted it or not, and it would all be under control.

“Wanna bet?”

Curufin looked at him warily. Celegorm didn’t wait for a response, bridging what little gap remained to straddle his legs instead. Secure, he let go of his wrist and reached for the edge of his deep red tunic. He skirted around the injury as he ran a hand up his waist, nails a constant tease.

“If I can make you come—“ he reached Curvo’s nipple and pinched it roughly, rewarded with a sharp inhale— “you’ll listen to me once we get to Nargothrond. If you actually don’t enjoy it, you can keep your moral high ground and I’ll play extra nice. Deal?”

“Absolutely not.” 

Celegorm ignored him. “Just imagine it, Curvo. The rush of battle, heat of a successful fight against good opponents, pride of domination. You’d be putty in my hands.”

Celegorm twisted Curvo’s nipple between his fingers until he flushed a deep red and lost his glare, then pushed his shirt up and sucked his head. He ran his tongue in circles around the now-pebbled nub, flicking over it gently and teasing it with the wet warmth of his mouth until Curvo let out another little gasp. Then he sucked.

Curvo rocked forward, pressing his chest further into his mouth with a bitten off moan. 

“Push you up against a wall halfway through and kiss you, wipe the blood from my hands onto your shirt,” he rambled, unable to stop the stream coming out. Fantasies mingled with anger and fear and disgust at himself until he didn’t know if what he was saying was pleasant at all, or if he’d fallen prey totally to that gaping need for control. But he could feel himself start to harden, so it must be doing something. “Get you all messy until you can’t escape the reality of what we’d done.”

Curufin shoved at him with both hands and Tyelko batted them aside, pressing onto his bandages until he bared his teeth and cursed. But he stopped trying to get away. Celegorm let go off the bandage and reached down with one hand, resting it on the slight bulge of Curvo’s cock. 

“Maybe even stop halfway through, fuck you in front of the people we’re about to kill. Give them one last show. You’d love that, little whore.”

“Bastard,” Curufin sneered, “I’m not you.”

Amused, Tyelko squeezed the bulge of his dick and watched as he screwed up his face with the effort of not talking. He clicked his tongue mockingly. “Seems like you like it just as much.”

“I do no—“

His voice cut off in a muffled groan as Celegorm’s hand vanished from sight and wrapped firmly around his dick. He was, he noticed with far too much glee, already half-mast. It wouldn’t take much more.

Tyelko leaned in close and dropped his voice to a purr, letting his breath tickle the delicate skin of Curvo’s ears. “It would be Findarato’s fault, you know. He always presses on the wrong things. You’d be so angry you’d be stunning with it.”

He could almost see it. Curvo's blade dripping with blood, face flushed with rage as he yelled at their cousin for his crimes. He'd beg him to reconsider at first then close off, stern and hard as he drove his blade through the blonde's heart. He'd look like an avenging god, a Maia not Marred by their enemy or twisted by the Valar. Something perfect, fey and untouchable, and yet so his. Only his, for Curvo had not let anyone else in his bed since his son's birth. And then he'd turn his head and latch that sharp gaze onto Tyelko, and Tyelko would give him what he so desperately needed.

The real Curufin shook his head rapidly. His eyes were wide and damp, so visibly torn between dismay and arousal. Pretty. Celegorm scraped his teeth up the side of his ear and breathed out the finishing blow. 

“I’d fuck you in front of his corpse, let you get all that energy out.”

Curufin’s face collapsed into something. Self-loathing, perhaps? Fear? Rage? Desire? He blinked several times, rapid, his breath kicking up a notch, and Tyelko slid his nails along the underside of his dick. 

His breath turned into a high pitched whine of reluctant arousal, hardening fully even as he acted horrified. He thrust loosely into Tyelko’s hand but kept that damned self-control of his, still too composed to actually say what he felt. Curvo would need to admit it for the guilt to stick.

Fine. If he had to. The words rushed out like an arrow, aimed at the soft spots of arousal he knew so well. Fantasies his brother enjoyed, twisted into this macabre horror of desire. Anything for a reaction.

“I’d lay you out in a hallway I think. Maybe against a balcony, I’ve heard Findarato’s ridiculous cave has ridiculous drops and internal bridges. Lift you up against it and fuck you there.”

He yanked down Curvo’s pants to his knees then reached back, fumbling for the oil he’d used on his blades even as he untied his own pants to pull his cock out. Celegorm met Curvo’s eyes as he slicked up two of his fingers, drinking in the disdain and arousal there. Curufin truly was most gorgeous when he wanted to stab you. 

“I think I’d scoop up some of the blood pooling on floor for this, use it to get you all nice and wet for me. It’s not like they’d need it anymore.”

Curufin’s face screwed up, disgust painting it as he stayed stubbornly silent. But his cock betrayed him, jerking at the thought. Celegorm laughed.

He slid his fingers into Curvo’s ass one after another, scissoring them roughly. Curvo was always so tight.He could fuck him every day for a month and still he would never feel looser. From keeping a stick up his ass all the time, he assumed. His other hand gripped Curvo’s cock. Firm strokes kept it from flagging despite the rough treatment, teasing at the tip and spreading oil and precum all the way down to the base.

Curufin squirmed under him, pushing into his hand one moment and away from his fingers the next. His face was flushed bright red, lip caught between his teeth until it started to bleed with the force of his desire not to talk. 

Celegorm leaned forward and sucked the bitten lip into his own mouth, soothing it with his tongue. He slid a third finger in as he did, brushing against a spot he hadn’t reached before and finally, finally, Curvo moaned loudly into his mouth. 

He crooked his fingers and Curvo groaned. Panting filled the air as he shifted to his neck, sucking and biting at the sensitive spot under his ear until everyone would know they’d fucked. Curvo ground down onto his fingers and Celegorm rewarded him with another set of tight strokes of his dick.

“Or I could,” he paused to breathe, pressing his face into Curvo’s hair, “take you on the floor. Ruin your hair with their blood, get enough in that you’d take forever to rinse it all out. Leave a massive clean spot so everyone—everyone knew what we’d done. Paint your skin red.”

Curvo’s eyes wrinkled up as he withdrew his fingers and he chased after him, that same awful glorious mix of anger and disgust now taken over by his wanton need. Celegorm drunk it in like he’d been starving, the demonstration filling that part of him that needed to drag someone else down with him. Make Curvo feel just as fucked up and lost and confused.

He sheathed himself in Curvo in one swift stroke. They both moaned, the friction eased by oil and stretching until it was just the right side of painful. 

“So good,” he moaned, pulling out halfway and shoving back in. It must’ve caught Curvo’s prostate on the way because he whimpered, pressing down to meet him halfway. Curvo pulled him closer, hands wrapping tight around Tyelko’s shoulders, and Tyelko laughed breathlessly. 

“Be better—be better with the rush and grime of battle still, feeling them cursing us from the Halls but too desperate to move somewhere else. Take you like a bitch in heat.”

Curvo sobbed out a moan, self-control finally breaking fully at those words. His ground down Tyelko’s dick, cock leaking more precut between them. He clenched down tight and Tyelko rewarded him with another nibble on his ear. “I—Damn you.”

Tyelko grinned, his turn for it to be laced with the acidic poison of self-hatred. “We already are, may as well enjoy it.”

Curufin leaned forward into his chest. Tyelko didn’t let him hide his face. He cupped his chin and pulled him up, kissing him like he hadn’t in centuries. He poured all his anger, his fear, his self-hatred into it until, pulling his brother down with him. Always down with him. 

They broke apart and he pressed their foreheads together, rocking deep until his balls slapped his brother’s ass and he couldn’t fit a finger between their pelvises. It wasn’t enough. It was never enough to fill the gaping hole in his chest, but it was better when he could watch Curvo break too. Pain at his hand better than dismissal.

“Tyel—Tyelko please,” Curvo moaned. Finally, finally, Tyelko smiled. Victory made it easier to be softer.

“There you are,” he murmured, “thank you.”

He thumbed the head of Curvo’s dick, stroking and twisting at the same moment he bottomed out again. Curvo bit down on the fabric of his shoulder. His little brother came with a muffled string of curses, something incredibly hypocritical no doubt, and Tyelko pet down the side of his waist in a distracted comfort.

Tyelko moaned at the sudden clench and followed only a few seconds later, riding it out with shallow, unsteady thrusts. Cum spilled out onto his pants as he pulled out but he couldn’t be bothered to worry about it, flopping onto the stone and pulling Curvo with him.

Curvo stared up at the now dark sky for several minutes. Then he laughed. There was nothing funny about it. “Every time I think we’ve found the limit, you need to go digging deeper for something more depraved.”

Tyelko just shrugged, a deep bone-chilling cold settling over him as the pleasure faded. He’d do this again, he realized. He’d keep pushing, keep fighting everything Curvo said just to keep them the same, away from any chance of a fight more serious than an argument. Being isolated from other influences ate them alive.

Maybe Nargothrond would be a good idea. 

Chapter End Notes

I just love the idea of Celegorm accurately predicting Nargothrond's descent in the middle of a spat with Curufin. They both get to go through the next few decades with increasingly frantic levels of deja vu. Was it foresight? Lucky sarcasm? Who knows, but neither of them are going to forget that it was right any time soon.

I see him as one of the more perceptive brothers and the first to be heavily influence by the Oath, so this is kinda stop 0.75 on becoming Celegorm the Cruel who'd happily kidnap Luthien. He loves Curufin and can't stand the thought of fighting him, so clearly the appropriate reaction is...that. Clearly.

This is one of the darker things I've ever written. Skirting so close to necrophilia is not really normal for me so I'm simultaneously uncertain if I tried to pull back too far and failed to make it impactful, or leaned into it too hard.

Still, none of my other ideas came close to hitting quite as hard as this. Celegorm and Curufin failing to talk about their emotions over the Oath and the need to kill for it is an unbeatable dynamic for me. Codependent bastards dragging each other into the worst ideas.

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