Skill of Hand by cytryne  

Skill of Hand

Tyelperinquar inhaled deeply as his father's hands carded through his hair. Warmth pooled in his abdomen as it always did at Atar pulling firmly at the strands along his right temple to begin the first braid. He shifted in his seat as his father's fingertip brushed against his scalp while gathering another strand into the rapidly growing braid, rising up slightly onto one hip and then the other in search of something. He was never quite sure if he loved or hated this part of getting ready for the day. Atar's dedicated attention, centuries past the age where it typically stopped, was a luxury even in Formenos. It was a treasure uncountable in Himlad when they both had far more important things to dedicate an hour of time to. But the thick feeling between his legs, and the necessity of changing smallclothes once again—

"Still, Tyelpe," his father scolded, as he always did, and Tyelperinquar inhaled deeply again. He obeyed with far more effort than it should have required, eyes fixed on the way dust motes caught the morning sunlight across the room without really seeing it as he straightened properly in his seat. It felt so firm against him. It felt—

"Good boy," his father said.

His face flushed hot as something deep in his abdomen clenched, hips pressing down against the wooden chair even as his back straightened a little further under the praise, head held carefully straight and still under the additional pulling that meant his father had finished with that braid for now.

Atar pressed a kiss to the top of his head when he shivered at the sensation of cool fingers against his scalp on the other side. He laughed quietly when it made Tyelpe jump and his breath catch, Tyelpe instinctively shifting around in his seat until Atar's tap on his shoulder reminded him to settle still. He bit his lip roughly as Atar tugged at the left side to begin braiding, struggling to remain silent at the way it strung at his senses, heat jolting through his whole body like a hot iron striking cool water as something wet leaked out between his legs.

He glanced down as much as he dared and swore silently to himself at the slight damp patch on the white cloth of his underthings, praying his father had not noticed as he crossed his knees to hide his shame.

His father had noticed, of course. His father always noticed.

Atar had ignored it at first. He'd been kind about it, allowing Tyelperinquar to suffer the embarrassment of the first few years after he was deemed a man in silence, but never since he'd reached his three hundredth löar, a full löa older than when Atar had married Amme. It was necessary, Atar had said when he'd refused to seek out a partner within the Noldor. Like
hair-braiding before the day began, he could not be allowed to embarrass himself with a lowborn Teler of all people simply because his body demanded care. The conclusion was only natural.

It was necessary, Nelyo had confirmed when Tyelpe had found his friends amongst the other Hosts, and that was the end of it. Tyelpe had to learn.

Tyelperinquar did not think of that period very often. Atar must have, from the way he acted at times, but he only brought it up when Tyelpe forced him to. It was effective. The memory of Atar's face gone cold and hard as Marillalqua fled the garden was burned into Tyelpe's mind no matter how many years passed. It hadn't lightened before the Darkening began.

Marillalqua had lived in Alqualonde.

He didn't like to think of that either.

Tyelpe's face burned as his father yanked his hair tight, thighs pressing close and hands clutching onto the edges of the chair as he struggled not to embarrass himself. The little breathy noise that escaped made it clear he had not quite succeeded.

"Tyelperinquar," Atar scolded, the full name instead of softer epesse lending a weight to it, and Tyelpe lowered his eyes in apology. "Do not hide from me or I will walk out and force you to braid your hair yourself."

"I'm sorry, Atya," rushed out, desperation unbecoming for a Noldo of his age but impossible to suppress after the one time he had left, had followed through and not given him another word for entire months, "please don't leave. I'll be good."

His father kept the tension until he slowly uncrossed his legs and spread them open properly again. It felt unbearable to be exposed like this, dampness spread up his crotch and down his legs from his poorly controlled movements. When he rocked back towards his spine slightly
to spare himself the pressure, he could see a small damp patch clear on the wooden chair.

Shame, hot and thick, burned through him.

His father tsked. Slowly, horribly, Tyelpe straightened up again, shuddering as his hot center pressed against the roughness of wet cloth and rapidly dampening wood, and resolved not to move again until it was all done.

It didn't last half a braid. His father's nail scraped against the tip of his ear as he brought another strand in, purposefully teasing now that he knew what Tyelpe was up to, and his abdomen clenched tight, hips rocking forward and back against the chair as his ear flexed towards Atya's hand. It felt horrible. It felt amazing. He moaned, light and incriminating, at
the drag of fabric on his clit, the firmness of the wood the perfect backdrop against which to grind, his hips pushed forward again.

It felt vaguely like needing to pee, he thought absently, and dismissed it.

Atya laughed. It was as light and playful as any he'd given Amme before everything fellapart. He shifted the braid to one hand and ran the other down Tyelpe's back like when hewas a child in need of soothing, pressing firmly above his pelvis to force his hips even more forward, taut to the point of being unbearable. Tyelpe brought his hand up to his mouth and bit into the meat of his thumb at the pressure, his Atya forcing him to take pleasure in this.

"Almost done, Tyelpe," Atya promised, bending down to lick a long strip up the tip of his ear, his tongue moving the piercings. Tyelpe gasped into his hand. Atya bit his ear tip lightly in scolding. "Behave. I will not be happy if I have to redo this as well."

Tyelpe muttered something around his hand that could have been a yes as his eyes went unfocused from the mix of pain and pleasure, and focused on obeying. His hips rocked in little circles despite his best efforts, the lure of friction impossible to ignore now that it had
begun.

Atar's hand stroked along the edge of Tyelpe's face as he gathered the last framing piece of hair back into the braid. Each knuckle stroked over the tip of his ear even as Atar tugged at his scalp in a hint of pain from the force of his tighter braiding and Tyelpe shook. He ground down into the wood, spreading his legs until the tendons hurt from the force of his
desperation. His abdomen clenched, another rush of liquid sensation so impossible to ignore that he whimpered.

He needed more. Please.

He needed it to stop.

"Tyelperinquar." Humiliation burned as Atar tsked at him. He pulled the current braid taut on his fist, yanking Tyelpe's hair back. The other hand dropped to press against the wet cloth covering his cunt.

Tyelpe gasped for air, hand forgotten as he writhed. The pain shot through him like lightning, heat unbearable, and he instinctively lifted his hips to let his Atar drive the meat of his palm against his clit. He pushed down as his Atar pushed up, forcing the fabric slightly into his clit, spreading the arousal down across the stiff yet-dry curls of hair. It felt horrible. His body needed it.

"Desperate today," Atar observed, winding his hand in the braid until Tyelpe's head tilted up to look at his. His voice was as even as ever. Tyelpe's eyes watered until he could barely see but still he sought out his face to prove he could be good. He would do it.

"Have I neglected you? Must I ask Tyelkormo to assist?"

Tyelpe shook his head as much as he could at the thought. Atar did not seem to notice. The line between his eyebrows deepened, lingering playfulness fading away entirely into the cold rationality he'd come to know all too well and dragging Tyelpe's enjoyment down with it.

"Have you caught the eye of another whelp to increase your—"

"—no!" Tyelpe burst out even though Atar hated interruptions and might leave if he misbehaved much more. He blinked, twisting back into his Atar's hand to ease some of that horrible, intoxicating pain as he tried to brace against the floor instead of his hand. It was bad enough his uncles had known—had agreed—Nelyo's face as he confirmed the need to correct Tyelpe's behavior and talked to Atar as if Tyelpe didn't exist swum in his mind against the loss of Marillalqua.

"Turukano's brat?"

Itarille. His friend. "There's no one. Nothing. It's all—"

He needed Atar to understand. He needed Atar to stay, to talk to him and praise him in this weird place, to not doom him to silence again. It would be worth this being more than hair braiding, if it meant he was not alone.

"Hmm." Atar said, and removed his hand. It was wiped, roughly, onto Tyelpe's shirt. Tyelpe's heart pounded in his ears until he could barely breathe. The world floated shakily as he trembled and returned to staring straight ahead as Atar decreased the tension in his braid.

It was pinned. The second followed after, in slow but careful spirals that left nothing unaccounted for. Tyelpe did not dare move for the entire duration, no matter how Atar tugged at his ear and sent shivers down his spine in the process. He would be so perfect. He would behave as Atar took care of him, allow him to do what he could not be trusted to do for
himself, and none of the unease would lead to any…problems. It would be alright.

Atar pressed a kiss to the top of his head as he slid the last pin in place. Tyelpe smiled, shifting from side to side again as he straightened, but his relief was short lived as the motion came with—

Oh.

Oh no, Tyelpe realized, fear shooting through him as his father knelt in front of him. He did need to pee.

That was the pressure he felt against his arousal. He rocked slightly more, activating his abdominal muscles carefully. His bladder felt firm like a water skin ready to burst, unhappily spasming at the slightest of motions until he had to clench all his remaining muscles down in the desperate hope none of it would leak through where Atar would see. How had it gotten this bad without him noticing?

"Off." Atar ordered, his hands coming up to rest alongside the outside of his knees.

Tyelpe's heart sunk. He pulled off the shirt first and folded it neatly before handing it to Atar. Then, hesitantly, he pulled the smallclothes down. His bladder spasmed. His breath caught, fear pounding, but managed to pull down the shiny, soaking cloth without adding any new moisture to it. His legs slid shut the moment it was far down enough for Atar to take instead. He let him maneuver the cloth off his legs as if he were half-asleep, the cool air hitting his burning hot core nothing more than a distant distraction compared to normal. He pressed his
knees tight and clutched the edges of the chair again like they could help his muscles fall back under his control. He was an adult. He knew how to wait. Atar's schedule ensured it could not be more than half an hour more, even if it often felt like far longer.

He did not need to cause more of a disturbance.

The smallclothes had been folded when he was not paying attention and now Atar tapped on the outside of his knee expectantly. Tyelpe jumped. His thighs and butt clenched with all his might, fighting to keep his bladder from spilling, knees closing even tighter than before.

Atar frowned. He brushed his displeasure against Tyelpe's mind through osanwe as well, and his stomach fell so rapidly he got dizzy. No. 

Atar, please. He thought back, desperate, but Atar did not respond. He just placed his hands on Tyelpe's knees and rose from his knees, his shadow growing over him in the light from the rising sun. Tyelpe couldn't breathe. He leaned into the pressure as something real as the rest of the world turned into a haze of panic, and Atar still did not respond.

"It seems I must ask Tyelko after all." He declared. He lifted his hand as he stood fully. It left red marks behind. "What has gotten into you today, Tyelperinquar?"

His mouth was dry. Slowly, Tyelperinquar forced himself to unclench his thighs into something more natural, need to pee mild compared to this. He didn't want Tyelko there. Tyelko would mean more comments, more attention paid to the details he did not want prioritized, more feedback making its way to Nelyo and Kano and even more risk of censure for it.

It was better if it was just Atar.

Atar did this to help him.

"I'm sorry, Atar." He said, absent. "I don't know. I don't—I must not have slept well. I will behave, I promise. You don't have to—"

"It seems as if I must," Atar threatened. But he did not move. Tyelperinquar had not gone too far yet.

He would move if he were serious, he told himself as he spread his thighs out as Atar had wanted originally, the burn of humiliation on his face and soul as threatening as the lurch of his bladder at the motion. He would leave without another chance if he had made up his mind that this were unsalvageable, leave Tyelpe to wait in suspense for the judgment of his uncles on his lack of behavior.

There had been nowhere else to go, in Formenos. In the first days of building Himlad, when his father and uncles' displeasure with his behavior and…willingness to stray had hit the point where it could not be dismissed and no longer had to be suppressed any longer. He would learn for his Atya. There was no other options.

And he had.

He stared at the dust motes across the room as Atar inspected him. He did not move at all, even as his father delayed on purpose. He felt his bladder push louder than ever but still did not close his legs, did not hide the damp hair that raised goosebumps under the arousal under the cold breeze brought by Atar walking around him.

He was good.

And, eventually, Atar nodded, and Tyelpe could breathe again.

Atar knelt down in front of Tyelpe again. His hands fell straight to the inside of Tyelpe's thighs, close enough to his crotch that Tyelpe had to suppress a shiver. Atar ran his finger tips along the sensitive flesh near the line of hair along his upper thighs and the shiver turned into another bolt of arousal. His core felt so swollen. The length of denial won out over his chaotic emotions, wet at even the slightest promise of fulfillment.

Tyelpe swallowed. His vision unfocused, the dust motes turning into nothing more than blurs as Atar's fingers pressed into the hair, pulling his outer labia apart to bare the rest to cold air and fascination he did not have to see to know.

Atar only acted aloof and clinical for this part.

He touched Tyelpe's hole without warning and Tyelpe inhaled sharply. The cold, stickiness of old arousal spread down his thighs as he shifted back further onto his butt, revealing more of his core instinctively for his father to touch. The need to pee loomed, threatening, but the
shift back almost helped and Tyelpe found himself rocking further back, shifting closer to the edge of the seat for Atar to have an easier time touching.

"Good," Atar complimented quietly, and some of Tyelpe's stiffness dissipated. Maybe this could go well.

He snuck a glance down at Atar, no longer avoiding the world, and relaxed more at the fondness in his face as he touched him. The frown lines were gone, for now. It could still be a normal day.

His abdomen relaxed with him as well, too well. His control slipped and Tyelperinquar shot straight back up, eyes wide as he fought for control against the suddenly slipping release of a drop of pee. His bladder spasmed so painfully in the struggle to keep the rest in that he
gasped aloud.

It was so wet.

He needed—he needed—

Please let Atar not have noticed.

Tyelpe glanced down, desperately hoping nothing was visible around the extent of his arousal at this point. At the same time, Atar ground into his clit and he moaned, half from pain, half- jolting, clenching need. The strain of his need seemed to make him even more sensitive than normal. Light touches jolted through both clit and bladder, his control over all other reactions failing in the face of the effort his bladder alone took. Tyelpe moaned like he rarely did.

Atar's hand brushed down across the top of his pelvis, the smallest amount of force placed against the little curve of his belly, and Tyelpe—he swore under his breath, hands dropping down to cover his holes instinctively as his entire bladder and pelvis spasmed. He was going
to piss himself for real this time. He was going to piss directly into his Atar's face, make a massive mess on top of all his earlier disruption, and none of it would be okay.

Atar paused.

"Tyelperinquar," he said, voice dropping in that way that meant he knew what he had found hidden from him, and Tyelpe shook his head futilely. "What is this?"

"I will go after you're done, Atya, I promise," he said rapidly, feeling far more like a child than the adult of nearly five hundred he was under the heat of his father's expression. "I am able to wait, I was just—"

Atar pressed lightly against the swell of his abdomen. Tyelpe whimpered with pain and humiliation as another drop leaked out. His ears pressed flat against his head like an animal.

"No, you are not." His father decided for him like he was an elfling again, rising from his kneel to stand and cross Tyelpe's room. Tyelpe watched him with dread as he returned holding the chamber pot he'd never been desperate enough to use.

Atar placed it beneath the front edge of the chair. He grabbed Tyelpe's thighs and physically pulled him to the edge, spreading his legs out until he was all exposed and his holes dangled above nothing but air. Then he picked up the bowl and held it there expectantly.

Tyelpe shook his head frantically. "No, Atya," he said again, heart pounding until he thought he might be sick at the doom he was unable to stop himself from spiraling towards. "I cannot."

"You will."

"I cannot, Atar, please."

"You will, or I will consider checking on this necessary whenever I see you. I do not tolerate self-neglect, Tyelpe, no matter the form."

Tyelpe shuddered and fell silent. Arousal felt so distant in the face of this threat.
"Behave, yonya," his father reminded him, stroking one hand down his bare thigh. The muscles burned from the awkward position. Tyelpe shivered. "Atya knows what you need. I will touch you again if you do."

He shoved the palm of his other hand into that little bump forcefully even as he spoke, and Tyelpe's bladder gave up. He sobbed as he heard the first drop of liquid against ceramic, hands coming up to cover his face and it shifted from a tinkle to a full stream, piss rushing out of him in front of his Atya. Because of his Atya.

As overworked muscles relaxed into relief and he struggled not to sob again, body loosening despite himself, Tyelpe caught glimpses of his face through his fingers. For all his act of indifference, Curufin's eyes were fixed on the spot the piss left him to fall into the container
he held. There was nothing neutral or objective in his gaze.

And, as the stream of liquid began to lighten into something less desperate, his Atya slid two fingers into his slit. Tyelpe jerked in surprise, stream cutting off then returning awkwardly as his muscles fluttered, piss streaming straight down his father's once-clean arm and getting caught in all the small hairs there. It was disgusting. Shameful. The way his flesh remained swollen with heat and interest made him want to hide and never return.

His father didn't seem to care. Instead he crooked his fingers forward, pressing them as far as he possibly could against the front of Tyelpe's walls until it felt like he was pressing on his bladder itself, and stroked the piss out of him.

Tyelpe cried out in alarm, his hands coming to clutch at his father's shoulders desperately, but there was nothing he could do. The stream of piss intensified and then tapered off, final droplets sliding down his Atya's arm rather than anything even vaguely near the bowl. His fingers remained in him, stroking until Tyelpe cried out for another reason, walls fluttered as his abdomen clenched with heat once again. Moisture of a different kind followed his father's hand out as he withdrew the fingers, a great big glob of it falling too into the bowl and breaking off into loose trails from both sides.

Curufin placed the chamber pot off to the side with a loud thunk, and wiped his arm off briskly on Tyelpe's discarded smallclothes.

"There." He said, voice all smug as it was when he corrected something Tyelpe had missed. Tyelpe's face burned. "That is much better than ignoring it, isn't it? Atya always knows what you need."

Shamefully, another large glob of arousal leaked out down the trailing strands at that. Tyelpe did not reply. He shifted back to sit properly on the chair, eyes lowered, as his father continued to watch him with an intensity he had not seen before.

His father's pant laces were tight. They fell into shadow under his shirt as he reached forward for Tyelpe again, spreading Tyelpe's cunt wide without preamble as he took Tyelpe's clit between the fingers of the other hand. And, against his will, Tyelpe's body responded. The length of teasing had his clit so swollen it took few touches for his breath to catch and body to search out more. It felt disconnected from reality again.

"We will check for this in the future," Atar ordered. Tyelpe may have murmured something, words falling from numb lips in a mess he barely noticed as the heat drew more intense. He did not try to struggle away again.

The intensity never left his father's eyes even as he fell apart under him.

Chapter End Notes

I pulled pretty heavily from the section on Quendi Aging in NoME, especially the table on page 30 comparing elf-years to mortal years, to make Curufin's actions worse. 288 loar is the absolute youngest age given for marriage and childbearing. By Celebrimbor's generation, it would not be normal to be married at that age.