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For the next three days, Ñolofinwë was present for all the activities for his coming of age celebration. Arafinwë was kind enough to inform the servants of the royal household to provide cushions for all the chairs he would sit on, in exchange for his help arranging  a meetup with Fëanáro to personally thank him for the presents. If any members of their family inquired of his need to sit on cushioned seats and his slightly stiff gait, Ñolofinwë simply replied that he got so tipsy on the first evening that he tripped backwards and fell hard on his rump. He didn't miss the way his younger brother smirked when he said it. Fëanáro was notably not present for the festivities for those three days, and Ñolofinwë didn't mind in the least. He knew where his brother would be staying for the next few weeks, and he just needed to wait for the courier's response for their arranged meeting.

Ñolofinwë was starting to worry about  his younger brother's inquisitiveness towards his female persona. He didn't even have to go around and listen to gossip to hear any mention of the 'tall maiden with the red owl mask’, but he heard it from Arafinwë himself.

 

“She seems to be popular with some of the men, so I heard,” Arafinwë said, catching up with Ñolofinwë’s long strides as he headed with him toward the table laden with pastries and sweets. Ñolofinwë tried to avoid sitting as much as possible, and refused to order servants to do little things he could do himself like getting food. “They said she appeared late in the evening, not in particularly interested in dancing, or accompanying anyone. A little taller than the average. Maybe she thought it might look awkward if she was with an admirer that was way shorter.” He looked at him thoughtfully, and Ñolofinwë shoved a small plate of cake in front of him. He always became unnerved when Arafinwë got lost in his thoughts and looked straight into his eyes, as if he could read the secrets of his soul.

“She probably just wanted to be left alone.” Ñolofinwë grumbled, helping himself to a few pieces of fruit. He really does not want to have this conversation, and the longer it goes on, the more awkward it gets. He does not want to lie to his brother, but at the same time he need to come up with alibis to cover his trail.

“Is that what she told you?” Arafinwë persisted,  following him as he ate his cake, “She entertained one of Father’s councillors by the courtyard and then danced with Curufinwë afterward. She bedded you. Maybe she is into men in powerful positions?”

 

That did it for Ñolofinwë. He paused and turned around, almost dropping the half-eaten peach to his plate. “Brother, where are you even getting these assumptions?”

“Some sad bard has been singing songs.” Ñolofinwë made a frustrated groan. “You know who I speak of?”

“No.. but she does. She told me what he looked like.” Ñolofinwë replied, scanning the grounds below from their place at the balcony. “She refuses his company, it is shamelessly obvious that he is trying to get her into bed.”

Arafinwë grinned at that. “She had you instead.”

“She has good taste.”

“That is because the councillor is probably old enough to be her father, and Curufinwë is already married and with a son, so you are the next viable option. Unattached, around her age? Royalty....”

“Yes, we are of the same age, and you seem rather envious.” Ñolofinwë rebuffed, missing the mildly offended look on Arafinwë’s face as he spotted the said bard with a small company of friends near a fountain.

“That’s him?” Arafinwë nodded in the direction Ñolofinwë was looking, as he finished his peach menacingly. “What are you going to do?”

“I could defend her honor.”

“You will cause a scene.”

“Not really.” Ñolofinwë smirked, palming a small apple on his plate. “As soon as I throw this, you run.”

“You are not serio--”

 

But before he could stop him, Ñolofinwë lobbed the apple with deadly accuracy, hitting the unfortunate young bard directly on the head, so strong that he tumbled back into the fountain with a loud splash. Ñolofinwë made a grab at his brother’s collar and pulled him away from the balcony, running swiftly inside the halls before the crowd even realized what had just occurred.

“That’s just mean.”

“He will live, Ara,” Ñolofinwë replied, pressing himself against the wall, with Arafinwë looking unimpressed. “He is spreading assumptions about her. Actions speak louder than words.”

“As if he would know that if you lob an apple at him, ” Arafinwë retorted. “Did you leave a note, ‘by my royal decree, never spread unsubstantiated rumors about my lady love again!’ courtesy of yours truly?” 

“Now you are being sarcastic.” He gave his brother a sidelong glance, pushing himself off the wall when the coast was clear. Arafinwë followed him. “ All right, I see your point. But what is done is done.”

Ñolofinwë almost jumped when his courier approached him as they exited the halls. He looked harried and out of breath.

“The high prince can entertain guests in his home for this evening only.” He panted, trying to catch his breath. “He will be busy for the rest of the week.”

“It is rather late,” Arafinwë argued. “Surely there is some other way. Can he not drop by here?”

 

Ñolofinwë was about to make a joke regarding Arafinwë still having a curfew, when he saw their older sister talking to the company the bard was with, having most likely seen the incident from the balcony.

“Yes, we can still see him!” he hastily replied, surprising even his brother. “Have our horses prepared, we are going right now.”

“Ñolvo, it’s getting late.”

“It’s our only chance, unless you want to wait for another week,” Ñolofinwë reasoned. “We will be busy again, and father won’t have us wandering around during afternoons or evenings, not with our classes.”

“Fine, but let me grab some cushions first,” Arafinwë replied. “You will need them on your saddle.”

 


 

The ride to Fëanáro’s place was rather uneventful, Ñolofinwë was relieved that his behind no longer hurt when Arafinwë insisted on cushioning his saddle. Two of the palace guards have to accompany them, due to the lateness of the hour and Arafinwë’s youth. They were received by his wife, along with a sleepy Nelyo, and were brought into the parlor. Ñolofinwë apologized for arriving at such a late hour, but his sister-in-law insisted that with Fëanáro’s schedule, she understands.

“He is going to grow tall, I can tell,” Arafinwë mused, holding the toddler at his hip. He insisted that he could look after the precocious Nelyafinwë while Nerdanel left to personally fetch her husband from his workshop. Ñolofinwë was just relieved to be able to sit on a cushioned chair. “It runs in the family.”

“He can only say one word,” Ñolofinwë grumbled, staring at the toddler’s thick wavy red hair. He is a beautiful, bright-eyed child with a smattering of freckles, inheriting his coloring from his mother. “Fëanáro is worried about it, but Father has had the best healers have a look at him and they said it’s normal, it’s just a phase.”

“What is the only word he can say?” Arafinwë asked, boosting Nelyo higher on his shoulder as he reached for his own trouser pockets with his other hand, with curious blue eyes following him.

“No.”

“No,” the child echoed, looking at what his youngest half-uncle took out of his pocket: a wrapped lemon square pastry.

Ñolofinwë rolled his eyes. “Do not spoil him, he needs to be asleep at this hour.”

But Arafinwë pretended not to hear him. “You don’t want this?”

“No!” their nephew screamed, stretching his tiny hands up to the lemon square held directly above him.

“He understands, he just responds with ‘no’ to everything,” Ñolofinwë mumbled. “Now you baited him, there is no stopping him.” The toddler started to wail, tears welling up in his wide round eyes as he wiggled impatiently in Arafinwë’s arms and tried to reach for the pastry. Arafinwë was merciful enough to quickly hand it over.

“Wow, look at him go.” Arafinwë’s eyes twinkled in amusement as he watched Nelyo consume the lemon bar with gusto. “Does he even chew?”

“Why do you even have pastries in your pockets in the first place?” Ñolofinwë sighed exasperatedly. He has become comfortable in the sofa among the cushions, and starts to sink down. He crossed his arms over his chest, but ended up looking ridiculous. “If he becomes hyper, you are on your own. I am not getting into another argument with him for this.”

“Ñolvo, does it hurt for you to address him as our brother?”

Ñolofinwë felt goosebumps prickle at the back of his neck at the memory of what the word conjured.

 

“Ai, brother,” he panted, his naked body covered with thin sheen of sweat as he rides Fëanáro in abandon, shaking as he nears his release.  “Brother, I--”  

 

“You two better make this quick, it’s getting late.” Fëanáro entered the room, wearing a fresh change of clothes. Ñolofinwë almost slipped off the sofa, his reverie interrupted. Arafinwë let go of Nelyo, whose face was messy with crumbs from the pastry earlier. He let out an excited squeal as he was set down on the floor so he could run towards his parents. Ñolofinwë didn't miss how Nerdanel discreetly pinched her husband's elbow, as if reminding him to be nice to his half-brothers.

“He is a well-behaved child, I decided to give him a treat,” he explained, ignoring Fëanáro's piqued look as Nerdanel lifted their son. “I hope you two don’t mind, it’s just one piece.”

“We don’t mind at all,” Nerdanel replied. “Don’t we, Fëanáro?”

“No, we don’t.” Fëanáro replied curtly, taking a step to the side to avoid getting pinched on the arm again. He briefly glanced at Ñolofinwë who had stood up from where he sat, dusting his robes. “You two, let’s head to my study room.” He turned to his wife, kissing her on the cheek. “Don’t stay up for me, it might...take awhile.”

“Alright.” -- “Say goodbye to your Uncles, Nelyo. Time to sleep.”

“He is just going to say no,” Ñolofinwë grumbled as he approached them, and Arafinwë elbowed him. “Ow!”

“Goo’bye, Ñolvo.”

Arafinwë let out a surprised laugh and both stunned parents turned to their son. Ñolofinwë raised his eyebrows.

“Did he just...?”

“Nelyo,” Fëanáro turned to face his son, who was starting to get sleepy. “Say, papa.”

“No.”

He tried again, “Mama?”

“No.”

Ñolofinwë reluctantly waved from behind his brother, and the toddler rubbed his eyes, yawning. “Ñolvo.”

“That is quite an...odd improvement.” Arafinwë mused, “You rarely even play with him.”

“Enough of this.” Fëanáro grumbled, clearly annoyed that his son’s new words are not for him.  “You two, let’s go.”

 


 

Fëanáro's study is slightly smaller and more crowded than the parlor room, and when Fëanáro offered them to sit down at the two chairs in front of him, Ñolofinwë almost forgot about the cushion Arafinwë brought, and much to his horror, made a show of fluffing it about before putting it on the chair Ñolofinwë was about to sit on. He glared at his younger brother.

Fëanáro lifted an eyebrow. “A cushion. What for?”

“For having a rough night...” Arafinwë smirked. Ñolofinwë glared at him. Arafinwë retreated to the chair beside him. “...a few days ago.”

“Really.” Fëanáro looked unimpressed, and focused his gaze on Ñolofinwë. “What happened?”

“Ñolvo won’t tell. But I believe it has something to do with a very...frisky encounter with the tall maiden with the owl mask.”

“Ara!”

“You have had  a mild limp for days.”

“Has he now?” Fëanáro leaned back in his high-back wing chair, clasping both hands, fingers steepled together. His posturing alone speaks for itself, that he is interested to hear what his youngest half-brother has to say. “How did you come up with this conclusion?”

“I saw her slip into the secret pathways leading to his room after the dance.” Arafinwë replied, meeting their eldest brother’s piercing gaze. Ñolofinwë slowly sank down in his chair. “You both know her. Father wanted to know who she was when he saw you two dance that evening, I overheard it.”

“You wanted to know who she was.”

“Yes.”

“This is not what we came here for.” Ñolofinwë rubbed his face with one palm. “Arafinwë, I can’t believe you, to have the gall to ask...”

“We are here already, I might as well.” He shrugged. “I did tell you I am going to ask Curufinwë about any details you try to withhold from me.”

“I already told you what she is like in bed, what more do you want?”

“You just told me about how you used your ‘long’ sword on her, I don’t want to know about how you wield it.”

“That is enough bickering.” Ñolofinwë peeked out from his hand, and despite Fëanáro’s stern expression, he saw a brief flicker of amusement in his eyes before turning back to their youngest brother. “You wanted to know who is the maiden Nolo bedded?”

Arafinwë nodded. “A name, if you will.”

“Meltintalle.”

“Úmátime.”

They both answered simultaneously, Arafinwë looked at them, baffled. Ñolofinwë and Fëanáro locked gazes, the latter confused and the former a bit alarmed.

“She goes by the name Úmátime.” Ñolofinwë firmly persisted. “It’s her given name. Meltintalle happens to be a name she uses to dodge persistent suitors. There, happy now?”

“Your brother is telling the truth, Ara,” Fëanáro conceded, withdrawing his gaze to turn towards Arafinwë. “Will that be all?”

“Yes, thank you,” Arafinwë responded. “Oh, and of course, the reason why we are here. Ñolvo and I would like to personally thank you for the presents.”

“You two could have just sent a messenger.”

“He insisted on a far more personal approach,” Ñolofinwë grumbled, jerking his thumb towards his fair-haired brother. “Now that you have satisfied your curiosity, I would like to have a word with Fëanáro in private.”

“Alright.” Arafinwë nodded. “I will go back to the parlor if you need me. Please try to be civil, both of you. Father is not around.”


“Don’t worry, Ara. I will live.”

 


 

The door was closed with a small click and Ñolofinwë waited until he could no longer hear his brother’s footfalls, before approaching Fëanáro by his desk, surging forward for a kiss.

Fëanáro was quick to block his face with a folded thick parchment of paper.

“Ow, Fëanáro!” Ñolofinwë protested, his voice muffled by it, before Fëanáro slowly slid the paper halfway down. “Are you still furious because your son called my name and not yours?”

“There is that,” he admitted, pushing back the chair and standing up, hands clasped behind his back. “Have you forgotten our ground rules?”

“No any form of affections of romantic nature in your house, or anywhere your family currently resides,” Ñolofinwë replied, withdrawing back, looking slightly embarrassed. “Sorry, it’s just...it’s been days .”

“I assume this is not the only reason you wanted talk to me in private.”

“Oh yes, of course.” Ñolofinwë stood up straight, remembering his height advantage to his older brother and looked him straight in the eye. “I would like to discuss our youngest brother.”

“What of him?”

“Be honest with me, do you have any designs on my brother?”

Before Fëanáro could reply, Ñolofinwë took out a small pouch from his robe pocket. He slipped the contents onto his palm, Fëanáro's present to Arafinwë, the gold, pearl, and turquoise necklace. “When we started our relationship, you gave me something similar as a present. You rarely give him jewelry as presents.”

“So you assume I am trying to seduce Arafinwë who is barely grown, by subtly proposing to him with jewelry?”

“I know what the pearls meant.” Ñolofinwë eyes narrowed, and Fëanáro did not miss the way his fists nervously clenched and unclenched. “I also don’t miss how you sometimes look at him. I was only a little older than he is now, when we began...” Fëanáro started to chuckle. “What is so funny?”

“You are jealous, it is unbecoming of you. But no, I have no designs on Arafinwë. The pearls compliment the turquoise gemstones that I have set and I am developing a new method that allows me to coat them thinly with melted gold. There is no hidden meaning behind those. If you are still suspicious, I presented my designs to Father to consult him before making them.”

“Oh...”

Fëanáro took a few steps forward, until he was close to Ñolofinwë. “If it makes you feel better, I could leave him alone, not that I spend a lot of time around him to begin with.”

“You are not...attracted to him?” Ñolofinwë asked tentatively. Fëanáro raised an eyebrow. “Before you think I am being jealous again, I have a reason to worry. Arafinwë is fast blooming, and will grow even more fair as he reaches his majority. He is already getting some attention from both males and females now and I find it alarming he does not mind it at all.”

“Is that why you both arrived with a small party?”

“He isn’t allowed to venture out late in the evening all by himself. I might not be able to handle it all if something happens.”

“He is also far too trusting, and people will take advantage of that. But if his inquisitiveness is to go by, I doubt he is still as naive as you would like to believe...” Ñolofinwë glared daggers at him. “I would not take advantage of him, unless he meddles in where he should have no business.”

“He is never the one to meddle, unless it's necessary.”  

“He seem fit to meddle with your...relationship with a certain woman.”

“That is completely different!” Ñolofinwë blushed, feeling himself go red to the tip of his ears. “He got intrigued when he heard your conversation with father during the feast, curiosity got the better of him and he followed me in disguise. When he saw me limp the following morning, he tried to put two things together. He is at the curious age, like I was. He’s got an active imagination.” He rubbed a palm on his face, not amused at Fëanáro’s wicked smirk. “Yes, I need to be more careful next time.”

“Wait, I think meddle is not the proper word.” Fëanáro tapped a finger on his chin in a  mocking manner, much to Ñolofinwë's annoyance. “Our little brother is a little obsessed with your other persona. He wouldn't go asking about 'her’ name if he isn't.”

“I don’t even want to think about it. Until now, I think Úmátime was not even his type. He seem to prefer fair haired maidens.”

“Maybe he has a broader preference than you think.”

Ñolofinwë sighed, “I will need to be more discreet, or better yet to arrange a distraction for him to get his mind off...her.” He paused. “But really, Meltintalle? Love-Kindler?”

“You gained quite a lot of  attention that evening,” Fëanáro replied, leaning against his desk, arms folded across his chest. “Much appropriate than the 'unseizable’.” Fëanáro then matched his words by suddenly snaking his hand down and made a grab for Ñolofinwë’s buttocks. Ñolofinwë jumped away from the sudden touch, cursing. “Does it still hurt? It’s three days later!”

“No longer, but don't surprise me like that!” Ñolofinwë grumbled, rubbing one of his butt cheeks. He felt that Fëanáro’s fingers must have marked it already.

“So by tomorrow, will you try to take on the challenge?”

It took a few minutes for Ñolofinwë to process what Fëanáro was asking him, before his face scrunched up. “Lóravarnion is old enough to be my Father. He probably would not have enough of a sense of humor if I prank him. He might throw me out.”

“We won’t know if you don’t try.”

“I have my dignity,” Ñolofinwë grumbled. “What is in it for you anyway?.”

Fëanáro shrugged his shoulders. “You could make it what you will. You are still young and not burdened with responsibilities. Have a little fun, think of it as a little social experiment: If it goes well, you could learn from the experience.”

“You and your theories.” Ñolofinwë frowned; he did not like the glint in those silvery depths. “Learn what? Not to prank your elders?”

“Don't be so dense, Nolo. May I remind you what we talked about?”

It took a few seconds, but when the meaning of the words sank in, Ñolofinwë flushed red again.

“You are a fast learner,” Fëanáro continued, amused that his brother was rendered speechless. “If the result of the reveal is favorable, we could try new and different things, whenever our next ‘rendezvous’ will be.”

Ñolofinwë pressed a palm to his face, although the promise of future and more creative encounters with Fëanáro is enticing, the way he insisted on the challenge made him mildly irritated. “All this time I thought you were bluffing!”

“You know I never bluff.”

“If something happens to me?”

Fëanáro dismissed his worry. “The worst he could do is send you away. Lóravarnion is not that heartless. Besides, I discovered something during my visit to the library yesterday.”

Ñolofinwë felt he had to sit down back on the chair, but settled on sitting on the armrest instead. “What about it?”

“The restricted area you and Ara visit when you think nobody's looking.” Ñolofinwë glared at him, but Fëanáro ignored it. “Some unfortunate soul is tasked to re-arrange that section, I managed to get a glimpse of a few stacked tomes, and they have Lóravarnion’s name inscribed on them.”

Ñolofinwë’s eyes widened at that. He has browsed through most of the tomes but never had he looked at the name inscribed on the binding. “You could have mistaken it for someone else.”

“Those tomes are old, and he is the only who I know who goes by that name who would be older than the time those were written. But there is no way of knowing, and you might get to find out.”

“I can’t believe you are making me do this.”

“He might question your age. He did ask me the night I confronted him, but I never got to answer him as I was summoned by father.”

“And if he asks?”

“You will say you just recently came of age, not this week or he might suspect your identity,” Fëanáro continued. “Admit you have some experience and that you have already lain with a male lover.” Ñolofinwë opened his mouth, and Fëanáro was quick to reply, “No, you will not tell him it’s me, Nolo. Be creative and think of something.”

“You got me into this dare, and aside from learning from ‘experience’, I am getting nothing out of you from it.” Ñolofinwë leaned back against the chair. “It’s not fair.”

Fëanáro pondered for a while. “I will let you top me, and I demand a demonstration of what you have learned from him.”

Ñolofinwë sat straight at that, eyes narrowing. “If you allow me for a week, then it’s a deal.”

Fëanáro nodded, “It’s a deal. ” Then there was a sudden crashing sound from outside, followed by a worried shout that sounded like Arafinwë’s. They both flinched. “I guess your brother is already getting sleepy waiting outside. See to him before he breaks other objects. I will try to meet you tomorrow later in the afternoon.” 

Chapter Text

Before they leave, Fëanáro discreetly handed Ñolofinwë a letter to be read later. After a rather uneventful trek back to the palace, dodging his eldest sister by taking the secret pathway to his room, and distracting Arafinwë by reminding him of his curfew, Ñolofinwë opened the letter.

Fëanáro informed him that he was aware of Lóravarnion’s activities. After the first evening, he continued to attend the festivities but was resigned to wearing his more formal robes for the next days, making it easier for him to blend with the other folks but also making him harder to spot. He heard that Ñolofinwë’s other ‘persistent suitors’ seemed to be still in attendance, and although they have moved their attention to other matters, there seemed to be hushed words being spoken about whoever and what happened to the tall maiden with the red owl mask.

Ñolofinwë was not surprised at the attention his female persona had been getting. He is, after all, almost a head taller than most females and easily seen. Then there were the taller and more handsy suitors, and he cringed at the thought of how they approached him that night. He remembered the light-haired and arrogant Arcalimon, of half-Vanyarin descent, an upperclassman in some of his training classes, and notoriously popular with his flings with women. He was confident to think he could charm Ñolofinwë that evening.

Ñolofinwë wondered if the other women he flirted with gave in to him so easily: he was not exactly charmed when he approached him, five minutes into the conversation about his prowess with the sword (and his ‘other’ sword) and his hand was already sliding down to his hips, trying to cope a feel of his ass.

Ñolofinwë was tempted to throw him on his back, if he were only confident with his wrestling skills.

After reading the letter, he set it alight with his bedside lamp, and let it burn in his trash basket to leave no proof of his interaction with Fëanáro behind. Ever since they started their unconventional relationship and the near disastrous incident of his younger siblings catching him going through their older sister’s gowns, Ñolofinwë has been aware that in any given minute his privacy might be breached, and took it as a precaution not to leave any traceable evidence of their affair. Fëanáro understood this and played along, sending gifts and items instead that could be clues to their next rendezvous.

Ñolofinwë moved forward to one of his windows, lifting one of the curtain flaps to see what was going on outside. He could see that the festivities for the evening were over, and his father was heading inside, flanked by some of his advisors as they discussed something that Ñolofinwë could not hear. There were a few other dignitaries, with Lóravarnion entertaining them, as he trails not so far behind the High King.

Ñolofinwë squinted; Lóravarnion, being around the same age as his father (or probably older), gave him an impression of someone who was so gravely solemn and reserved that he might as well be humorless. But after how he responded to his female disguise from the first evening, Ñolofinwë was having his doubts. Then there were the books.

Well, without his default stern expression, he appears younger and more pleasant to look at.

As if he had sensed that he was being watched, Lóravarnion looked up, his blue-grey eyes meeting Ñolofinwë’s, he smiled faintly and then nodded at him.

Ñolofinwë squeaked, quickly pulling the flap down, and drew back, stumbling backwards to the floor. He scooted back to lean against the post of his bed, his heart thudding hard against his ribcage.

“I am overreacting,” he sighed, steadying his breathing, closing his eyes. “He did not read my thoughts, no...”

He licked his lips, trying to visualize the same Lóravarnion being drawn to his female disguise again, eyes filled with lust, his gaze roaming over his body hungrily, fully aware of what lies beneath his skirts. Would he ‘punish’ her for the deception? Probably. Would he resort to rough play? Who knows, he might even have peculiar kinks...

Ñolofinwë slowly slid one hand into his trousers. Stroking himself idly, he imagined being thrown over a table surface, skirts pushed up high, underwear pulled down. Lóravarnion seem to be fascinated with his shapely behind (like most of the males who tried to hit on him the first evening), so he would probably give it a slap or a squeeze, then prepare him.

“Be gentle, please...” he murmured, visualizing the scenario: Lóravarnion blanketing his body, while he looked over his shoulder, watching his hand dip between the cheeks of his ass.

Ñolofinwë wiggled his fingers behind his sac to prod on his entrance, just like he imagined Lóravarnion would most likely do, and if he was a tender lover he would try to lubricate him. Ñolofinwë took out his hand to spit on his fingers and widened his stance, pulling his trousers halfway down, freeing his now half-hard cock, and reached underneath again to press his fingers firmly on his entrance.

“Is this your first time to be taken?”

“No.” He gasped, slipping one finger in, he stroked his warm passage, trying to loosen himself up. When he felt he was slick enough, he slipped in another, biting back a moan, moving his fingers in and out. “Ah, faster...”

“Ñolvo...?”

Ñolofinwë cursed loudly. He’d forgotten to bolt his door!

He pulled his fingers out clumsily, tugging his trousers up and straightening his robes, just in time before Arafinwë let himself into his room.

“Ara, it is really late right now!”

“You are not answering, so I decided to let myself in,” Arafinwë replied. “Did you hurt yourself, because I could hear you moaning outside…?”

Ñolofinwë could feel he was already red up to the tip of his ears. “It is nothing, I am fine!”

“Did you have something...” Arafinwë noticed his brother’s disheveled state and sniffed at the air.

“Oh...” His eyes widened. “Oh that is just gross, brother! You are lucky it was only me outside the door!”

“Out, Ara!”

“You didn’t even lock your room!”

“I know, I didn’t realize!” He glowered. “Now, please leave!”

“No.” Arafinwë dodged a cushion thrown towards his head. “I am not a child, I know how you do that with your hands. I do that sometimes, not that I scream it for everyone in the palace to know.”

“I was not screaming!” He chucked another pillow that almost hit Arafinwë on the head

“There are times I could hear you, actually. Now I know why.” Ñolofinwë glowered again, but Arafinwë was unfazed. “Are you thinking about Úmátime when you...polish your sword?”

“Yes, I am imagining other creative ways to take her.” He frowned. “That is not the reason you came here this evening, what is it that you really came for?”

“I overheard from Mother that Curufinwë might arrive for the festivities tomorrow.”

“Yes I know that, he informed me before I left. He is unsure yet.”

“I didn’t know you two are in such good terms as to discuss that.” Arafinwë lifts an eyebrow. “Is that why you were almost an hour in his private study?”

“Yes,” Ñolofinwë grumbled, impatient. “Father will be proud that we can manage to be civil enough behind closed doors.” He gestured at the door. “Now if you don’t have other business, you can leave.”

“Alright, but please don’t be so loud.” Ñolofinwë felt Arafinwë filch something from his pockets on his way towards the door, but he was too annoyed to bother. He made a rude gesture toward his fair-haired sibling, who laughed on the way out.

 


 

 

Early in the afternoon Ñolofinwë received a message and packages from Fëanáro, which contained a small present, a request for something in exchange for his service, and some items he could use with his transformation for the evening later. As always, he burned the letters and hid the items underneath his bed for the time being. He had already informed his family during breakfast that he will be gone throughout the rest of the evening to be with friends and he won’t be back until the morning.

While he started making preparations, their father was holding an audience with a recently arrived Fëanáro. When he emerged from his rooms, they kept up their charade, stiff and aloof, with tension believable enough to be mistaken as mutual dislike for each other. So it was not a surprise when the High King looked mildly worried when Fëanáro requested a brief private conversation with him in one of the smaller adjacent rooms.

“Do you have it?”

“Yes, just like you requested.” Ñolofinwë looked slightly embarrassed, handing him a small velvet lined box about a size of a pineapple. “Please don’t make me do that again.”

“Who else could test my new invention?” Fëanáro grinned as Ñolofinwë colored. “It would also prepare you for the evening to come.”

“We are not even sure about that!” Ñolofinwë countered, recovering from embarrassment. “Are you going to drop by my room? Father might get suspicious.”

“He was not suspicious when I followed you into your chambers when you refused to join my hunting trip.”

“That was a few years back.” Ñolofinwë felt the color in his cheeks wouldn’t go down anytime soon. That was another embarrassing memory, where Fëanáro threw him to the bed and introduced him to other creative ways he could use his tongue on him, as he was still young to be taken.

“Which means my visits in your private chambers are infrequent enough that it will not arouse any suspicions,” Fëanáro concluded. “You worry too much. What alibi have you given?”

“I will leave with my friends for a short hunting trip. I won’t be back until morning,” Ñolofinwë replied. “I have informed my friends about this, I told them I am meeting a fair maiden. They are willing to play along with the cover-up, in exchange for a few bottles of fine liquor I have sneaked out from our cellars..”

“They will be suspicious if you don’t take your horse from the stables.”

“I informed them it's a short walk that requires no lengthy horse rides.”

“They believed that?”

“Yes!” Ñolofinwë sighed exasperatedly. “Now, are you still going to follow me into my rooms?” 

“Of course,” Fëanáro replied. “You go ahead first, I will follow you shortly. I will inform father I will be borrowing some items from you before you leave.”

 


 

 

“I can’t believe that took you almost two hours.”

 

Another one of Fëanáro’s requests was to observe him while he changed to his feminine attire for the evening. Ñolofinwë thought it was ridiculous, but has reluctantly allowed him to observe, as long as he doesn’t make fun of him. Fëanáro jested he had to make sure his half-brother was presentable enough to lure Lóravarnion in, at which Ñolofinwë reminded him that after his lustful response ti him on the first evening, it will take little to no effort at all to draw him in.

Ñolofinwë was now wearing his silk robes, hair piled up, curled and tied in sections and gathered in a messy bun as he made the finishing touches to his face makeup. He selected a bolder color for his lips, deep red as ripe cherries; tended and shaped his eyebrows and again emphasized the eyes, well enough to stand out from the owl mask. He has tried the creams Fëanáro gave him to accent his facial features to give them a more feminine curve, and he was surprised how well they blended with his skin.

“It is all trial and error,” Ñolofinwë explained, pulling back, satisfied. He let loose his hair, now cascading in long thick waves. “I learned from observation too, I now have a strong respect for maidens who go through this on numerous occasions. We men hardly have to do anything.” He stood up, straightening his robes before facing Fëanáro. “How do I look?”

“Ravishing.” Fëanáro eyed him indulgently, leaning against one of the slim columns of his bed. “To think this all started when you were clumsily trying to catch my attention near the stairs, wearing your sister's clothes.” Ñolofinwë blushed. “You are even surpassing your older sister in skill and style, it's like having a younger and more attractive...sister. I do not know what to make of it.”

“The lengths I have to go through for you,” Ñolofinwë murmured, then looked up. “Am I believable enough?”

“You manage to turn heads last time. You are doing alright,” Fëanáro replied, not budging from where he was standing. “Do you have your clothes prepared yet?”

“I have set my choices by the long couch over there.” Ñolofinwë pointed at the area near the bed window. “What are you doing?” he asked, as Fëanáro tsked and reached for the open trunk where Ñolofinwë kept his hidden items of clothing and accessories.

“You didn’t include your choice of undergarments.” Fëanáro missed Ñolofinwë’s hilariously appalled expression. “You said some of these clothes come with a free set of undergarments.” He pulled out a peony pink lacey silk undergarment. “It might not match your selections but this goes well with your skin.”

“My cotton undergarments could fit underneath those dresses!” Ñolofinwë argued. “And those look like they’re about to peel off!”

“But easy to put on,” Fëanáro insisted, tossing them in Ñolofinwë’s direction. “You already have the clothes, you might as well complete the illusion you want to achieve.”

“You probably like the idea of me wearing silk underwear,” Ñolofinwë grumbled, conceding. He took off the robes, wearing indeed, a simple pair of cotton underpants, formless and a few inches above the knee.

“As you enjoyed wearing them as well,” Fëanáro answered, and Ñolofinwë didn't miss how his bright silver eyes roved up and down his body as he took off his underpants. He didn’t retort, feeling mildly uncomfortable as he took the flimsy silk underwear-- tinier  than the one he wore last time, and very carefully slipped in one long leg at a time, easing the garment up his hips.

He groaned. While it fit snug on his hips and miraculously covered most of his private area, the cut was low enough that it exposes the tip of his length.

“This looks ridiculous,” he said, feeling embarrassed, Ñolofinwë tried to cover himself by cupping his cock in one hand. He felt like he might grow hard swiftly with the way Fëanáro was ogling at his crotch. “It does not cover me completely.”

“But it fits?”

“Yes, but that’s beside the point.” Ñolofinwë’s face heated up. “You know how long I am, this looks like a joke.” Fëanáro tossed a dress at him and he quickly caught it with both arms: it was  a flowing evening dress with a beaded and rhinestone-studded waist, made from silk chiffon fabric, and dyed in a rich shade of blue that seemed to shift into shades of deep purple when the light struck it.

Ñolofinwë knew that the dye itself must be expensive, and the color stood out from his other choices.

“It is not like you will go out there and spread your legs to whoever you see. It will be fine.” Ñolofinwë squeaked and nearly dropped the dress when he felt a warm hand slip into his panties to caress him. He tried to stomp on Fëanáro’s foot, and Fëanáro jumped a step back just in time. “If you will have any troublesome suitors, this might help you.”

“A snake jewelry armband?” He frowned when Fëanáro set it on top of the dress. “What should I do with that?”

“It has a built in rapier, if you twist and tug the head a little, you could pull it out. I developed a technique which makes metal flexible enough to be bent in places but still retains its form.”

“Now you just want me to try it.”

“You can try it later when you get bored.” Fëanáro rolled his eyes at Ñolofinwë’s eagerness to try the new weapon. “Now go on, put the dress on. I want to see it on you.”

Ñolofinwë obeyed, turning around so he won’t be conscious of Fëanáro’s presence. But he happened to also present him with his enticingly shapely behind, and he jerked in surprise when Fëanáro’s hands glided up and down his hips, feeling the cool fabric on his fingertips.

“Fëanáro!” he gasped, but Fëanáro withdrew quickly, just in time to help Ñolofinwë pull and straighten the rest of his skirts down. “You keep distracting me, I cannot dress properly.”

“It’s just amusing to watch you transform,” Fëanáro remarked over Ñolofinwë’s bare shoulder, helping him with the sleeveless arm holes, pulling the top to close the back. It’s a perfect fit. “Did you have these made?”

“No, I but I bribed Arafinwë’s governess to buy me dresses.” Ñolofinwë lifted his hair so Fëanáro could clasp the buttons at the back. “I told her they would be presents for someone I am courting in secret. I gave her my measurements with some minor alterations, so she won't be suspicious.”

“You tread a dangerous path, brother.” Fëanáro handed him the large clips and bodkins from the dresser, as Ñolofinwë gathered half of his hair from the top to make a loose bun, clamping and pinning the clips on with ease. Fëanáro then made a face when he also reached for what looked like shoulder pads repurposed by Ñolofinwë to resemble a makeshift bosom. Ñolofinwë slipped each one in his armholes, adjusting them. “Just be careful not to get caught, you said it yourself, Ara is already snooping around for information regarding Úmátime, and you know how intuitive he is.”

“You worry a lot, I never let my guard down when I'm around him.” Ñolofinwë reached for a few pieces of jewelry, fastening clip-on jeweled earrings, a simple choker, a few arm bracelets and the snake armband Fëanáro gifted him with. It fit nicely on his bicep.

“What if he sneaks around?”

“He could not hide with his golden hair and he always smells like berries,” Ñolofinwë replied, and, satisfied with his appearance, turned around towards Fëanáro, “I can't believe we are going through this just to figure out if Lóravarnion still has some oak in his cock. Like I am the sacrificial lamb for your curiosity. How do I look now?”

Fëanáro laughed at Ñolofinwë’s statement. He wanted to kiss him right now, looking absolutely delectable with the make-up and the well-fitting dress that accentuates his assets. He will have him again maybe after the festivities are long over. “Wonderful, it just keeps getting better. No doubt you will be the talk of the party again.” Ñolofinwë moved closer as Fëanáro carefully secured his red owl mask on. Ñolofinwë opened his eyes, thick lashes framing brilliant and clear blues. “Fortunately for us, he will spend this evening idling with few of his friends in the far right wing of the palace grounds, and far from where our family are feasting. We go there, and I will try to get him to be alone to meet you.”

“And if things go south, I could use the coiled rapier.” Ñolofinwë sighed. “Great, I forgot to select my shoes. It feels awkward bending with all these on.”

“You will not stab him with the rapier. I think he will not force himself unto you unless you are willing.” Fëanáro looked around to see three pairs near the foot of the bed. “You don’t even need heels, you are already damn tall.”

“But Lóravarnion is taller than me, I need a little boost.” Ñolofinwë grinned, straightening up. He can’t help but be proud of the half-foot size difference he has on their eldest. “Again, I left the purchasing to Arafinwë’s governess. I took out the ones with the smallest heels. It’s difficult to walk on the high ones.” Fëanáro moved a close-toed dark blue pair with pointy silver tips towards Ñolofinwë’s foot. Ñolofinwë slipped on them with ease. “See, not much difference. I can still see you.”

Fëanáro lifted an eyebrow. “You didn’t notice, I am wearing heeled boots.”

“Spoilsport.”

“Come on now, it's getting dark outside.” Fëanáro glanced to the bedside windows, the only ones where the curtains were not drawn. “It will be difficult to navigate in the dark with what you are wearing, and it will draw suspicion if they see me escorting you.”

Ñolofinwë lifted his skirts a little as he took a few steps forward; the heels, no matter how comfortable or small, takes a few minutes of getting used to. He learned from previous experiences (and rather embarrassing ones) never to rush while wearing them, that they are dainty enough to break. Fëanáro offers his hand, as he would to a lady, and Ñolofinwë smiled nervously behind his mask as he takes it, looping his arm on his, as they carefully strode towards the secret exit.

“How can I be suspicious? I might have drawn some attention, but not enough to generate a controversy. They don’t even know my name, and I only danced with you once, a short one to that.”

“Yes, but Father saw you and there are other nobles in attendance. He would not stop asking questions, he is probably as insistent as Ara.”

“I think I don't want to know why...” Ñolofinwë shivered. “It is already worrying that Arafinwë wants to know how she is in bed.”

They walk side by side in the well-lit hidden labyrinth-like cobblestone paths (Ñolofinwë made sure they would be, at least long enough to last until early morning), and after almost ten minutes of walking, Fëanáro pointed out that he was tempted to carry Ñolofinwë like a bride, like how he did years ago when he scraped his knee. Ñolofinwë dared him to, and with a surprised shout, Fëanáro gathered his skirts and lifted him off easily from the ground.

“This way we get there faster,” he grunted, walking swiftly with some difficulty as Ñolofinwë chuckled in his arms. “What have you eaten? You have gotten heavier.”

“I am not all height and food, I also gained some muscle.” He leaned his head on Fëanáro’s shoulder, the latter flinching when the sharp portions of the mask jabbed him at the jaw and neck. “We should do this often.”

“I will not carry you unless it's necessary,” Fëanáro huffed, finally coming into a stop. He tapped Ñolofinwë on the hip, and with a pout Ñolofinwë slowly set his feet down the ground. “So don’t get used to it.”

“I didn’t expect you to,” Ñolofinwë straightened his dress, and then adjusted his mask. “I mean we should have more time to bond with each other, us brothers, together, no more secrets.”

“If you want no secrets, Ara is too young for actual bedplay.” Ñolofinwë slapped his arm. “Probably foreplay---”

“I would want him to have no knowledge of what we do. He is far too young.” Ñolofinwë frowned, cautiously opening the locked door. “I don’t want him to be involved in our...complicated relationship.”

Fëanáro shrugged, and helped with unbolting the door. He was the first to take a look outside Seeing the coast was clear, he signalled Ñolofinwë to come out.

“These secret passages are useful.” Ñolofinwë stepped outside, the exit leading them to a short hedge just behind the extended right-wing of where the rest of the festivities were being held. “We should not be seen together, right?”

“Yes,” Fëanáro replied. “I will take the path to the right. I have some business to take care of as well, I will most likely find Lóravarnion, then I will look for you and let you know. Where will you be?”

As if on cue, Ñolofinwë's stomach let out a loud growl. Ñolofinwë quickly covered his torso, feeling embarrassed.

“I am definitely heading to the banquet,” Ñolofinwë grumbled. “I only had a light dessert before I changed.”

“Trying my new invention might have worn you out as well,” Fëanáro added, dodging an incoming arm smack from Ñolofinwë. “The entrance leading to the banquet is at the opposite side. You might as well get started.”

“Thankfully the path is well paved.” Ñolofinwë straightened up, and Fëanáro snorted when Ñolofinwë adjusted his fake bosom, the dress was tight enough, hopefully it wouldn’t fall off. “I can manage to walk there with my heeled shoes. So I will see you later then?”

Fëanáro nodded. “Yes---” he replied, as Ñolofinwë firmly pressed on his owl mask. “Remember Nolo, this is just a one time arrangement. If you feel unsettled, you can always call it off.”

“Do not worry, brother. I can take care of myself.” He gave Fëanáro a quick peck on the cheek, before Ñolofinwë turned around to head to the opposite direction.

Fëanáro headed to his right and wished that no one in the family would be showing up at the area tonight.

He need to keep an eye out for Arafinwë too, he seemed to have taken to closely observing Ñolofinwë as of late.

Chapter Text

Ñolofinwë slipped into the feast, again enjoying the thrill of being dressed up incognito. He didn’t miss the glances sent his way, and the familiar faces from the first evening. He proceeded to ignore them, after all he was hungry, and focused on moving towards the banquet. He had seen a few of his father's advisors, they were lounging around at the second level of the halls.

Fëanáro emerged from one of the rooms, scanning the lower floor until he caught Ñolofinwë's gaze. He nodded toward one particular room before taking the stairs to the third. Lóravarnion is in there. But for how long? Does he have company?

Ñolofinwë got his answer soon enough when Lóravarnion emerged from the doors, as if he had forgotten to relay something to Fëanáro. He was wearing formal robes just like Fëanáro said he would be, and he gazed down at the banquet, searching the crowd until he spotted Ñolofinwë.

Ñolofinwë didn't miss how he straightened up or how his eyes grew wide, obviously surprised and very pleased to see him. Ñolofinwë demurely turned away, taking a small wine glass from a passing server. He wondered if Lóravarnion will pursue him. He had to eat first after all.

Then he felt a warm hand brush against his hip.

“I never got your name, my wild one.”

Ñolofinwë had an urge to throw the contents of his wine glass in the face of the person behind him; he knew who it was.

“Arcalimon,” he said, pitching his voice back to a believable alto, as he spun around.“It is none of your business.” He took a quick sip from the wine, blocking the view of the disappointed--but undeterred--expression on Arcalimon’s face. Even before the groping incident, Ñolofinwë was not fond of him, not that most of his colleagues were. He held himself with such an arrogant air, that he have a feeling he behaved like more of a spoiled royal than he ever was. He was not all empty talk and boasting: Arcalimon has skill and was in fact, a fast learner in both close combat and swords, much to Ñolofinwë’s chagrin.

“I am asking you nicely, you don't have to be so rude.” He frowned as Ñolofinwë turned around to make his way to the appetizers. “It has been three days since I last saw you, I didn’t know who to  look for.”

Ñolofinwë knew he will just persist if he does not give him a name. He also wanted to eat in peace. “Úmátime,” He replied curtly, as he took a rather hard bite of the fruit he was holding before dropping it onto his saucer. He didn't miss the way Arcalimon winced. “I am not new here, and I am not interested with your tales about your prowess with the sword. Now you know my name, I want to be left alone.”

“You are angry.”

“I don't like how you touched me last time.” For an element of revenge, he said it loud enough for the elves near them, mostly young maidens, to hear. Ñolofinwë’s painted lips curved slightly, pleased to see their reactions that served to embarrass Arcalimon further. “If you are looking for an easy conquest, I am not one you must pursue. Good evening.”

Ñolofinwë didn't wait for him to say another word. His appetite nearly lost, he polished off his plate of small fruits and decided to search for Lóravarnion, who still might be upstairs. Arcalimon would then think twice about pursuing him.

 


 

Making sure Arcalimon was not following close behind, Ñolofinwë headed to the staircase towards the second floor. He strode inside the room Fëanáro pointed him to, which led to an open air veranda, but it looked like he might have already left. He looked outside, but he wasn’t there either.

“Úmátime.”

Ñolofinwë almost stumbled over his heeled shoes in surprise, (they were not even that high) as Lóravarnion materialized from the washroom. Ñolofinwë didn't realize how really tall he was than he and broader up close. “The high prince wouldn’t tell me your name, not until this evening. He informed me you are looking for me, is that true?”

“I need to know the masked individual who seems to be so taken with me.”

It was straightforward, but Ñolofinwë wouldn't have it any other way. “My assumption was right. You are one of the advisors of the High King.”

“Does that knowledge intimidate you?” he asked, eyes twinkling. “I assure you, I am not as severe as one might think.”

“Judging by how eager you were in our first encounter, no, not at all,” Ñolofinwë replied dryly, “or does wearing a mask embolden you?”

“I don't need a mask so I can do what I please.” The words hit home to Ñolofinwë, and in that brief moment, he thought he might have guessed his identity.

Lóravarnion continued to move forward, fingertips gliding on the handrail. “I am also unattached, and  can indulge freely.” Soon he was close enough that Ñolofinwë could see his sharp features clear under the moonlight, and his long fine dark hair shining in a deep brown shade. He added, “I assume you also are, for despite Fëanáro’s fondness for you, he does not mind us meeting.”

Ñolofinwë chuckled at that. “We are friends. He can rein in his temper and his tongue when it matters, if only for me.”

“I am still perplexed how you manage to be on good terms with both princes, when they can't even tolerate each other’s presence.”

“I favor them equally, neither one above the other,” Ñolofinwë replied, realizing that Lóravarnion had somehow caged him in. He licked his lips, not missing how Lóravarnion’s gaze followed the gesture “I deal with them separately, depending on their moods. The crown prince won't mind us meeting, for example. I don't know if his brother is alright with it. But I do know they are both generous, to allow me to spend my free time like this.”

“And it gave you opportunities like these.” Lóravarnion pointed out, glancing outside, scanning the ground below them. The guests were still numerous, but scattered over the grounds, enjoying the evening with fine food and music, the outdoors lit with lanterns dotted and hung along the paths. “But you said it yourself, you are not fond of celebrations. Yet here you are, showing everyone how to attend a party.”

“It will be an insult to our hosts if I arrive in casual attire.” Ñolofinwë’s nose crinkled, to which Lóravarnion pleasantly chuckled. Ñolofinwë was almost surprised by it, never having seen him in such a light-hearted mood.

“You are so outspoken! It is like you fear nothing.”

“I don't want to dance around a topic.” Ñolofinwë didn't miss the way Lóravarnion continued to gaze at him, appreciating his form, eyes shining with unspoken desire. He was surprisingly less persistent than he was three days ago, managing to keep his hands to himself this time around.

Ñolofinwë wondered how would he react if he learned the truth.

“I also have my own fears. I just face them and deal with it. Who else will fight my battles for me?”

“Ah, and so headstrong,” Lóravarnion remarked, reaching out to tenderly caress his hip. Ñolofinwë jerked back; he hadn’t realized Lóravarnion was so close. So much for self-restraint. “I like that in a woman.”

“I am young,” Ñolofinwë blurted out, squirming at the touch as it slowly moved lower. This time he did not fight back and allowed Lóravarnion to admire and touch him. It was making him tremble. “I thought you should know, for you might mistake my stubbornness for being headstrong. You will tire of me.”

Lóravarnion stopped the motion of his hand at that, but didn't remove his touch. “How young are you, if you don't mind me asking?”

“I..I just reached my majority. Few months back.” He saw his eyes widen briefly, but resumed the movement of his hand on his hip. “Like I said from our first encounter, I am most likely old enough to be your child.”

“You carry yourself more maturely than someone your age.” Now his hand moved up, to brush lightly on his cheek. “Have you been any younger I would have been sorely disappointed.”

Ñolofinwë feels nervous as to where this might lead. They are still out in the open after all, anyone can walk into them and see what are they up to. Ñolofinwë didn't even have to try to flirt to entice Lóravarnion: He clearly wanted to have him.

His breathing hitched as Lóravarnion reached to touch his mask. “I want to see you.”

“I am sorry.” Ñolofinwë held it on fast. “But I cannot allow you this. It's my condition if I am to meet you.”

“The princes?”

“No, it's my decision. There are things I would like to keep private.” Ñolofinwë hoped Lóravarnion wouldn’t persist, as he was making it up as he went. At all costs, Lóravarnion must never see his whole face. “I am sorry. It is nothing personal, but we don’t know each other that well.”

“But the princes, have they seen your face?”

“Of course,” Ñolofinwë replied. He does not want to look up, as he could already sense the disappointment in Lóravarnion’s voice. “I have known them long enough.” He paused for a moment, then went on, “But just so you know, I am not ugly. It's a masquerade themed event, I might as well use the opportunity to be incognito with no one to judge my actions.”

“Like seducing one of the High King’s advisors, about three to four times your age.”

“I have not!” Ñolofinwë objected, looking up. Lóravarnion was not judging him, his face was in fact alight with amusement. “...you are the one who made the first move.”

“I jest, dear. I am still capable of that.” He then at least withdrew his hand from the mask, not that it made things better, Lóravarnion was still pressed way too close. “From what I can see even with the mask, you are beautiful.”

“I...Thank you.”

“You said we don't know each other well enough for you to trust me.” Ñolofinwë nodded. “You wouldn't mind if I try to get to know you better?”

Ñolofinwë nodded again. He looked at him expectantly, ready to answer any (hopefully easy) questions, when Lóravarnion reached for his face again, tucking a lock of hair behind his ear and tilting his chin up. Ñolofinwë’s lips were already parted when Lóravarnion bent over to give him a kiss.

Ñolofinwë stiffened; he did not expect that at all. He gasped in surprise, but did not pull back, allowing Lóravarnion to slip his tongue into his mouth, gently coaxing him to action. He tasted of rich plum wine, and Ñolofinwë shyly tried to respond back: all he had to do was think of Fëanáro. He closed his eyes, imagined it's his half-brother he was kissing back, matching the fiery passionate kisses with his firm and tender ones.

When Lóravarnion withdrew, Ñolofinwë's eyes fluttered open. He could feel his heart pounding hard in his chest. There was a thin string of saliva between their parted lips, which Lóravarnion quickly licked away. The kiss left Ñolofinwë flushed: he might have been as red as his mask.

“I would like to know more about you, if you permit me,” he purred, and Ñolofinwë felt a shiver travel down his spine as Lóravarnion idly fingered his snake armband, before squeezing his arm. “My apartment is not far away from here, I might still have some visitors. But if you are willing to wait, will you indulge me with your company?”

Ñolofinwë swallowed thickly. There was no turning back now.


He nodded his affirmative.

 


 

 

Lóravarnion’s apartments

Almost half an hour later.

 

Lóravarnion left him briefly within his antechamber to discuss something with his servants by the halls, and Ñolofinwë watched in amusement as they rapidly filtered in and out, making last minute preparations and doing some quick cleaning before Lóravarnion entertained him in his room.

A few of his colleagues were still lounging around, outside the rooms, some idling inside. Ñolofinwë uncomfortably observed the tips of his shoes, pulling the cloak Lóravarnion offered him around his bare shoulders, trying to avoid meeting their curious gazes: he is unusually tall after all, if they believe him to be female. Ñolofinwë knew most of them from his Father’s court.

Few minutes later, Lóravarnion strode in, apologizing and saying that they should take the party somewhere else, as he would be busy with his lovely companion for the evening.

Lóravarnion reached for Ñolofinwë, pressing him close to his side, emphasizing the last words with one of his hands discreetly reaching down to fondle his buttocks. Ñolofinwë jerked in surprise when he felt a firm squeeze, and shivered slightly when long lean fingers started to glide up and down between his cheeks, trying to feel his crack through the fabric. Ñolofinwë squirmed, folding his legs tighter, hoping Lóravarnion’s fingers won't probe any lower to feel what shouldn't be there.

He glanced up timidly from his long lashes, Lóravarnion looked like he is not doing anything out of the ordinary while he pleasantly talked to some of his guests, the carefully-placed cloak on Ñolofinwë’s shoulders hiding the movement of his hand.

His comrades gave them knowing glances, jesting how it's been awhile for Lóravarnion since he had a 'wonderful’ evening and advised him to go easy, complementing Ñolofinwë’s strong beauty. Ñolofinwë could feel his face heat up at the shameless movement of Lóravarnion’s hand, as he smiled graciously at the guests while they left the apartment.

When the last guest left the room, and the door had clicked shut  behind them, Ñolofinwë quickly pulled away, but Lóravarnion took a hold of his wrist and spun him around, pushing him down to the large sectional sofa in the room.

Ñolofinwë made to sit up, but was pushed down again and his legs spread open. Lóravarnion’s body swiftly blanketed his, pushing his hair away on one side so he could kiss and suck hungrily at the delicious exposed curve of his neck .

“Lóravarnion...” Ñolofinwë blushed, caught by surprise at Lóravarnion’s intense desire to have him. “Not so fast,” he gasped when he started to grind against his crotch, “The servants...”

“Are instructed not to disturb us until late in the morning.” He nipped at an exposed part of her collarbone. “I have longed to have you like this in my arms, Úmátime, for days now.” He started to tug at one of the loose sleeves, alarming Ñolofinwë. “My apologies, if I am being too fast for you.”

“Yes, you are.” Ñolofinwë frowned, “I did not take you to be this...”

“Forward?” His kisses moved up, licking at the delicate shell of one ear and then nipping on its tip. Lóravarnion felt her shudder against him, and, delighting at the knowledge she was sensitive there, suckled on it.

“Yes! Too--ahh! Forward.” Ñolofinwë shivered again, as Lóravarnion discovered another one of his sensitive areas and he was embarrassed by how his body eagerly responded. Ñolofinwë managed to press a hand on his chest, trying to push him away. “Please, can we slow down?”

“I thought you young ones liked it fast.” Lóravarnion withdrew, kissing the nose of the mask. “We get better and wiser with age, my dear. Centuries of practice. We expend our energy only when it's necessary.”

Ñolofinwë was relieved when Lóravarnion pulled away, and sat up, trying to pull up his sleeves higher. “Well...you are expending way too much.”

Lóravarnion laughed. Ñolofinwë didn't see his next move coming. Suddenly, Lóravarnion’s hands were on his sleeves, trying to tear and push them down.

Ñolofinwë let out a surprised shout, trying to paw his arms away, but Lóravarnion easily fought him off, and Ñolofinwë stiffened with dread when the top ripped open, spilling the stuffing from his chest.

“No, stop!” he begged weakly, as Lóravarnion still continued until the top was torn down to the waist, revealing not a woman's bosom but Ñolofinwë’s firm and flat chest. His expression was unreadable as Ñolofinwë started to take deep shaky breaths, dreading what was to come. Lóravarnion’s hands held him by his shoulders, and he gazed  down at him.

“I am sorry,” Ñolofinwë murmured weakly, trying to cover his chest with his arms. “I am not who you think I am.”

“I know.” Ñolofinwë looked up at that. “I know you are male, I am trying to get you to show me.”

“By tearing my clothes??”

“It looks to me you could afford more of these.” Lóravarnion fingered a loosened thread of fabric from a pulled sleeve. “And this seems to be the easiest and fastest manner to convince myself.”

Ñolofinwë reluctantly loosened his crossed arms around his chest, sitting up straight. “But when did you know?”

“Your throat.” Lóravarnion reached for his chin, gently tilting it to one side. “Only males have a lump on the throat, yours is not as prominent but when I examined your necklace, I noticed it.” His hand glided feather-light to his throat, fingering the choker adorned on it. Úmátime blushed prettily, and he let his fingers linger. “Which is why I have taken a look at it again this evening, and it confirmed my suspicions.”

“Why are you not angry with me?” Ñolofinwë asked shyly. “I have deceived you.”

“I am not upset. I am more intrigued than anything,” Lóravarnion replied, “It is a clever disguise for the festivities, but the way you move and talk, even someone as old as I almost believed you are female.” He withdrew his touch. “You do this often?”

“From time to time,” Ñolofinwë replied, looking up. “Usually when I try to sneak out my home for festivities?”

Lóravarnion chuckled softly. It was something Ñolofinwë would have to get used to, for it was a pleasant change to see him behave in a light hearted manner. “Regardless of your gender, I still think you are beautiful.”

“Thank you.” Ñolofinwë watched as Lóravarnion cast his gaze at his half-naked form appreciatively, wondering what he would do next.

“Are the Princes aware of this?”

“Yes, they don't mind my peculiar habit.” Ñolofinwë’s breathing hitched as Lóravarnion reached forward to squeeze him on the hip, urging him to move back a little. Ñolofinwë slowly leaned backward, supporting himself on his elbows as the look of desire surged once more in Lóravarnion’s blue-gray eyes. “That’s what friends are for.”

“Friends.” Lóravarnion licked his lips; he could see Úmátime’s bright blue eyes behind the mask, alight with worry, uncertain. “At least I won't have more competition.”

He really is quite young, Lóravarnion realized. The lad’s skin has the fresh tightness that comes with youth, his nipples look soft and dusty rose pink color. Lóravarnion pressed forward, inhaling his scent, watching his chest quiver as he flicked his tongue on a nub.

“Actually, I--- oh.” Úmátime gasped, and Lóravarnion smirked against his chest, licking and teasing the nub repeatedly to hardness. He was pleased to feel him respond beautifully, his chest arching forward towards his mouth, fingers shyly running through the fine braids of his hair. Úmátime wanted more, but too reluctant to ask for it. And if his soft pants are to go by, he is sensitive to touch on his nipples as he was on his ears.

Lóravarnion got an idea: He gave the wet and hardened nub a light kiss, before moving his mouth to the other nipple, applying the same attentions. This time he also reached up to one of his ears, rubbing the tip firmly between his fingertips.

The result was wonderful; Úmátime’s hips snapped forward and he moaned, gasping Lóravarnion’s name. Lóravarnion latched on his nipple, enclosing his lips around it to suck, while he ground his crotch hard against his.

“A-ahh..” Ñolofinwë panted, finding himself responding back, rocking and grinding against Lóravarnion, straining to have more of his warm teasing tongue on his chest, leaning more for his touches on his ears. He was pleasuring him in several spots at once, so much so that he wouldn’t mind coming then and there, even if he messes up the inside of his skirts.

This went on for a few more minutes until Lóravarnion gently withdrew his attention from his ears and kiss bitten chest and Ñolofinwë whined at the loss. His pace from below however didn't falter.

“Easy, now.” Lóravarnion grunted, placing both his arms on each side of Úmátime to balance himself and look down: Úmátime had given up supporting himself with his elbows, now lying down flat on his back. His face was enticingly flushed, eyes glazed with pleasure, looking adorable as he chewed on his lower lip as he tried to match Lóravarnion’s pace. He even widened his stance as he rubbed himself desperately against him.

“You wanted this?” Lóravarnion asked, and Úmátime eagerly nodded, but was unable to meet his gaze. He was still embarrassed at how rapidly he was becoming so undone.

“Do you want me to take you?” Úmátime let out a shaky gasp in response, nodding again. Lóravarnion felt a rush of dampness and a rising hardness beneath him and smiled.

He slowed down to a complete stop and lifted himself up: there was a growing wet sticky spot on the crotch area of Úmátime’s dress and the fabric was rapidly tenting. He snaked his hand between his legs and squeezed the bulge forming below.

“Lóravarnion!” Úmátime moaned, tossing his head back, jerking to the touch, trembling as he continued to firmly squeeze and palm his length through the fabric, while also kissing his exposed throat.

“I need you in my bedroom,” Lóravarnion growled against his ear, before kissing him fiercely once more. “Right now.”

Úmátime nodded, wrapping his arms around his shoulders as he eagerly returned the kisses. Lóravarnion lifted him effortlessly into his arms as if he weighed nothing, taking long swift strides towards the bedroom.

Chapter Text

He couldn’t believe they were finally doing this.

 

Ñolofinwë pulled away from the kiss just in time for Lóravarnion to push the doors wide open, sweeping everything off the nearest large wall side table, before setting him down there.

“Impatient, are we?” he teased, as Lóravarnion reached underneath his skirts.

Ñolofinwë gasped in surprise when he grasped both of his legs, folding them up to the table’s surface. He quickly held on the edges for support. “Lóravarnion!”

“Remove your shoes, dear.”

Ñolofinwë frowned but obeyed, tossing his heeled shoes clumsily on the floor. He gasped again when Lóravarnion pushed him back against the wall, lifting and pushing his skirts up impatiently, until Ñolofinwë could feel the cold breeze whiff between his legs. Lóravarnion held onto his knees, parting them as wide as he could.

He trembled, feeling all too vulnerable and exposed as Lóravarnion’s eyes flitted between his legs.

“If you can't show me your lovely face, I would love to see the rest of you and enjoy it as much as I can,” he purred, his face determined, eager to see his length between his legs. It was several decades since he had touched and lain with a male, and a very young one at that.

He hadn’t expected the female underwear.

 

“Silk underwear?” Lóravarnion lifted both eyebrows, eyeing the damp lacy peony pink underwear, snug and low on Úmátime’s hips and quite tight: he could see how his cock strained against the fabric, he could make out a prominent vein of his shaft and the shape of his sac. The cut was low enough to expose some fine pubic hair and the whole tip, revealing a pinkish cockhead oozing with precome from the slit. Úmátime was clearly getting more aroused the longer he held him open, like a gift begging to be thoroughly unwrapped.

“I-it came with the dress.” Ñolofinwë murmured, looking away, embarrassed, as Lóravarnion delicately fingered the thin lace near the dip of his crotch. “I cannot wear my usual underwear in these clothes. This one doesn’t cover me enough, but I have no choice, I...”

“It certainly would ruin the illusion you want to achieve.” Lóravarnion’s warm hands slid from his knees to pet his thighs. Ñolofinwë was spooked at the coincidence; those were almost the same words Fëanáro said when he convinced him to change undergarments. “I have seen my share of cocks, but you are impressive . ”

“Thank you?” 

Ñolofinwë jerked in surprise when Lóravarnion knelt down in response, his face close to his crotch, taking a light sniff of his arousal. “It has also been a long while since I tasted someone.”

He stretched the lacy fabric tightly, pressing his palms on each side, and dipped his head, proceeding to lick the clothed length. Ñolofinwë moaned loudly, shivering as Lóravarnion continued to lap and lick briskly at the damp underwear, feeling the shape of his cock with his tongue while avoiding the exposed tip. 

“A-ah!...!” Ñolofinwë moaned, panting heavily as he tightened his grip on the table, shakily parting his legs wider to accommodate Lóravarnion, watching him as he licked, lapped and nipped hungrily at his length through the fabric.

Lóravarnion looked up, smirking, as he slowly licked upwards, avoiding the cockhead once again.

“Lóravarnion!” Úmátime breathed. “Please!”

Lóravarnion nipped at the lace near Úmátime’s hip. “Please, what?”

Ñolofinwë bit his lower lip. Lóravarnion watched in amusement as his length eagerly twitched, oozing large beads of precome that dribbled down the silk fabric. “P-please....”

Lóravarnion dipped his head, catching the trickle with his tongue, licking it up to the source, kissing the tip, before tugging the lacy panties down and taking the head in his mouth, closing his lips around it and giving it a hearty suck.

Ñolofinwë moaned again, louder. Remembering that he could get really loud when carried away, and there were servants outside the other rooms of the apartment, he moved one hand to his mouth, biting it to suppress his lustful cries.

He could feel goosebumps rise on his skin as Lóravarnion hummed and took him deeper into his mouth, smoothly dragging the flat of his tongue over the underside of his cock as he slowly withdrew halfway. He then dipped his hand below to fondle his tight balls, before fully withdrawing to return his attentions to the cockhead. He was really skilled with his tongue, Ñolofinwë could give him that, his only experience being Fëanáro. Lóravarnion was less impatient and more measured in his movements. He remembered his half-brother’s words, and wondered if Fëanáro’s assumptions were correct.

Lóravarnion gently withdrew, licking his lips before spitting the precome on his fingers and sucking them. He stood up to reach inside and underneath Úmátime’s panties, tracing the cleft of his ass to probe a finger between the cheeks to find his already wet and twitching entrance.

Lóravarnion gently took his hand from his mouth, kissing it, watching in amusement how Úmátime eagerly widened his stance to watch the motion of his other hand below, as he pushed most of the panties down, tracing and probing the tight ring of muscle, his shaft leaking and bobbing hard out in the open.

“You like this. I could show you more...” Lóravarnion murmured, feeling Úmátime tighten his grip on his hand with a choked breath as he gave one of his cheeks a firm squeeze. “If this is your first time, I will try to be gentle in taking you.”

Ñolofinwë licked his lips, trying to lick away a thin strand of drool from his mouth, to no avail. Lóravarnion rubbed it away with his thumb as it trickled down to his chin. “N-No...” Lóravarnion lifted an eyebrow at that, “No, this is not my first time.”

“You said you just recently reached your majority,” Lóravarnion replied, frowning a little. “You already have someone?”

“I...” He squirmed as Lóravarnion’s hand movements seemed to slow down. “I have had a male lover even before I was of age...” He lifted his glazed eyes to Lóravarnion’s piercing ones. “He knew better than to take me but...it didn't stop him from indulging my curiosity over how to be touched.”

“You have been a naughty girl...” He slipped in a finger, and Ñolofinwë jerked with a whimper. There was forcefulness in his movement, as if Lóravarnion was mildly disappointed not to be his first. “Enticing your elders into bedplay.”

“We  lay together as soon as I came of age,” Ñolofinwë breathed as Lóravarnion started to stroke his passage, and tried to prod another finger in. “He is not that old! Ah... he knows of this, he doesn’t mind. He...encourages it.”

Ñolofinwë almost regretted saying the words, but Lóravarnion was unperturbed. “Your lover is very open minded,” he replied, slipping the second finger in. Ñolofinwë muttered a curse as he wiggled it deeper, and started stretching him. “And I am glad you are being honest with me, that takes courage to admit.”

“You are not furious that I’m taken?”

“I won’t mind sharing, and you said it yourself, your lover encourages it.”

Lóravarnion briefly withdrew his hand, only to tear off the lacy underwear and toss it at the floor.

 

“That is expensive silk!” Ñolofinwë cried, watching as Lóravarnion kicked it away. “I only have a handful of those!”

“You will not need it, not with me,” Lóravarnion answered, folding Úmátime’s legs higher, hooking each one over the crook of his arm. His hands automatically went to his shoulders for support. “Your expensive clothes, evenly smooth complexion, your association with both princes. If I am to hazard a guess, you need to wear the mask because you are of importance, most likely nobility, aren't you?”

“I.. I am,” Úmátime gasped. “Not that it's important.”

“You would most likely get into all sorts of trouble if they learn what you are up to.”

“Maybe?” Ñolofinwë started to feel uncomfortable, having been pushed firmly against the wall behind him, his legs folded over on each arm, he could feel his behind so exposed that he is close to slipping off the surface. He wiggled. “But they don't know I have a male lover. I know how to cover my tracks, how to get what I want.”

“And I know how to get mine,” Lóravarnion smirked. “I would love to see more of you.” He didn’t miss how Úmátime shivered at the words, and squeezed the firm flesh of his legs. “Show me that you want it.”

“L-like this?” Ñolofinwë had never felt so embarrassed about being shamelessly exposed and spread open. He thought his earlier position was scandalous, this one was far worse. His own hardness was pointing upwards, bending timidly a little to the left. He didn't miss the hunger in Lóravarnion’s eyes as he looked at it, like he would want to drink him dry.

Lóravarnion nodded.

Ñolofinwë was reminded of the night Fëanáro instructed him to present himself before him. He swallowed thickly, nodding, and awkwardly let go of his grip on Lóravarnion’s shoulders.

“I will not let you slip, don’t worry.”

Ñolofinwë reached below, cupping his balls and his cock, pressing it flat on his belly, giving Lóravarnion a clear unobstructed view of his pinkish hole, glistening.

“Yes,” Lóravarnion purred, licking his lips. “Just like that.”

Pressing the heel of his palm firmly on his balls, Ñolofinwë adjusted his hand, reaching lower to press two fingers firmly on his entrance, rubbing his rim up and down before slipping in with ease up to the second knuckle. He bit back a whimper as he wiggled and shook his fingers in before withdrawing them to the first knuckle, hooking them up as high as he could, pulling his hole open for Lóravarnion to see the rosy pink tight flesh fluttering. He exhaled shakily, secreting clear viscous fluid that dribbled and pooled down on the table surface.

Lóravarnion made a low growling sound that was almost predatory . “That’s my girl, so eager to have me.”

He still continued to use feminine pronouns to tease him, and Ñolofinwë would not want to admit it later, but it only turned him on even more.

He brought his free hand to his mouth, and with his eyes half-closed, made a show of licking his fingers, mewling as he soaked and coated them with his spit. He seductively traced his hand from his mouth down to his neck, tweaking a hardened nipple on his chest, and with his skirts obstructing the path, he reached between his legs and slipped two fingers into his exposed entrance.

“Ahh...” Ñolofinwë bit his lip, looking down as he pushed his fingers deeper, he then drew them out and then in again, and settled into a slow rhythm, making lewd squelching sounds as he moved. He rested his head back against the wall, panting, eyes half-open as he meets Lóravarnion’s hungry gaze.

“Ahh...yes...” he murmured, dragging his fingers slower and longer, in and out. The pleading technique didn’t seem to work with his half-brother but it would most likely work with Lóravarnion. “Please, Lóravarnion.” Ñolofinwë licked his lips, “Deeper, please...deeper....”

Lóravarnion didn’t respond immediately, but Ñolofinwë was pleased when he noticed his bulge rapidly tenting his robes. With a grunt, Lóravarnion adjusted his hold on his legs and positioned his right hand on his rear. Ñolofinwë’s eyes widened when he felt two of his fingers join his hand below. He winced, making a pained sound when Lóravarnion slipped in his fingers and stroked in tandem alongside his own, his tight heat getting uncomfortably full.

“Remove your other hand, that hand only,” he commanded huskily, and Ñolofinwë nodded, withdrawing his right hand stretching his hole, easing some of the pain.

“Lóravarnion,” he panted, his own fingers getting pressed deeper along with Lóravarnion’s.  “...It hurts.”

“If you are to take me, dear, you need to be thoroughly prepared,” Lóravarnion smirked, emphasizing his words by pinching him inside, shaking his fingers, making Úmátime arch and whimper. He drew back his hand to lick the wetness he had gathered, and then tipping Úmátime’s chin up, bringing their faces close, he whispered into his ear. “You taste good, I cannot wait to take you.”

“Take me...” he whimpered, as Lóravarnion nipped at his earlobe, resuming his touches below, his re-entry marked by a loud squelch.

He paused from kissing his jaw. “On the table? Right now?”

“I don’t mind, we are already here anyway...” Úmátime blushed. “I always wanted to try something unconventional.”

“An adventurous one.” Ñolofinwë could feel he might have smiled on that. “There is so much I would like to show you, but let’s see if you could take it without...” There was a ruffling of fabric and Lóravarnion withdrew his fingers to part his robes and tug down the garter of his breeches. His cock sprung out, already hard and leaking.

 

Ñolofinwë gulped audibly: it was thicker than he expected it to be, he can’t be sure if it’s even normal, the only other length he have seen was Fëanáro’s, and he is by no means average sized. “Oh...you are not joking.”

Lóravarnion looked hesitant, having seen the brief dread on his masked face. But Úmátime shook his head, his eyes determined. “I can take it, my lover is about your size.”

“Is he now?” Lóravarnion eyes flickered with amusement, as Úmátime wiggled his ass impatiently as he lazily strokes himself, taking his whole length out. “You looked alarmed earlier.”

“I was surprised,” Úmátime replied, chewing on his lip as Lóravarnion brushed his tip at his entrance, smearing it with precome, before nudging it, squelching as he slowly pressed forward. He inhaled sharply, feeling the dull pain of the stretch. “I..ahh...love a challenge.”

“I don't want you hurt, so you have to tell me if you can't take it.” Lóravarnion wrapped one arm around his waist, pulling him close, and the other hand around his cock, tugging it lazily as Úmátime’s hands flew immediately around his neck for support.

“There, just like that,” Lóravarnion hummed as he cautiously continued to move forward, grunting when his cockhead finally overcame the resistance of the tight ring of muscle, sliding into Úmátime’s tight passage.

Ñolofinwë’s grip tightened as he let out a pained sound, spreading himself wider. “Go on,” he gasped, “I can take it.”

Lóravarnion nodded, pressing forward, but Úmátime let out a soft cry and his passage spasmed and fluttered so violently , that Lóravarnion paused half-way, giving him a moment to adjust.

“Shh, try to relax...” he murmured, withdrawing to the tip and rocking slowly back half-way in, not fully sheathing himself, aware that it will take awhile for someone so young and inexperienced such as Úmátime to get used to his size.

“It’s so big...” he choked back a sob, allowing Lóravarnion to set the pace, as he held onto him, his head pressed against a shoulder. he could see how Lóravarnion’s hand palmed his cock against his belly, giving him a good view of how he takes it in below, thrusting in and out slowly. He was fascinated to see how he could manage to fit such thickness in him---he also wondered how it would be if he took it in his mouth.

“I would let you taste it, if you don’t mind it having been in you,”  Lóravarnion grunted, as if he had read his mind. He drew back his hand to slap him on his hip, Úmátime yelped, jolting him to sit straight up in surprise. Lóravarnion moved both hands underneath his buttocks, squeezing them, not even faltering in his rhythm. “Now be a good girl, and relax for me--- try spreading wider.”

Ñolofinwë obeyed, sitting straight and spreading himself as wide as he could. Lóravarnion growled a yes , his thrusts picking up speed as he kneaded and spread his cheeks open. His legs started to tremble. Each time Lóravarnion thrust in, he was pushed back against the wall, and each stab was deeper, but Lóravarnion did not go all the way in.

Ñolofinwë started to meet him mid-thrust, jerking his hips erratically much to Lóravarnion’s surprise. “Deeper,” he gasped, wincing as his back was pounded against  the wall and the dull throb in him grew sharper. “Deeper-- please.”

Lóravarnion bit him on the skin near his wrist. “No,”  he growled. “Be patient.”

“I can take it!”

“Listen--”

 

They both nearly jumped when the doors suddenly barged open. Ñolofinwë let out an undignified squeak, his legs wrapping around Lóravarnion’s waist immediately as a tall blur of pale hair and dark blues swiftly stormed into the room.

“They won't let me in!” The figure growled, tossing a pair of gloves carelessly on a dressing table before grabbing a round peach from the fruit bowl, taking a large bite of it. Lóravarnion let out a long tired sigh, cursing as he thudded his head against the wall. He couldn’t withdraw immediately, as Úmátime had frozen in place and clenched his passage tightly around him, his face buried on his shoulder. He gave him a light tap on the hip, and he slowly tried to relax himself for him.

“Uncle, why won’t--” Arcalimon almost choked on the food he is eating at the sight before him. He sputtered, cursed, almost tripping backwards in shock to see them.

“Úmátime??” he cried, and Ñolofinwë jerked upon being recognized as he sank further into Lóravarnion’s arms. He could not properly fold his legs, with Lóravarnion having not fully withdrawn from him yet. He peeked over his shoulder and it was Arcalimon’s hilariously reddened jaw-dropped face that greeted him.

“I thought no one was allowed in.” Ñolofinwë hissed, torn between embarrassment and being upset, his own arousal rapidly dispersing. “Arcalimon is your nephew??”

“The servants listen to my words when I say that they should not interrupt,” Lóravarnion sighed, withdrawing carefully from Ñolofinwë with a pop. From behind, Arcalimon made an indignant sound. “Yes, Arcalimon is my nephew. He is also a regular visitor. I didn’t expect him to drop by all of a sudden at this hour. You knew him?”

“He has been pursuing me since three days ago and also tonight,” Ñolofinwë grumbled, trying his best to fold his legs closed as Lóravarnion tucked himself back in, looking over his shoulder just in time to see his nephew make a face as he picked up the discarded panties from the floor. “I can see where he got it from.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, I am not that brazen and foolish.” He straightened, helping Ñolofinwë pull his skirts down, or as much as what they could from where he sat. Ñolofinwë could not stretch his legs yet. 

“Neither of you can keep your hands off me.”

He gently pulled back Ñolofinwë’s top to cover his chest, helping him with the sleeves. “Truly?”

“Uncle, what is this??” Arcalimon interrupted, sputtering, still bewildered. “You and Úmátime??”

“We are fucking, what does it look like?” Ñolofinwë snapped, and Lóravarnion almost chuckled at his brutal honesty. “I was never yours to begin with, Arcalimon. Please leave us.”

“It is not my fault that she prefers to be comforted in my arms.” Lóravarnion replied to his nephew’s betrayed look. “Have you been acquainted?”

“Yes...”

“Trying to grope me on our first evening is not a good first impression,” Ñolofinwë retorted. “I don’t care how you use that ‘sword’ of yours.”

“I...” Turning tongue-tied because the accusation was true, Arcalimon looked to his uncle. “But...you are too old for her!”

 

“I am old, not dead.” Lóravarnion rolled his eyes, straightening his robes and turning to face his nephew. “I still feel desire. Why are you here? Is there something you need that you can’t wait outside the living room?”

“Supposedly,” Arcalimon grumbled. “I would like to know if I can borrow certain...books, from your private study as soon as possible. I wanted to get tips to woo...” he gestured towards Ñolofinwë, who is still sitting on the table, legs folded to the side. He merely huffed and crossed his arms over his chest.

“I can’t believe this.” Ñolofinwë frowned, and out of curiosity, he turned to Lóravarnion. “Books on courtship?”

Lóravarnion smirked. “More on...the art of lovemaking.”

“You have a collection?”

“No, I researched and wrote them,” Lóravarnion answered, and Ñolofinwë’s eyes widened. “I keep my favorite pieces in my private study, the rest are in the restricted section in the library.”

 

So Fëanáro’s assumption was correct , and Ñolofinwë felt a shiver run down his spine. He was sure it didn’t escape Lóravarnion’s notice, if the faint smile was enough to go by. He could learn so much from him.

Now if Arcalimon would just leave.

“You have a choice,” Lóravarnion said. “You could leave, take your sorrows to your cups, or you could stay with us.” Ñolofinwë just glared, but didn't say anything. “Either way, please lock the doors behind you.”

With that, Lóravarnion scooped Ñolofinwë up from the table, who let out a surprised and delighted squeal as he was carried easily over his shoulder, his behind given a loud smack, and Lóravarnion chuckled. Ñolofinwë arranged the mask on his face a little, smirking at Arcalimon, who silently seethed as he watched him be carried towards the bed.

Lóravarnion tossed him to the bed, and Ñolofinwë immediately crawled into position on the middle of the mattress, his back facing their unexpected guest. Arcalimon watched in disgust as Lóravarnion, his uncle, crawled towards his lovely Úmátime, kissing her fiercely.

“Undress,” he purred, and she sat up on her haunches, unlatching the clasps of her dress from behind and pulling it up over her head, tossing it aside, giving Arcalimon a nice view of her smooth naked back and well shaped buttocks. He envied his uncle, who, like him, cast his eyes appreciatively at her naked form. Úmátime tossed some of her tresses over shoulder as Lóravarnion murmured something barely audible, and started to help remove her jewelry, save for an arm bangle shaped as a snake.

“Let me set this aside for you.” Lóravarnion said, looking over his shoulder to glance at his nephew, still frozen on the spot. He stood up, gathering the trinkets and clothes as Úmátime slid into the sheets, turning around.

“Beautiful, isn’t she?” Lóravarnion remarked, as Úmátime faced them, lying on his stomach, folding his legs up from behind, feet crossed and leaning on his arms that he folded in front of him. The position concealed his chest, giving not much away. Not that there is much to see, with some of his wavy locks over his shoulders. “If you worry, she is of age. She just reached her majority a few months ago.”

“Few months ago??”

“I already have some experience.” Ñolofinwë shrugged a shoulder. “I have a lover who took me to bed as soon as I came of age.”

“Why do you still keep the mask on?”

“It’s a preference.” Ñolofinwë answered, pressing the mask firmly by the nose. “It’s the condition we agreed on if he wants my company.”

“Your identity must be of importance.”

“Maybe.”

“She is a tease.” Lóravarnion added, placing the clothes and the trinkets down on a chair and slipping behind a dressing screen. “She admits to being high-born but other than that refuses to give any clues.”

“And you are fine with this?” Arcalimon asked, watching as Úmátime idly played with the ends of her hair.

“We have gone this far and so far she has been pretty accommodating . Ah, and she is acquainted with the high princes, so there is nothing to worry about.”

Arcalimon’s eyes never seemed to stray from Úmátime’s naked form, much to the latter’s annoyance. “The two older princes? They never get along.”

“Apparently she holds the secret.”

“I am not having an affair with either, if that’s what you think,” Ñolofinwë added, before Arcalimon could open his mouth again. “We have a more professional relationship.”

“Of what kind?” Arcalimon queried, and much to Ñolofinwë’s chagrin, he gravitated towards the bed. It dipped as he sat near his left.

“It’s none of your business,” he growled, trying to shrug him off as he reached out to pet his hair. “Why won’t you leave?”

 

“I don’t want to.” Arcalimon persisted, brushing Úmátime’s hair so he could touch her smooth shoulder, feeling it firmly despite her trying to squirm away from his touch. He glided it to her back and she snarled back at him, trying to bat his hand away, but he caught her wrist in a firm hold which she could not wrestle way from. “I want you.”

“You would not want me if you had seen all of me,” she hissed. “Let go of me!”

“Arcalimon,” Lóravarnion called from behind the dressing screen. “Do not be stubborn.”

Arcalimon reluctantly let go of her arm, and was roughly pushed away.

Ñolofinwë made a turn to crawl away from his side of the bed, but underestimated Arcalimon’s stubborn nature, who took off his coat and threw himself over him, pressing down on him. Ñolofinwë let out a surprised cry, cursing and thrashing violently as Arcalimon held him down, rubbing himself behind him.

“Arcalimon!!” Ñolofinwë’s screamed, his voice muffled with the sheets as Arcalimon yanked some of his hair away to land a hungry bite to his shoulder, applying suction and wet bites as he made his way to his neck, as if he wanted to devour him.

“Why do you hate me so much?” he growled, managing to grapple both of Ñolofinwë’s wrists in one tight grip, forcing the other hand underneath his belly. “Give me time to make you--”

Arcalimon was not able to finish his sentence. Instead of feeling a woman’s warm quim he felt something else, an appendage, limp and long. He quickly withdrew his hand like it was on fire and pulled Úmátime by the hair, forcing her to turn around to face him.

Lóravarnion moved swiftly to the scene, wrapped only in his silken robes, to find Arcalimon frozen, gawking and red in the face at a very furious and disheveled Úmátime and his toned flat chest.

To horrify Arcalimon further, Ñolofinwë parted his legs wider, to give him a clear view of his long pinkish cock, nestled between a fine nest of dark pubic curls.

 

He palmed his length to mock him even more, “I did warn you.”

Chapter Text

“Uncle?” Arcalimon said, stunned, turning towards Lóravarnion who looked none too impressed with his nephew’s antics. “S-she is a male!”

“Yes, I am aware of that fact.”

“Since when did you know?!” He gestured at Úmátime, who gave him a light kick. He nearly slipped off the bed, and glared back at him. “You still refer to him as a female, why?”

“When I met her during the festivities I realized it. If you are highly observant you will notice her throat,” Lóravarnion continued, amused that Arcalimon was so flustered he couldn’t even look the young lad in the eye. “It’s a masquerade ball, anyone could dress up as whoever they want to be.”

“He preferred to continue using feminine pronouns for me even once he knew,” Ñolofinwë added. “Also, that does not make my name Úmátimon.”

“She has an identity to uphold, so we settled for that,” Lóravarnion said. “But everything else is pretty much the truth. Like I was saying earlier, it’s up to you if you want to stay or leave. The choice is yours.”

Arcalimon made a face, but Lóravarnion ignored him and turned to Ñolofinwë. “Now dear, don’t mind him.” He presented a large phial of oil. “Let’s get back to the order of business, shall we?”

Ñolofinwë eagerly nodded, licking his lips as he repositioned himself on the bed. “Yes.”


Recovering from the shock that Úmátime was a cross-dressing male, Arcalimon did not know if he would like to see them make love in bed. With a resigned grunt, he was making his way out of the room when he heard Úmátime’s giggling escalating to a loud moan.

It was a delicious sound that immediately shot down to his groin, and he turned around to see him on all fours, leaning over and kissing his uncle lazily. Lóravarnion was lying back on the bed, relaxed, already naked and half-hard. Upon closer inspection, Arcalimon noticed how his Uncle’s hand was busy palming and stroking Úmátime’s length below.

“That’s right...” Lóravarnion purred in Úmátime’s ear, glancing over to see his nephew entranced at the sight. “...Sing for me.”

Lóravarnion made a show of groping one of Úmátime’s round ass cheeks, squeezing and kneading it in tandem while his other hand continued to tend to his desire. Unaware that someone was watching, Ñolofinwë wiggled his behind to get more of Lóravarnion’s touches, making an impatient sound as he kissed him back feverishly.

Without breaking eye contact with his nephew, Lóravarnion pulled the cheek to give Arcalimon an enticing view of what lay between, and was pleased to see the lump in his throat move as he gulped.

“I am now ready!” Ñolofinwë whined, and broke into a loud gasp when Lóravarnion started rubbing and stretching his still slick entrance, “...Please!”

“No, you still need additional preparation.” Lóravarnion watched as his nephew finally gave in and stalked swiftly towards the bed, removing his tunic and frantically unlacing his breeches.

“As a token of apology, it seems my nephew might would like to have the honor,” Lóravarnion murmured against his cheek, and it took a few seconds for the words to sink in before Ñolofinwë reacted, quickly retreating. Lóravarnion held him firmly with both arms. He struggled, looking worriedly over his shoulder as he saw Arcalimon approaching him, already half-naked and from his nearly undone breeches, clearly hard.

“W-what! Why?” Ñolofinwë cried, trying to wiggle and kick away. But Arcalimon was quick to hold onto both legs. “He tried to hurt me!”

“Arcalimon can be reckless, and gets carried away with his emotions sometimes, but he never intends to hurt anyone.” Lóravarnion shrugged with nonchalance as Ñolofinwë fumed. “I did give him a choice, if he should stay or leave.” He squeezed Ñolofinwë’s arm firmly. “Now trust me on this and behave, be a good girl. He is clearly smitten with you.”

“I thought...” Ñolofinwë reluctantly conceded and stopped struggling, eyeing Arcalimon worriedly over his shoulder when he started to glide his hands over his hips and towards the small of his back. He trembled. “...he seems not to be the type.”

“I have experience bedding males.” Arcalimon smirked, his hands settling on both of his cheeks. “How would you know? Have we been acquainted before?”

Ñolofinwë shivered, and not just because of his touch. “No! We have not.”

“I certainly would remember this.” And he landed a light slap on his ass. Ñolofinwë snarled and almost kicked him but Lóravarnion shushed them, tossing the phial towards his nephew. “Do the princes know of your penchant for crossdressing?”

“They do and they don’t care.”

“Splendid,” Arcalimon murmured, squeezing his ass cheeks once before parting them, pleased to see his pinkish hole moist and twitching, and firmly pressed a finger on it.

Ñolofinwë jerked at the touch, still sensitive from earlier and felt the puff of Arcalimon’s warm breath against his ass.

“You are supposed to prepare me...” Ñolofinwë mumbled, and yelped when a warm tongue licked up briskly from his balls to his entrance. He stiffened and tried to wiggle away from the ticklish touch but Lóravarnion placed a hand on his back, soothing him.

“Is this the first time someone has kissed you there?”

“N-no.” Ñolofinwë stammered. He started to tremble as Arcalimon parted his cheeks wider, placing a dainty kiss on his entrance, whereupon it fluttered. “My lover only did it once to me. I am not used to it.”

“I see.” Lóravarnion noticed what looked like a smirk as Arcalimon’s face dipped lower. “How many times did you two make love?”

“Only once.” Ñolofinwë whispered, wincing when he felt the two fingers prodding his entrance slip inside to the first knuckle, hooking upwards. “We fooled around, but he didn’t let me take his cock until I was of age.”

Lóravarnion petted his hair, drawing him in so his head rested on his shoulder as Arcalimon prepared him with uncustomary tenderness. “He seems to be a patient man.”

Ñolofinwë chuckled at that and then gasped, as Arcalimon‘s tongue flickered and jabbed repeatedly at his stretched hole, stiffening to get in. “No--ahh! He is not.”

Lóravarnion hummed at that, watching his nephew with mild interest as he lapped at the stretched entrance hungrily, before unhooking his fingers so he could tilt his head, and then pressed his face closer, until his nose touched Úmátime’s crack. Úmátime let out a muffled cry against his shoulder, goosebumps rising instantaneously on his skin as he tried to wiggle away from the intruding tongue, but Lóravarnion held onto his legs as Arcalimon pried the cheeks even wider, taking him as deep as his tongue could reach.

“A-ah, please!” Úmátime whimpered, trembling and unable to move properly with both of them holding him open, effectively trapped between the two.

“You want more?” Úmátime shook his head, softly panting as Lóravarnion noticed his nephew’s head moving faster, applying suction if the lewd slurping sounds were any indication..

“Arcalimon, don’t get carried away. I don’t want him to come yet.”

Arcalimon nodded, moving one hand below, squeezing Úmátime’s length to hold off any impending climax as he keened and jerked, trying to wriggle away but it only made him push back against Arcalimon’s skilled mouth and hands.

Ñolofinwë let out a sob of relief when he finally withdrew, and looked over his shoulder to see Arcalimon licking his lips with smug satisfaction.

“You taste exquisite,” he smirked, popping the phial open, drizzling a generous amount on his ass, prodding it with two fingers that slipped in with ease. Ñolofinwë didn't realize that most of Arcalimon's hand was already inside of him until he looked over his shoulder, the only movement he could properly do with the two holding his legs and arms.

“Three...four...” Ñolofinwë’s eyes widened when from his angle he could see Arcalimon's fingers curl to make a fist. He only felt a dull throb and the sensation of being sufficiently stretched. “Yes, that's it. Does it hurt?”

Arcalimon withdrew his hand with a loud squelch, inspecting Úmátime’s hole. It was loosened enough and gaping. He rubbed a digit around the rim, pleased to find it soft and pliant, ready for the taking. Ñolofinwë bit his lip, hoping he was not imagining things when he saw Arcalimon's length twitch in the confines of his loosened breeches. It looked almost as huge as Lóravarnion's, if not thicker. “No. N-not much.”

“Good, I think you are ready to take us.” Arcalimon released his legs, giving his hip a light slap, urging him to move. Lóravarnion also gently released his arms, rubbing his shoulders.

“Both of you?!” Ñolofinwë asked, glancing back at Lóravarnion, looking confused and alarmed. Lóravarnion didn't reply immediately, re-arranging him as he had yet to regain the steadiness of his legs, and he ambled awkwardly as he moved towards Lóravarnion’s torso and sat on his haunches, a bit wobbly.

“If that is fine with you, of course,” Lóravarnion cooed, tucking a loose wet ribbon of hair behind his ear. “Not at the same time, but I could also arrange that, if you want to try.”

“I... I didn’t agree to him.”

“We didn’t expect him to be here either, but like I said earlier...” Lóravarnion eyed his leaking erection and his hands glided up and down his hips. He gave Ñolofinwë's cock a squeeze.  “I don’t mind sharing. You said it yourself, your lover has given you consent to freely indulge your desires.”

“This is not the sharing that I expected, this is -- an unusual arrangement.” Ñolofinwë winced as Lóravarnion made a tight grab on both of his ass cheeks, pulling them wide open, and Ñolofinwë pressed both his hands to his chest for support. He felt Lóravarnion shift underneath and soon enough he could feel his tip nudge against his entrance. The cockhead slipped easily into his well-lubricated hole.“By also--ahh! Allowing h-him to have me?”

“He might have behaved poorly to get your attention, but give him a second chance,” Lóravarnion murmured, making a pleased sound as Úmátime shakily took it upon himself to slowly push back, cautiously flexing his thighs up and down to get more of Lóravarnion's thick length in him. “He clearly adores you, regardless of gender.” He smirked. “And besides, it seemed you enjoyed it when he prepared you with his tongue.”

Úmátime flushed beautifully to the tip of his ears in response to that statement, and it was enough for Lóravarnion. Ñolofinwë was finally fully seated on him, taking deep shaky breaths as he minutely swayed his hips to adjust himself to the intrusion.

“She is so eagerly wet.” Arcalimon spoke, who up until now hadn’t said a word. He stripped off his breeches and was taking a sip from one of the carafes of wine on the bedside table before heading back to the bed. Whatever retort Ñolofinwë was about to say left his tongue when he saw the size of his hardness between his legs. He paled.

“Oh, no...”

“It runs in the family,” Arcalimon grinned. “You have Uncle now, and it seems you can take him in, so you would not have a problem with mine.”

“Just because I allowed you to touch me does not mean I like you.” Ñolofinwë frowned. “You could take me, but it won't have any meaning.”

“You will change your mind.” He slinked back onto the bed, crawling towards them. “I know some really good techniques. I learned from the master.”

Ñolofinwë certainly didn't want to know how he 'learned’ his bed skills, and he squeaked and moaned when Lóravarnion thrust upwards, impatient.

“Enough talking, both of you,” he warned them, gripping Ñolofinwë’s hips tight. He whispered into his ear, “You will perform, ride me.”

Ñolofinwë cast an uncomfortable look over his shoulder. Arcalimon was close behind them, lying on his side, watching him, looking predatory.

“Go on,” Lóravarnion urged. “Don't mind him.”

Ñolofinwë nodded, moving slowly at first, panting softly as he rocked forward, taking all of it in and out again, swaying his hips. He wouldn’t have minded an audience if it were Fëanáro watching him, not this arrogant fool, so he closed his eyes, and tried to imagine it.

He thought back to the night he teased his half-brother, saying how he will ride Lóravarnion if given a chance, those ruthlessly brilliant eyes flashing indignantly as he squeezed his legs tightly around the pillow-- now Lóravarnion's hips, as he tossed some of his hair over his shoulder, moving one hand behind him so his fingers were on each side of his hole so he could take the length deeper.

“You wanted it deeper?” And Ñolofinwë nodded, his eyes still closed, imagining it was Fëanáro inside of him, holding his hips possessively. Lóravarnion started to meet the roll of his hips, thrusting upwards with such vigor that Ñolofinwë let out a shout, almost losing his balance as his hands quickly reached for Lóravarnion’s shoulders for support, eyes fluttering wide open.

Lóravarnion adjusted himself. In a manner he is almost sitting up rather than lying back, their chests close to each other, close enough for Lóravarnion to plant a firm kiss on his collarbone.

“Are you imagining your lover inside of you?” he asked, his lips brushing against his skin. “It’s alright, I won't get mad.”

Ñolofinwë nodded, trying to match his pace. He was starting to sweat and he could hear the lewd slapping of skin against skin, while Lóravarnion remained mostly dry.

“What was he like?”

“H-he...” It would be easier to respond, if Lóravarnion was not licking and nipping at the exposed part of his neck, working his way to his earlobe, all throughout not even faltering at his pace. “H-he is a blacksmith.”

“They have remarkable endurance, I've heard,” Lóravarnion replied, looking over Úmátime’s shoulder, to where his nephew impatiently lay. He nodded at him and he quickly scrambled to get up. “How can a craftsman end up having relations with a high-born like you?” He snaked one hand up to squeeze a cheek, and Úmátime jerked against him. “Are you learning the craft?”

“No, he is a family -- friend.” he gasped, eyes drifting closed. “Please --” he whimpered when he felt warm suction on the curve of his neck, “-- no marks that could be seen.”

“As you wish.” Lóravarnion gave the spot an apologetic lick before withdrawing, “But you should open your eyes, I want your attention now, look at me.”

Ñolofinwë’s glazed blue eyes met Lóravarnion’s steely blue-grey and a wicked smirk curved on his lips.

“That’s it, that's my girl.” Reclining back a little to speed up his pace, he minutely changed the angle of each thrust until Úmátime shrieked, Lóravarnion having finally found his sensitive spot.

“Ahh! Ai---!” he cried, trembling with pleasure at each electrifying jolt he felt as Lóravarnion slammed mercilessly into his prostate. Ñolofinwë found his body shamefully and eagerly responding back, wanting to take Lóravarnion's thick girth deeper into him, to have it strike his spot repeatedly. If not for his mask concealing his identity, he would be terrified at how debauched he had become.

“Yes, sway like that--” Lóravarnion purred, encouraging him. His hands strayed from his hips to pet his legs. “Spread yourself wider, so you could move your -- yes, just ride like that, good.”

Ñolofinwë bit his lip, trying to suppress his loud cries as he moved both palms on Lóravarnion's chest so he could grind his body wantonly to meet his thrusts, his tight heat massaging Lóravarnion's shaft.

“Who knew you would be such a slut for Uncle's cock?”

Ñolofinwë had almost forgotten about Arcalimon and jerked up to see him sitting close by, his handsome face wearing a near identical smirk like his uncle's. Too lost in pleasure to form words, he simply snarled back at him.

“I can't blame you, especially with your inexperience.” Arcalimon moved towards the back, Lóravarnion parting his legs wider to allow his nephew to move in between. Ñolofinwë looked over his shoulder, as much as he can manage with his movements.

“Your lover cannot give you this...” and he snaked both arms around Ñolofinwë’s torso, gliding his hands on his chest and dipping on his belly. Ñolofinwë hissed and wiggled uncomfortably as Arcalimon pinched at his nipples playfully before one hand slid down to wrap around his bouncing cock. He gave it a firm tug. “...to be pleasured on both ends.”

“N-no!” he sputtered, with Lóravarnion’s cock moving in and out of him, and to have Arcalimon’s hands touching and rubbing him in his other sensitive places is starting to overwhelm him. “Ahh! No...Please!”

Arcalimon drew back momentarily to push Úmátime to bend lower, viewing where they are joined. His rim is sufficiently stretched and reddened, taking in his Uncle's cock greedily, as his ass muscles violently spasmed and twitched.

“She is close to coming, Uncle.”

“Good, Just continue what you are doing.”

Ñolofinwë whined when he felt two more fingers slipping in his already stuffed entrance, trying to move in rhythm from below.

“Arcalimon, she isn't ready for that yet.”Lóravarnion warned, and Arcalimon’s fingers withdrew. “Later.”

Arcalimon’s arms returned to his torso once again, as he nudged his face close to Ñolofinwë, who tried to avoid it.

“Let me,” he growled, squeezing and tugging him hard below that Ñolofinwë gasped, and Arcalimon took the advantage of his parted lips to kiss him fiercely.

Ñolofinwë almost choked on his breath, as Arcalimon's relentless tongue invaded his mouth, coiling to his, coaxing him to open wider, tasting him, swallowing his cries and moans as he pleasured him, stroking him and squeezing him so fast that he started to lose every last vestige of control.

Arcalimon's other hand slid down from a reddened nipple to feel his stomach flutter and tighten rapidly, and knew the moment Úmátime finally crested to his peak.

He gave him one firm tug and withdrew his mouth from his lips and Úmátime came with a loud shaky wail, hips jerking erratically as he came in five heavy long spurts, staining Lóravarnion’s chest and abdomen gloriously with his seed. Arcalimon milked him through it all, pointing his shaft upwards, some of the seed spattering high enough to reach the bottom of his lips and Úmátime’s shoulder.

“Gods, you are so beautiful when you come.” He licked his lips, as Úmátime leaned back towards him, his body trembling from the aftermath. Arcalimon kissed and nipped his ear tip and his damp shoulder.

“There is a lot of you to give.” Arcalimon took hold of Úmátime’s hips, gradually slowing his rocking until his shaking subsided, his breath coming in shaky pants. “I can't wait for my turn.”

Lóravarnion grunted from below, slowing down his pace as well, but barely worn out at all, with only a thin sheen of sweat on his forehead to show for it.

“Easy now,” he held Úmátime steadily, whose eyelashes fluttered as he started to nod forward towards Lóravarnion like he was about to collapse, the rocking of his hips having come to a complete stop and Lóravarnion’s hands glided smoothly up and down his legs. “You never have it that strong?”

Ñolofinwë nodded, as much as he hated to agree with Lóravarnion, even with his years experimenting with Fëanáro he never came so hard that he was close to passing out. Lóravarnion gave his hip a light slap and he slowly pushed himself up-- Arcalimon helping him move away. Ñolofinwë made a wet popping sound as he disengaged.

Ñolofinwë immediately rolled down onto the sheets, lying on his back looking at the ceiling, panting, hair tangled and strewn all over the pillows, legs spread open with one folded up. He probably looked like a sprawled mess.

Arcalimon crawled in-between his legs, before Ñolofinwë realized he was even there. He quickly took hold of each leg before he could close them and inspected his hole: he had loosened enough to leak freely between his legs, a hot clear liquid, both from the lubricant and his secretions, but none of Lóravarnion's release.

“It will take more than one round for Uncle,” he chuckled as Ñolofinwë whimpered, glancing over weakly at Lóravarnion. Despite the light sweating, his breathing was steady and still just as hard.

“I-I can't,” he croaked, too tired and sated boneless from the orgasm to even move, watching as Arcalimon licked away the mess of his release on his chest and belly. “I think I couldn't do it again.”

“Don't be silly, my dear. I will let you rest first.” Lóravarnion pushed himself away from the bed, reaching for a nearby basin and damp cloth to wipe himself clean and put the silk robe on again. (Ñolofinwë just realized how the room seemed to be prepared, even hastily, just for that evening) “We will have all night.”

“You don't have any other engagements, do you?” Arcalimon murmured against his collarbone, before gently nudging his body to turn to lie on one side. Ñolofinwë moved obediently and gasped in surprise as he found himself facing a large and wide mirror on the bedroom wall. He could see his nakedness in entirety, and Arcalimon moving behind him to push away his hair and litter his neck and shoulder with lazy kisses, before looking up at the mirror to meet his gaze. Ñolofinwë felt his hardness press against his back. “Uncle and I have so many other techniques to show you.”