Five Gold Rings by Lifetime by AdmirableMonster  

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Snow Day

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Mairon found that he had run out of profanity.  Really, that shouldn’t even be possible, he thought grimly, hefting his suitcase.  He was an eloquent man.  He should have a bottomless well of the stuff, but there just weren’t words left.  Melkor was going to go—not to put too fine a point on it—spare, and Mairon’s bruises ached at the thought.  No.  He didn’t need to think about that right now.

What he needed to think about was where he was going to go.  Snow was falling thick and fast outside Union Station, and it was quiet, far quieter than Mairon had ever seen it.  Outside, it was quickly becoming a true whiteout; he couldn’t even see the cab stand in front a few feet away.  Maybe, Mairon thought morosely, he could just sleep here.  He’d spent nights in airports before, and it wasn’t like there was anyone who was going to try to rob him in weather like this. His back ached at the thought, and he stared down at the iphone in his hand.  It remained dead.

“Hey, are you okay?”

Mairon looked up, blinking in surprise, to find a concerned-looking young man bending over him.  He looked vaguely familiar for some reason, but Mairon couldn’t place him.  Perhaps it was just that he had a set of sharp cheekbones, dark eyes, and sleek pulled-back black hair that gave him something of the androgynous look Mairon was used to from the modelling world.

“I’m—” Mairon opened his mouth to say he was fine, and then everything crashed back down on top of him and a sob slipped out before he could stop it.

“Oh, shit.”  The man sat down next to him.  “Stuck here?”

Mairon nodded, taking deep breaths as he tried to get himself back under control.  He hadn’t actually let out any tears, thank god, just another soft little gulping noise.  “My fucking phone is dead, too, and I forgot the charger,” he said, trying to turn the exhausted mess of feelings into simple anger.

“Oof.” There was a pause, and Mairon sniffed, because the attempt at anger wasn’t quite working.  “Handkerchief?” the stranger offered, holding one out, and that surprised a laugh out of him.

“Handkerchief?  Who carries around handkerchiefs?”

“Me.”  He got a friendly grin for that, and he found himself taking the handkerchief.  “It’s clean, don’t worry.”  Clean and freshly starched, with the initials ‘T.F.’ embroidered in one corner.  Mairon almost hated to use it, but the guy had offered, so he rubbed it vigorously across his face and then blew his nose.

“Thanks,” he said awkwardly, not sure if he should hand it back.

“You’re welcome.  So…”  For the first time, the stranger seemed a little nervous and awkward himself.  “You don’t even have a hotel?”

Mairon shook his head with a sigh.  “Flight was delayed for hours, then it was cancelled, so I stupidly tried to come down here and see if I could make the last train to somewhere that wasn’t going to be snowed under for the next three days, but then they cancelled that too.  And by that time, my phone was dead, and—” he nodded to the whirling white outside.  “Well.  I don’t know how I’d even get to a hotel.”

“Yeah, it’s not great out there.  Listen, I don’t usually do things like this, but would you like to come back to my place and crash there?  I’ve got a spare bed made up and everything.  My brother and his boyfriend were supposed to be visiting, but their train got cancelled too.  It’s within walking distance, so we should be okay to make it there.”

Mairon stared at him.  Part of him wanted to demand if the guy was crazy; part of him wondered vaguely if this was how he got murdered by a surprisingly enterprising serial killer.  But he was exhausted and the thought of a warm bed somewhere that wasn’t a train station currently sounded like the actual holy grail.  “Thank you,” he said.  “I—thank you very much.  I’d appreciate that.”

“Great.  Got any suitcases?”

“Just this one.  The other one seems to have gotten lost in the shuffle.”  A shiver ran down Mairon’s neck at the thought of how Melkor was going to react to that, but he’d figure it out later.  He always figured things out.  “So I won’t have to walk around naked,” he added with a slight grin, and was rewarded with a faint pink tinge on the other man’s cheeks.

“Um, uh.  Yes.  Good.”  He put out a hand.  “I’m Telperinquar Finwion, but my friends call me Tyelpe.  You?”

Mairon froze for half an instant.  Fuck.  No wonder he’d looked familiar.  He didn’t do any modelling these days, but of course his father had had him doing it a few years ago, and Mairon knew the faces of everyone who had ever modelled for the company owned by Melkor’s biggest rival.  Fëanor Finwion.  Otherwise known as his new friend’s father.

All of this flashed through Mairon’s head in an instant, and then he put out his hand as well, and it only trembled a little.  “I’m Annatar Aulendil,” he said, with a winning smile, drawing from a name he used to toy with using when he was still thinking of being a designer instead of just a model.  He’d like the way A.A. looked.  He’d liked the meaning behind it.  And he really, really did not need Tyelpe putting two and two together and recognizing him.  It was a little surprising that he hadn’t already, maybe, but he hadn’t been modeling in several years, and Mairon had dyed his red hair blond for the most recent runway show.

“Pleased to meet you, Annatar,” Tyelpe said.  “Come on, let’s go back to my place and order dinner.”

Mairon exhaled shakily.  “Thanks again,” he managed.  “It’s been a pretty rough day.”

“I can tell.”  Tyelpe got up and held out a sympathetic hand for Mairon to take, then pulled him to his feet.  The brush of his fingers was warm, almost shockingly so.  Not like Melkor—cool hands, cool touch.  Mairon bit the inside of his cheek.  Why was he comparing Tyelpe to Melkor, of all people?

Outside, the snow was swirling madly.  It was impossible to see more than a foot or two in front of your face.  “Are you sure we can get back through this?” Mairon asked doubtfully.

“I know what I’m doing,” Tyelpe told him.  “I’m an architect—I have a good brain for city layouts.  And it’s not far.  But maybe we should hold hands, just to be safe?”

“Not a bad idea.”  What was he doing?  Why did the thought of holding hands with someone he’d just met send such a surprising shock of warmth roiling through his belly?  Slut, Melkor called him.  It used to be affectionate.  Mairon wasn’t sure if it was anymore; his boyfriend had grown so cold in recent years.  Well—he was a slut.  Had been.  True.  But he’d never—

Tyelpe was waiting, smiling, hand outstretched.  For fuck’s sake, it was just a hand.  Reaching out, Mairon took it in a firm grip.  It felt like a hand, to his absurd relief. 

For a little while, they just walked together, keeping close to the buildings on their side so that they could avoid losing their way in the heavily-falling snow.  But Mairon had never been very good at staying quiet, and he didn’t see much point in trying now.  “Architecture, huh,” he said, after a few moments.

“Yeah.  I majored in civil engineering in college.  What about you?”

“Me?”  It seemed so long ago now, like a faded, phantom dream.  “I majored in physics and graphic design.”  It was true, because that was how you lied: tell just as much of the truth as possible.  There was no need to lie about most things to Tyelpe, though he’d need to stop short of telling him anything that might let him guess who Mairon was.

“Ooh, that’s an interesting choice.  I definitely got tired of how many engineers sneered at the humanities.”

“Mmmhmm,” Mairon agreed.  “There’s a lot you can do, bringing together art and science.”

“There is,” Tyelpe agreed excitedly.  “My family’s always been big on that.”  They came to a crosswalk, the other side invisible in the blinding white, but the curb noticeable at Mairon’s feet.  At his side, Tyelpe paused, his voice fading away.  

“Family’s complicated,” Mairon tried.

“Yeah.  I love my family, but—yeah.”

He looked to the left and to the right.  “I don’t think there are going to be any cars on the road to look out for,” Mairon teased him.  

The wind had already whipped Tyelpe’s face to a pink glow, but he ducked his head in a way that suggested he would have blushed if he could have.  “Shut up.  It’s just one more block away.”

They walked in silence for the rest of the way.  It turned out not to be much farther, and Mairon was too occupied with shivering in his definitely-not-sufficiently warm coat.  It was designer (Melkor’s), but what it wasn’t was practical.  He was very relieved when Tyelpe stopped and buzzed himself into a doorway with a passcode, motioning to Mairon to follow him.  They went up a narrow flight of muddy stairs underneath a buzzing electric light.  On the third floor, Tyelpe paused and pulled out a set of keys with a fuzzy eight-pointed-star keychain dangling from them.  “Well, here we are,” he said, then unlocked the door, opened it, and stepped aside for Mairon to enter.

He hadn’t really known what to expect, but the grunginess of the stairway and the fact they were in downtown Chicago hadn’t really lifted those expectations.  He stepped inside and almost gasped, because it was like walking across the threshold from mundanity into something magical.

The apartment was small—in downtown Chicago that was pretty much a given—but it didn’t feel small.  A brightly colored rug on the floor and a cozy-looking couch occupied one corner, with the light wood of a bookshelf fencing it off from the “bedroom.”  There was a flat-screen TV sitting on the bookshelf, further enforcing the room divide that was so hard to make work in a studio like this.  The bed was tucked against the opposing wall, underneath a striking painting done in stark greys and reds; the bed itself was more neutral tones but somehow managed to look very welcoming, with pillows that were somehow just artfully disarranged enough, and a coffee table book lying neatly across one of them.  The apartment was also bright, because the entire wall was a window looking out on a now-very-snowcovered balcony.

The kitchen and dining “rooms” occupied the other side, nearer the door, walled off again with bookcases.  A charming little wooden table with a bowl of flowers on it stood in the dining area, and the kitchen was a tight little ring of gleaming modernity, with another painting on the wall, this one a much friendly affair of soft pastel purples and blues.

“Wow,” Mairon said, when he could speak.  “This is…I thought you said you were an architect, not an interior designer.”

Tyelpe grinned at him.  “We just had a conversation about the fluidity of talent,” he pointed out.  “Anyway, come in.  I doubt anywhere’s delivering, but I can offer you frozen pizza for dinner.”

With a grateful sigh, Mairon followed him in, dumping his bag underneath the table and stripping off his coat, shivering violently.  “Frozen pizza sounds perfect.  Thank you.  Where should I put this?”

“No problem.”  Tyelpe glanced at the coat.  “Just over the chair back should be fine.”  Mairon did so, and then collapsed into the next chair over wearily.

“Would you mind if I took a shower before eating, actually?  I am disgusting.”

“Go for it.  It’ll take a little while to preheat the oven and cook the pizza anyway.  Bathroom’s through there.  Do you need shampoo and stuff?”

“Shampoo and soap, yes,” Mairon said, halting.  “Can I?”

“Yeah, use mine.  There’s both in the shower.  I’ll get you some spare towels.”

“Thanks,” Mairon said gratefully.

The bathroom was also tiny but well-designed, and he stripped off his shirt, jeans, and briefs, folded them carefully and put them on the toilet before hopping into the shower.  He groaned gratefully as the hot water rushed over sore muscles—Tyelpe had a very powerful shower, almost on the knife edge of painful as it pounded into his bruised back and ass, but he needed it, after the day he’d had.

Humming quietly to himself, he found the shampoo and began to work it through his hair.  It smelled faintly, but not overpoweringly, of sandalwood, and the soap wasn’t scented at all.  Nothing like the shampoos that Melkor favored, and Mairon realized with a slight pang he hadn’t bought his own shampoo in literal years.  This was nice, though.  Muscles he hadn’t even realized he had were relaxing under the pleasure of the water.  His scalp tingled pleasantly.  He scrubbed himself with soap absolutely everywhere, getting off the detritus of travel, which always felt like an unpleasant kind of shell of dirt over him.

He got out of the shower, pleased and suddenly sleepy and a little hungry.  Spare towels, Tyelpe had said, so he poked his nose out the door and found that they had been left there, so he snagged them and began to rub himself down, not without another wince when he had to dry off his lower back.  Then he realized he’d left his pajamas in his bag under the chair, so he tied the towel around his waist and headed out into the main room, where Tyelpe was sitting at the dining table, reading something on a laptop.  The kitchen was filled with the pleasant smell of baking pizza.

“Oh—” Tyelpe looked up and then ducked his head again.  “Ah—I.”

“Left my pajamas in my bag,” Mairon told him, amused at his reaction.  

“Right.  Yeah.”  Tyelpe laughed and bit his lip in a way Mairon thought was almost unfairly cute.  He pushed some of his wet hair out of his eyes and instinctively found himself posing, enjoying the way Tyelpe’s eyes went round and his jaw slackened just a bit.  Still got it.  Come to think of it, it had been a while since he’d received such…personal attention.  And Melkor probably wouldn’t like it.  But what was the harm in a little light flirtation?

He bent down to dig through his bag and heard Tyelpe give a shocked gasp.  “Annatar—your back.”

Fuck.  He hadn’t even thought of that.  The bruises didn’t go all the way up his back—that would have been a problem given that Melkor routinely had him model backless outfits—but they went far enough up to be visible beneath the low-hanging towel.  Mind racing for an excuse, he stood up.  “Hm?  Oh, yeah.”  He laughed, keeping the pounding of his heart out of his voice.  “Looks bad, doesn’t it?”

“It looks terrible.  What happened?”

He took a moment to think.  Better than stumbling around and making it obvious it was a lie.  “I accidentally got in between a truck and the wall in a parking garage.  Sitting down has been interesting lately.”

“I’ll bet.  Jeez.”

“Don’t worry,” Mairon smirked. “I like a little pain now and then.”

He looked up, caught Tyelpe’s gaze, and deliberately flicked his tongue across his bottom lip.  A small voice in the back of his head noted that this was probably stupid, but he didn’t care.  They were snowed in.  He was a stranger.  He didn’t have any role to fill or responsibilities to keep track of.  And it was just a harmless little flirtation anyway.

“Do you,” Tyelpe echoed, sounding slightly helpless.  “Oh, the pizza’s ready,” he said hurriedly, as the oven dinged.

Mairon took the distraction as an opportunity to grab his pajamas and escape to the bathroom before his heart pounded out of his chest.  What was wrong with him?  He shut the door of the bathroom and leaned against it, still breathing fast.  He pulled on the pajamas—silky and decadent and a little too big for him, with a pattern of red flowers against the cream of the background, took another few deep breaths, folded the towels, and headed back out to the main room.

“I hope you like pepperoni,” Tyelpe said cheerfully, having apparently recovered his breath.  Hopefully, Mairon had also recovered his.  He took his seat at the table, wincing slightly.

“Love it.”

And he hadn’t eaten anything all day.  Nor had he had much to eat the day before, and he honestly could not remember the last time he’d been able to devour a pizza.  Models were supposed to eat healthily, and Mairon did like to cultivate a certain waifish look.  Although he sometimes thought he could stand to gain maybe ten pounds.  Whatever.  It was a snow day, so it didn’t count.  He grabbed a slice of pizza and was already stuffing it into his mouth when he saw that Tyelpe was giving him an amused look.

“What?” he said around the mouthful.

“I just—you’re very beautiful, I guess,” Tyelpe said awkwardly.  “But I’ve never seen anyone manage to eat pizza that messily.”

Mairon felt his cheeks going hot, and he reached for a napkin.  “I—uh,” he said.

“You’re hungry, it’s understandable.  Sorry.  I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”

Wrinkling his nose, Mairon folded the slice of pizza in half.  “It’s fine, I’m the one who walked out half-dressed without warning you.”

Tyelpe choked slightly on his drink.  “Um.”  He scratched his head.  “Were you doing that on purpose?” he asked lightly.  The question seemed to hang in the air.

“Would you like me to have been doing it on purpose?” Mairon asked in a low voice.  Snow day.  Doesn’t count.

“Honestly?”  Tyelpe swallowed and leaned across the table.  “Yes.  I would.”

“Then I was.”  He got a smile for that.  The other man’s entire face crumpled up into something winning and sweet and wholesome, so different from the expressions Mairon was used to seeing on the father’s face that it went straight to his heart and twisted it up.  “But before we do anything about that, I really want to finish this pizza.  I’m starving.”

The smile turned into a laugh.  “Of course.  I was going to pull out the trundle bed, but the main bed is more comfortable, so if you’d rather just sleep in that, I don’t mind.”  With me was very obviously implicit.

Mairon grinned at him, stuffing the rest of his pizza slice into his mouth.  Then he exaggeratedly licked off his fingers and sucked on one of them, watching in avid amusement as Tyelpe’s eyes followed the motion.  He swirled his tongue around it a few extra times for good measure, then wiped his hand on his napkin and reached for another slice of pizza.

He could probably have eaten the whole pizza, but at least half a pizza and some soda went a fair way to assuaging the knot of hunger in his stomach.  He was still warm and a little sleepy, but he had some more energy now.  Tyelpe reached for his plate as he finished up.

“I’ll do the dishes, my dishwasher’s a little finicky,” he said.  “And there’s not a lot of room in the kitchen.”

Mairon blinked at him.  “Oh.  Right.  Thanks.”  When was the last time he hadn’t been the one to do the dishes?  Well—snow day.  It was almost dreamy, how good he felt.  Maybe he was dreaming.  He got up and went over to flop onto the bed, which was just as comfortable as he’d expected it to be.  He whimpered slightly at the pain in his ass and flipped over onto his front.  There was a small bookshelf built into the back of the bed and with interest he pulled himself up on his elbows and began to inspect the titles.

“Ooh, lots of Conan.  I love Conan.”  He pulled out one of the books and flipped through it idly.  “These illustrations are gorgeous.”

“Do you like them?  My brother did those.”  Tyelpe finished putting plates into the dishwasher and came over to the bed.  “Curufin.  We’re a huge family of fantasy nerds and artists,” he grinned.  

“Are those his paintings on the bed and in the kitchen?”

“The one in the kitchen is.  The one above my bed is my eldest brother’s effort.  He doesn’t really—paint anymore now, but…” Tyelpe looked away, and Mairon remembered the oldest brother had been in a car accident a few years ago and had badly injured his hand.

“It’s fantastic,” he said quickly.  “Kind of eerie to have over the bed, what’s it of?”

“Supposedly it’s a volcano?  Once he said it was inspired by a dream, but he’s been a little cagey about it.”

“You sure are a talented bunch.  How many brothers do you have anyway?”

Tyelpe wrinkled his nose.  “Seven,” he sighed.  “I’m certain Dad wanted a girl, but he and Mom never managed it.”

Mairon whistled, although he already knew entirely too much about the Finwions.  “That is a lot of family.”

“What about you?  Do you have siblings?”

Mairon shook his head.  “There was just me and my dad.”  His stomach twisted at the thought that he had owed his father a phone call for about a year now, but he was always so busy.  And after their last argument—well.  It was complicated.  And it was a snow day, so he didn’t have to think about it now.  He smiled and leaned closer to Tyelpe, enjoying watching the other man’s pupils dilate slightly, enjoying feeling someone else’s warmth this close.  It was oddly easy.  “You’re not the only one who’s a fantasy nerd,” he said delightedly.  “In college, I did—a great deal of cosplay.  You should see my sexy Thulsa Doom.”

Tyelpe snickered.  “I suppose you’re the type to play wizards in tabletop, too.”

Mairon winked.  “You know it.”  He leaned forward a little.  “Let me guess,” he said in a low, inviting voice, “you always play virtuous barbarians.”

To his delight, Tyelpe blushed.  “Not always,” he said, sounding a little defensive.  “I usually play a smith, actually.” 

“You have my respect.  That’s not easy to pull off without being underpowered.”  When was the last time he’d played tabletop?  Uneasily, Mairon thought it might be back before he’d started dating Melkor.  Or…no, he had played since they’d started dating, just not—often.  He shoved the thought firmly down.  He didn’t need to be thinking about Melkor right now.

Tyelpe bumped his shoulder into Mairon’s.  “You’ve had a tough day, right?”

“Hm?  Yes.  Pretty much about as tough a day as you can get, I guess.”

“So, do you want to watch the original Conan movie?  Seeing as you’re such a fantasy nerd.”  His entire shoulder was warm along Mairon’s entire side. 

“You haven’t it watched it too many times yourself?”

“Nah.”  Tyelpe leaned back against the pillows of his bed, his eyes bright.  “Only about twelve.  I could definitely do a thirteenth.”

“A thirteenth, hm?” purred Mairon.  Everything felt easy, tonight.  Easier than it had in a long time.  “I’d love to.”

“Great.  Couch or bed?”

“Hmmm…” Mairon pretended to consider, then looked up at Tyelpe from beneath his eyelashes.  “Bed.”

Tyelpe took his hand suddenly and brought it to his lips.  “Your wish is my command.”  Then he went red and dropped it right away.  Mairon blinked at him in sheer astonishment, something about the juxtaposition drawing him onward to greater heights, and he flopped backward into Tyelpe’s lap, just slightly overdramatically exclaiming, “Please take me, lord barbarian.”

This time Tyelpe’s face flamed bright red.  “You—I need to get up to get the movie.”

Mairon bit his lip, smiled, and wriggled a little.  Then, figuring he’d made his point, he rolled back up.  “Of course.”

He found himself eying Tyelpe’s butt as the other man got off the bed to go over, turn the TV around on the book-case, and dig the DVD out from somewhere.

“Surely you don’t still have a DVD player?” Mairon needled lazily, mostly enjoying the view.

“I have an Xbox,” Tyelpe responded hotly.  “Shut up.”

“Mmm.”

The movie started playing as Tyelpe got back onto the bed.  Mairon smiled to himself and tucked himself firmly against Tyelpe’s side.  He had probably seen it as many times as the other man had, but it had definitely been a few years, and there was something very comforting about it.  Once again, he had a strange, floating sensation, as if he’d come unmoored, as if he were suddenly living in an alternate reality.

God, he’d forgotten how much the gladiator fights were a turn-on.  He’d forgotten how much of a turn-on this whole fucking movie was.  Mairon soon found himself squirming against Tyelpe.

“Hey,” Tyelpe laughed.  “I’m trying to watch the movie.”

“There was a suggestion of other activities, too,” Mairon pointed out, and Tyelpe laughed again.

“Fantasy gets you hot and bothered, I see.  No wonder you did a sexy Thulsa Doom cosplay.”  He turned sideways and brought soft fingers up to trace the shell of Mairon’s ear, lightly brushing his cartilage piercings, then the line of his jaw.  It suddenly became very difficult to breathe.  “God, you’re beautiful,” Tyelpe murmured.  “I promise I wasn’t trying to pick you up in that train station.”

“I know,” Mairon whispered back.  “You were just trying to help me out.”  Sudden tears pricked at the back of his eyes, and it occurred to him that Annatar could let them fall.  There was nothing stopping him, so he did.

“I didn’t mean to make you upset!”  Tyelpe sounded genuinely concerned; Mairon reached out to lace their fingers together.

“No, no, it’s just been a really long day,” he said.  On screen, Conan was running away from wild dogs.

“It sure sounded like it.  I’m really sorry you had to put with that.  Do you…just want to go to sleep?”

Mairon gave him a curious look.  “You’re just pure sugar with sugar on top, aren’t you?”

He got an exasperated look back.  “No.  I’m really not.  I just believe in kindness so I work to cultivate it, it’s not really a natural state.”

As Fëanor’s youngest child, no, it wouldn’t be, would it?  “That’s…impressive,” Mairon said slowly, because Annatar could be honest, if he wanted.  “Not something I suspect I’d ever be capable of.  I’m too impatient.”

Tyelpe snorted out a laugh.  “I’m not a saint, you clown.  Unlike you, I’ve been having a perfectly fine day, and now an incredibly attractive man has just dropped into my bed like a gift.”

“A gift, hm?”  Mairon leaned forward and nipped delicately at Tyelpe’s neck, getting a breathy exclamation and a wriggle.  Feeling daring, he slipped a hand up Tyelpe’s shirt, just to cup at his waist, and Tyelpe moaned softly.  

“Can I kiss you?” he asked, his eyes opening suddenly.  Mairon could feel him trembling, but the question surprised him.

“I have my hand up your shirt,” he said stupidly.

Tyelpe rolled his eyes.  “I don’t know you very well, and some people have unusual hangups.”

Another heartbeat.  “…yeah, you can kiss me,” Mairon managed, trying to figure out why his heart was thumping so absurdly loudly in his ears.

“Excellent.”  The next moment, Tyelpe’s mouth was hot on his, and their tongues were tangling together.  Any lingering concern Mairon had had that somehow all these questions meant that Tyelpe wasn’t interested were dispersed as the other man practically devoured his mouth.  Mairon moaned, his hand tightening on Tyelpe’s waist.  Tyelpe’s hands were in his hair, twisting and tugging, just on the very edge of pain, and that took Mairon from half-mast right to full hardness, his cock pressing through the thin silk of his pajamas up against Tyelpe’s jean-clad front.

After a moment Tyelpe pulled back, gasping.  “Can we get naked?”

“You don’t have to keep asking all these questions,” Mairon told him bluntly.  “I don’t have any weird hangups.”

Tyelpe paused and a surprisingly shrewd look flashed into his eyes.  “I don’t have to,” he agreed. “Do you want me to?”

Mairon opened his mouth and then shut it again.  “Does it matter?” he asked lightly and realized immediately after the words left it mouth that they had been the wrong thing to say.  He had simply been so overset by the idea of Tyelpe caring about what he wanted.  Foolish, foolish.

Tyelpe rolled up on one elbow.  “What the fuck?” he demanded.  “Yes, Annatar, it matters.  Of course it matters.”

Blowing out his breath shakily, Mairon looked away.  “I—I just meant, I’m pretty subby in bed,” he said, spitting out something true rapidly to cover his confusion.

“That’s all well and good, but I’m not going to have sex with someone I barely know if I can’t be sure we’re on the same page,” Tyelpe told him.  He sounded—angry.

“I’m sorry!”  God, he was too tired for this.  He just wanted to have one quiet day where he didn’t fuck everything up.

“Those bruises…” Tyelpe said quietly, and Mairon blinked in confusion and then sudden rising dread.  He could not let Tyelpe know where they’d come from.  Cheater.  He needed to get up and walk away from this mess right now.  Melkor was going to kill him, and if he did this, he’d deserve it.  But—just for this once.  Just for tonight.  Couldn’t he be Annatar Aulendil?  Annatar wasn’t a cheater, Mairon thought quickly—Annatar—perhaps Annatar was really the person that he strongly suspected Tyelpe thought he was.  Perhaps Annatar had a boyfriend who beat him when he didn’t want it.  It might not be enough to get Tyelpe back in bed, but it might be.  Mairon desperately wanted those gentle hands on himself again.

“I…” he said, letting hesitation rise to Annatar’s tongue.  

He saw Tyelpe’s eyes darken with concern.  “May I see them?” he asked gently.  “It’s—it’s—I totally understand if you don’t want me to—”

Annatar would go limp here, and it was so easy to be Annatar.  Mairon went limp, pressing his face into his arms.  Mutely, he hiked up the top of his pajama shirt and tugged down his pajama pants.  

Tyelpe looked down at him.  “Oh, God,” he said softly.  “Is that a handprint?  Annatar, is that—”

Annatar nodded jerkily.  “I didn’t want you to know,” he said thickly, pulling his pajamas back into place.  “I can’t be anything to you—I have to go back when the snow ends.”  Tell as much of the truth as you can.  It’ll make the lie more believable.

“Baby…” Tyelpe’s voice sounded heartbroken.  Wrecked.  “You don’t.  You don’t have to go back to someone who treats you like that.”

Biting his lip, Annatar turned over and forced a smile.  “It’s complicated,” he said.  “I don’t really want to talk about it?”

Tyelpe sighed, and Annatar wondered if this was when he got kicked out.  Or, if not that, at least banished to the trundle bed.  But Tyelpe leaned down and laced their fingers together again.  “This is probably the stupidest thing I have ever done,” he murmured.  “Let me make you feel good, baby, and we can—talk about it in the morning.”

Annatar groaned, then nodded.

“But—let me ask questions.  Let me know what you want.  Please?”

Taking a shuddering breath, Annatar nodded.  “I’ll try.”

“Okay.  Okay.  You still want this, right?”

That got a smile.  “Yeah.  I thought I’d fucked it up beyond repair.”

“Good.  I mean—good that you still want it, not that—”  Tyelpe coughed and cut himself off, then bent forward and brushed a light kiss at the top of Annatar’s hairline.  “Okay.  What do you like?”

What did Annatar like?  Not pain—you couldn’t like pain and be in Annatar’s situation.  Touching, though—hands all over him.  Mairon wanted that, too—Melkor didn’t really touch him tenderly anymore, and that was tiring—no.  Snow day.  You’re Annatar now.  “I like being touched,” he managed, pulling himself out of his brief reverie.  “Everywhere.  I like fingers in my hair.  I like things in my mouth.”

Tyelpe promptly put a hand in his hair and began to stroke through it.  “Like this?”  It was softer, gentler than anyone had petted him in a long, long time.  Annatar’s eyes fluttered shut, but his erection didn’t flag. 

“Just like that.”

“Do you just want touching?  Do you want more?”  A pause, and Annatar could hear Tyelpe’s grin in the next question.  “What exactly would you like in your mouth?”

Annatar hummed.  “Fingers, definitely,” he replied smoothly.  

Tyelpe chuckled.  “Just fingers?  I can work with that.”

“I didn’t say just fingers.”  He paused.  He wasn’t certain he could comfortably take penetration right now, and while he might get off on the pain, Annatar wouldn’t.  “I don’t think—I’m not sure what you were thinking, but I don’t think I can have anything inside me elsewhere.”

Nodding seriously, Tyelpe ran his fingers across the bottom of Annatar’s lips.  “We don’t have to have penetrative intercourse at all, if you don’t want to.  Or—” He bit his lip.  “I’ve been known to enjoy having a cock in me.”

  “Hgkh,” Annatar said, and his cock twitched.  “I—I’d like that.”

“Oh, would you?”  Tyelpe pushed two gentle fingers into his mouth, and Annatar moaned at the intrusive sensation, lathing his tongue around them.  “Yeah, just like that,” Tyelpe murmured, petting his head.  “And you said you’d be okay with oral?”

Annatar nodded eagerly, sucking Tyelpe’s fingers down and smiling up at him.  God, that face.  God, that crumpled-up crooked smile.  He thought he could drown in it.  Tyelpe moved his fingers a little, and petted Annatar’s hair.  “You’re really good at that, aren’t you?” he murmured breathlessly.

“Let me get your jeans off and I’ll show you?” Annatar replied hopefully.

“I—yes please.”  Tyelpe leaned back against the bed, letting his legs fall open invitingly.  Annatar knelt between them and slowly rubbed his hands up the inside of those thighs.  Tyelpe groaned softly, lifting his hips to let Annatar work off his jeans and boxers.  He was hard, his cock slim and a little smaller than Melkor’s, beautiful and perfect like everything about him.

“Mmmm…gorgeous,” Annatar told him, then leaned forward and took Tyelpe slowly into his mouth.  Tyelpe made another pleading noise, and his hand stroked through Annatar’s hair, slowly, though he didn’t tighten it.  He was so tender.  He wasn’t even moving, just hitching his hips slightly as he gasped softly.

Annatar swallowed him down as much as possible, his nose pressing into Tyelpe’s belly for an instant, and then he behind to move slowly up and down.  “Oh, fuck,” Tyelpe breathed.  “Damn.  Annatar, that’s so good—baby, that’s so good, oh fuck—“

He tasted of salt and sweat, and Annatar was surprised at how easy it was to take him like this, to spread him apart and open him up, as the snow fell softly outside.  “Hey,” Tyelpe said, gasping, “Hey, if you’re going to do that—why don’t we—there’s lube in the bedside table—”

Annatar’s cock twitched at the thought, and he pulled back for a moment, looking at Tyelpe’s beautiful face, the flush that was rising on his cheeks, the sweat beading across it.  Unlike Melkor’s now usually forbidding countenance, Tyelpe’s was open and pleading, desperate and excited.  It was obvious what he was feeling; Annatar didn’t have to guess.  “Yeah,” Annatar agreed breathlessly.  “Lube.  Yeah, right.  Right.”

He scrambled across the bed and dug through the bedside table, finding a large quantity of keys, jewelry, dice, and other little bits and bobs.  “You have—a lot of stuff in here.”

“The lube should be in the top layer, Annatar, please—”

“Someone needs to organize your drawers,” laughed Annatar, but he scooped up the lube—and a condom, for good measure—and flopped back on the bed between Tyelpe’s legs.  He coated two fingers with it and looked down.  “How many?” he asked, biting his lip.  “I—haven’t done this very often from this end, so tell me if I do something you don’t like?”

“Let’s start with two—I doubt I’ll need much preparation but it never hurts to be certain.”  There was a pause as Annatar reached out, and then Tyelpe tipped his chin up to look him in the eye.  “Thank you for asking,” he said quietly.

The intent was obvious—the manipulation almost clumsy.  But Annatar still felt heat rising in his cheeks and he blinked and realized that the tender yet intense quality of Tyelpe’s gaze was going right to his cock again.  “Mmmwelcome,” he managed and then he got Tyelpe to stop looking at him the only way he could think of, which was to push two fingers inside him and crook them so that Tyelpe’s eyes screwed up, and he gasped softly.

“Good?” Annatar asked, doing a fair approximation of what he usually did on himself.

“Mmmhmm.  Like that—oh—ah—yeah—”

Tyelpe’s eyes had fallen shut, and there was a lovely flush across the top of his cheekbones.  He was so beautiful like this, writhing on the sheets with Annatar knuckle-deep inside him.  How long had it been since someone else had willingly—given themselves into his hands like this?  Not—not that he wanted it, exactly, Mairon thought.  He was perfectly happy to be the one giving himself to someone else.  The snow, though, falling, outside—snow day.  Annatar.  Safe in an almost-stranger’s arms.  Or at least between an almost-stranger’s legs.  Even if he had seen that stranger’s face on the cover of a number of magazines before he stopped modelling.

Those long-lashed eyes flickered open and Tyelpe smiled lazily.  “I think I’m ready, baby.”  He reached out and traced a finger along Annatar’s jaw.

Annatar blinked at him.  “R-Ready?  Oh—oh.”  He pulled his fingers out of Tyelpe and paused to roll on the condom and line himself up.  He glanced up to see the snow swirling, and it encouraged him to press inside, slowly, because it was a slow night.  Tyelpe whined and pushed back against him, all tight slick heat clenching around him.

“Fuck,” Annatar gasped.  “Fuck, baby, you feel so good.”

Strangled noise.  “Right back at you, sweetheart.”

Tyelpe hooked his heels behind Mairon, and Mairon gasped and laughed at his insistence.  He let Tyelpe pull him down until they were pressed against one another chest to chest.  Tyelpe kissed him, and Mairon kissed him back, moving lazily inside him, barely even thrusting.  It still felt so good—his skin was warm and prickling all over, and Tyelpe was making soft, pleased little noises and moving his hips.

And then Tyelpe’s fingers rubbed across the back of Mairon’s neck—and it was warmth-safety-bliss-BLISS—Mairon moaned loudly into Tyelpe’s mouth and somehow managed not to come right then and there.  “Not fair,” he gasped.  “If I’m not fucking you hard enough, you can just say so—”

Tyelpe laughed delightedly and circled his hands lower down.  “Got a thing for your neck?”

“Gods,” Mairon moaned.  “Yes.”  He used to love it when Melkor held him down and choked him, but he had forgotten—or maybe had never realized—that a gentle touch to the back of his neck could elicit the same response.  “Mmm, baby,” he mumbled, “Tyelpe.”  He stroked his hands over Tyelpe’s lovely thighs, massaging at them, listening to those lovely, lovely little noises.  He didn’t want to fuck him hard or fast, didn’t want this to be over.

On a snow day, you could make love to somebody, couldn’t you?  

That wasn’t what this was.  That couldn’t be what this was.  But he wanted so badly to pretend.

“You feel really good, Annatar,” murmured Tyelpe, rocking his hips.  He kissed Mairon again, and Mairon could drown in those plush lips, in the hot slick feeling of Tyelpe clenching around him—drown happily, even.  Something inside him seemed to unspool, to crack, and his mind offered him a set of insane, impossible pictures—lying here, curled around this man—this stranger—this person he didn’t even know, except he was inside him right now—while Tyelpe petted his hair.  While they watched all the stupid Conan movies and the even stupider spin-offs.  While Mairon sketched designs and outfits with clever themes and physics-based magic tricks, with jewels and gems wherever he wanted them.  While Tyelpe leaned down and said something in that hushed, cheerful voice, something that sounded like he thought Mairon’s stupid designs were—were cool, beautiful, not tired and boring or too crazy to ever work.

It was a fantasy, and he knew it—even if somehow there was a way for him to break up—to leave—to be with Tyelpe, it wouldn’t be different.  Relationships started out exciting and then they became less exciting and took work.  That was how things worked.  Didn’t stop him from wanting, though.

“Please,” Tyelpe gasped, “Need you to touch me, Annatar, I need—”

“Right, yes, of course—”  He slipped a hand between them and onto Tyelpe’s hot, lovely cock, stroking him up and down softly as he kept up the pattern of lazy thrusts.

“Oh, like that, just like that,” Tyelpe groaned.  Then, “do you need anything from me?  Is this good?”

“So good,” Mairon whined.  “So good—I’m getting close—” Gods, he couldn’t help it, with Tyelpe squirming and clenching around his cock like that, no matter how much he wanted to make it last longer.

“Me too,” gulped Tyelpe. He rocked back more insistently, and now they were moving faster, harder, hard enough to make the bed creak, and it didn’t matter that there wasn’t any pain or any restraints or games—it was literally the best sex Mairon had had in years.  What the fuck?

Snow day.  It had to be.

“Ah—ahhhh—”  he cried out, and Tyelpe moaned in answer and then yelled, “Oh, Anna—tar—”, contracting around him as he came across Mairon’s hand.

White like snow swirled across Mairon’s vision, and heat pulsed through his body as he followed Tyelpe helplessly, then collapsed on top of him with a gasp and a final moan.

He lay like that, trying to get his breath back, while Tyelpe petted his head and murmured things into his ear that made Mairon want to cry for some reason.  Things like, “that was amazing,” and “you did so good” and worst of all “you’re amazing.”  The last one stung enough to get him to roll upright hurriedly.

“I—um, I should get rid of the condom,” he babbled.  “Should I throw it away in the bathroom?”

“Yeah, that’s fine,” Tyelpe said, sounding sleepy.  “Then come back here so I can cuddle you.  If you want to as well?”

Oh, gods.  He was so—good.  “Yes,” Mairon choked out, glancing outside at the snow swirling ever thicker at the window.  “Just a minute.”  He tied off the condom and chucked it in the trash, then washed his hands and snagged a damp washcloth for good measure out of the shower, returning to see Tyelpe yawning and look up at him with a red flush still plain on his handsome face and chest.

“I thought you might need cleaned up a bit,” Mairon offered, holding out the washcloth.

“Thoughtful of you—I am rather sticky.”  He lay back and let Mairon clean his stomach and chest, shivering a little as Mairon went to clean the oil off of his thighs as well.  As Mairon started to rise, Tyelpe made a sad little noise.  “Can I get a kiss?  I like your kisses.”

I like your kisses.  It was almost enough to make the dam break, to make Mairon go down on his knees and beg to just stay here, even after the snow day ended, no matter how stupid and irresponsible and a complete mess he looked.  The only thing that stopped him was thinking, miserably, of the pain he’d be putting Melkor through (not to mention the pain he’d be putting Tyelpe through if he actually agreed—which he probably wouldn’t because this was just a one night stand anyway).  So he stood, trembling, for a moment, then said in a low voice, “Yeah,” and bent down and kissed Tyelpe once on the lips and once on the forehead.

Tyelpe made a snuggly little noise, which was adorable.  Then he put out a hand, laid it on Mairon’s hip, and tugged.  “Hurry up and put that away.  Wanna cuddle.”

“Okay.”  Mairon had to blink really fast because he didn’t actually want to start crying now, if he could help it.  He went and put the washcloth back in the bathroom, then headed back into the main room, collected his pajamas from the floor and pulled them on.  Tyelpe made another small, insistent noise, and Mairon clambered back into the bed beside him, where the other man promptly curled up at his side, head on Mairon’s shoulder, arms around his torso.

It was a gesture full of implicit trust, and it made Mairon turn his head and kiss Tyelpe again, right at the top of his forehead at his hairline.  Tyelpe actually wriggled against him and kissed his cheek.  “Mmm, you’re soft,” he mumbled sleepily.  Post-coital bliss had apparently hit him very strongly, and Mairon was helpless to resist him in any way.  Daringly, he began to stroke Tyelpe’s hair, and Tyelpe yawned and mumbled something, sounding very pleased.

Snow day, Mairon thought, as he let himself drift off into that delicious warmth.  A perfect ending to a perfect snow day.  And nothing could take that away.

* * *

When he woke up, sunlight was shining directly into his eyes.  Mairon stared at it, his stomach twisting up into knots.  Tyelpe was asleep beside him still, his face still and very peaceful.  He didn’t look as conventionally attractive like this—softer and squishier and more real, somehow.  Certainly more real than the magazine covers Mairon remembered with his face on them.  His black hair lay tangled behind him on the pillow.

But it wasn’t a snow day anymore, and Mairon couldn’t stay.  He needed to get back to the train station and—he took a look outside, to see already that the city was moving again.  Taxis filled the streets, thronging behind snow plows.  Just down at the end two people were arguing over the inevitable fender-bender.  Everything was moving again.  He had to go back to Melkor.

He got up quietly, pausing only momentarily to drop a very light kiss onto the top of Tyelpe’s head, and went about the apartment gathering up his things.  He’d preferred to have taken his time, but he didn’t know what would happen if Tyelpe woke up.  He belonged to the snow day; he didn’t belong in Mairon’s life the rest of the time, and Mairon’s chest tightened with anxiety at the thought of having to face a conversation with him today.  He couldn’t.  His hands shook at the thought.

In a final fit of insanity, he scribbled down his cell phone number and slipped it behind the Conan DVD.  Tyelpe probably wouldn’t even find it.  And if he did, he probably wouldn’t realize what it was anyway.  It was just—one final nod to Snow Day.

That was all.