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1. July
“You must be my – wait, is it cousin? Step-cousin? Whatever, I’ll let you know when I’ve figured it out – Maedhros, right?”
Maedhros turned and found himself blinking down into a pair of bright blue eyes under a messy fall of black curls. The boy grinned at him and held out his hand. “I’m Fingon, or whatever take on that you’d like.”
Maedhros shook the proffered hand and found his tongue. “Pleased to meet you, finally. Um. So you’re Nolofinwë’s oldest, then?” He tried to remember the names his mother had used, long ago. "Findekáno."
“Yep.” Fingon gestured behind him and then frowned as he glanced around. “Oldest of four, even though they seem to have vanished. I swear my other siblings were here. Oh, there’s one.” He pointed to a grumpy looking girl of about fourteen, who appeared to be stapling her black lace dress to the wall. “Heh. That’s Irissë. She really doesn’t want to be here.”
“Well, who really wants to be at a funeral?” said Maedhros fairly.
“True. She didn’t really know Grandfather that well anyway. I mean, he came to all our Bar Mitzvahs and stuff, but he was always pretty…busy. And distant.”
“Hm,” said Maedhros, feeling a little embarrassed. Finwë had been at almost every one of his and his brothers’ activities growing up, from sports games to music recitals to birthdays, and Maedhros had never spent much time wondering if their grandfather spent the same amount of time on his step-grandchildren. He realized he was staring at his cousin – Fingon – again. So far, none of the Nolofinwions were anything like what he’d been brought to expect.
“We saw a lot more of Bubbe – Indis, to you – than of Grandfather. Still, it’s sad he’s dead. My father says your father is taking it really hard.”
“That’s true.” Maedhros was still taken aback by how easily this boy was talking to him, given the tension between their families and the fact that they were virtual strangers. “He’s been – ” What had Nerdanel said? Your father is grieving. “ – in mourning.” He winced slightly. It seemed an archaic way to put it. But the mood around the house, and Fëanor’s terrible grief, had cast everything in funereal gloom. It was the first time any of them had seen their father stop working in their collective lives; the unfamiliarity of this was enough to make anyone melodramatic.
Fingon nodded sympathetically. “That’s rough.” He sounded genuine. There was no trace of resentment in his voice at how Finwë had all but ignored his stepsons once they had left the house, nor anything of Fëanor’s public fury at Fingolfin at the last company board meeting, nor of the fact that their families had so carefully been kept apart until this very moment. Maedhros wondered if he could have been so diplomatic, had their positions been reversed.
He was about to cast around for a change of topic when a crash came from a nearby table.
Fingon jumped. “Jesus. What was that?”
“Tyelko.” The name was out of Maedhros’ mouth before he’d even fully turned around to identify the perpetrator. A stocky blond boy looked up from the chaos of a platter of charcuterie that had been skillfully balanced on the table and was now scattered across the floor.
Celegorm stuck a roll of sliced ham in his mouth. “Wasn’t me.”
“Clean that up!” hissed Maedhros. “We are at a funeral.”
“Oh, like you don’t give me crap even when it’s not a funeral.” Celegorm looked mulish as he finished his ham. “You just like kicking my ass around.”
“Watch your language, mom said – ”
Celegorm made a rude gesture at Maedhros and Maedhros started for him. He was about to grab his younger brother’s shoulder when a second crash came, as if a delayed echo, from the other side of the room. They all looked over.
The girl in the black lace dress appeared to have gotten her hem hooked on a tablecloth and then walked away, pulling everything to the floor.
“Ireth,” groaned Fingon, but he looked like he was trying not to laugh. “Five minutes I look away…”
“Oops,” said the girl, and carefully tore the skirt of her dress free of the mess.
Shaking his head, Maedhros turned back to Celegorm.
Who was gone.
He looked up in time to see a pale-haired figure taking off down the hall, and when he glanced over at Fingon, Fingon shrugged. “I’ve long since stopped trying to do anything about my little sister.”
“That was bad luck that she got stuck on the tablecloth like that,” said Maedhros, eyeing the mess. “What timing for the poor wait staff to have to clean up both mes– ”
“Luck nothing, it was a diversion. She can never resist helping out a fellow delinquent.”
“Seriously?” Maedhros craned his head. Sure enough, Fingon’s sister was vanishing out the side door, heading off in the same direction as Celegorm. “Oh, lord. The last thing he needs is a sidekick.”
“Don’t worry, Ireth makes for a bad sidekick. She makes a halfway decent supervillain though.” Fingon sighed and ran his hand through his hair. Maedhros found himself noticing the fine bones in Fingon’s wrist and the graceful twist of his fingers, and then wondered why. “Listen, not to take cues from the brat contingent, but… Do you want to sneak out?”
“Yes,” said Maedhros, surprising himself, and when Fingon grinned and grabbed his wrist to pull him out the same side door, Maedhros felt his pulse flutter under Fingon’s fingers.
They came to a halt by a bench outside the chapel, under the shade of a spreading beech tree. Fingon cast himself down and undid the buttons of his collar. He already had his sleeves pushed up to his elbows, and had shed his jacket, which he dropped carelessly on the bench next to him.
Maedhros sat down next to him and mimicked his gesture, undoing the top buttons of his collar and loosening his tie. He let out perhaps the first deep breath he’d taken since that terrible phone call, and closed his eyes briefly. It was nice being out of the muggy parish hall, and he realized that it was in fact a truly idyllic summer day. He wondered if he should feel guilty, or in some way disloyal to his grandfather, for feeling so good all of a sudden, but he shook off the feeling and opened his eyes.
“How old are you?” asked Fingon curiously, and Maedhros glanced over at him. Fingon’s eyes were distractingly blue, and he seemed to be having trouble looking away from Maedhros.
Maedhros brushed a hand over his hair self-consciously. “Um. Twenty. I just finished my sophomore year at Beleriand University. What about you?” He was suddenly convinced that this cousin of his was going to be younger than his confidence would indicate, and felt baffled at the swoop of disappointment in his stomach.
“I’m a senior,” said Fingon, and half glanced away. His fingers picked lightly at the braided rope bracelet he wore on one wrist. “Uh, at Tirion High.”
A high schooler. I was right. Maedhros tried not to let his face fall.
“I’ll be 18 this year,” said Fingon, as if in answer to an unasked question. “I’m actually planning to apply to Beleriand. So maybe,” he smiled up at Maedhros, who was suddenly struck breathless by how Fingon’s smile lit his face. “So maybe I’ll be seeing you on campus next year.”
They sat under the tree for another hour, exchanging questions about their schooling and interests, and Maedhros learned that Fingon was captain of his Ultimate team, liked history and con law, wanted to be a Political Science major at BU, and was president of his school’s Gay Straight Alliance. He tried not to be distracted by this last fact.
They were finally interrupted as the sun started to set.
“Findekáno!” A tall, thin boy with hair as dark and curly as Fingon’s was calling from the curb. There was a slim, sweet-faced blond boy standing next to him, studying the clouds scudding across the sky. “Mom says we gotta go!”
“Coming!”
“Your…brothers?” Maedhros asked as Fingon gathered up his jacket again.
Fingon laughed. “Just the darker one. The blond imp is my Uncle Arafinwë’s oldest kid, Finrod. We should do real introductions at some point.” Fingon looked at Maedhros one last time, his hand shifting close enough on the bench to brush his fingers. “It was nice meeting you,” he said, with a quirk of his lips, “cousin. See you around!” And he was gone, leaving Maedhros to pull in another deep breath and try to get his lungs working properly again.
2. November
“So what’s the latest?”
“I got my early admissions application in,” Fingon said, twiddling a leaf between his fingers. “So in theory…I’ll know in a month.”
“That’s soon.”
“Yeah.”
They were lying in the outfield behind Tirion High, the last brown leaves of the season scudding over the grass. Maedhros had come by, having no classes after noon on Thursdays, in what was quickly becoming habit. He’d meet Fingon at the back entrance of the school, and they’d walk out together to sprawl far away from the noisy clamor of the other students. Sometimes Maedhros would bring them both coffee, sometimes he’d bring them sandwiches, but today he brought only himself.
It was getting on the time of year when they lost light fast, but the glow of the sun was still lighting the brown stalks of grass, and Maedhros lifted his face to the last of its warmth.
But the weather was getting cold, and Maedhros could see Fingon shiver in his light jacket. “Here,” he said. He sat up and started to slip off his own, heavier, coat, but instead of letting him take it off, Fingon just ducked in under his arm and tucked himself against Maedhros’ side. Stymied, Maedhros let his arm, and the jacket with it, drop down around Fingon’s shoulders.
“Mmm.” Fingon snuggled closer under the jacket, very warm where he pressed against Maedhros’ side. “You are such a gentleman.”
“That’s me.” Fingon’s head was just under his chin, and Maedhros had to fight to keep himself from burying his nose in Fingon’s dark curls. “Why are you wearing such a pathetic jacket? It’s November.”
“It might be pathetic,” said Fingon, with another involuntary shiver as the wind sprang up, “but come on, I look so good in it.”
“That’s true,” said Maedhros without thinking, and Fingon grinned. He tucked his face against Maedhros’ chest, ostensibly huddling closer for warmth, but the way he was nuzzling against Maedhros’ collarbone was somehow less than innocent.
“So do you think your chances are good?” Maedhros asked, desperate to shift focus away from how his body was responding to Fingon’s proximity.
“I think so.” Fingon’s words came as a warm puff of breath against Maedhros’ neck. “I’ve got a decent GPA and SATs and all that, and some killer references. My essays weren’t bad either.”
“Not to mention your five thousand extra-curriculars.”
“I keep myself busy.”
“Speaking of extra-curriculars, are you skipping practice?” Maedhros tried to look down at Fingon, but his cousin was pressed too close for him to see his face. “Don’t you have Ultimate today?”
“Hm?”
“Are you missing something to be here with me? You know I don’t need you to do that.”
Fingon’s face was hidden, but Maedhros could feel the brush of his long eyelashes against his neck when he blinked. “Don’t worry about it.”
Maedhros gave up. He’d quickly learned that when Fingon felt like being stubborn, all the wheedling in the world couldn’t convince him. “So your application…”
“Is in. And I’m feeling hopeful about it, I think.”
“I’m hopeful too. Confident, actually; you’re already at least as smart as most of the people in my classes.”
Fingon chuckled. “Good to know.” He leaned more solidly against Maedhros, and Maedhros let his cold fingers stroke over Fingon’s shoulder. “I’d hate to think you consider me dumb.”
“Far from it, are you kidding?”
“Hm. Good.”
“If I get in,” mumbled Fingon, after a while, as Maedhros’ fingers played absently over his shoulder, “if I get in, will you be happy?”
“What? Of course I will.”
“Sometimes…sometimes I think you wouldn’t be.”
“What?” Maedhros pulled back, distressed, to look into Fingon’s serious face. “Findekáno, I want you to get in, of course I do! I want you to get into the school you deserve, the school you want to attend…”
“But do you want me to get into the school you attend?” Fingon was watching him closely. “Or will you keep pushing me away once I’m there?”
“What?”
“You heard me.”
“I don’t push you away!” Maedhros said defensively. “Are you kidding? You’ve become like my closest friend, and we’ve only known each other a few months.”
“Friend. Right.” Fingon looked down. “Are you actually oblivious to it, or are you just pretending?”
“Oblivious to what?”
“To this!” Fingon sat up, pulling away from Maedhros’ arm, and gesturing wildly. “Every little thing I do to let you know that I…that I’m interested in…” He broke off and chewed his lip, looking suddenly and uncharacteristically shy. “…in being more than your friend.”
Maedhros’ heart sank. “Fin,” he said softly. “We’re cousins.”
“Step-cousins. We didn’t even meet until last summer!”
“You’re a high schooler.”
“A senior.”
“You’re underage.”
“Not for long!” Fingon looked defiant. “You’re only three years older than me, why are you being like this? And you let me get close, you let me start to touch you, and then…”
Horrible guilt flooded Maedhros. Oh god, Fingon had noticed, then. He’d noticed how Maedhros wasn’t as good about deflecting him as he should have been. Had Maedhros been using Fingon? Taking advantage of his friend’s feelings to allow – to enjoy – the little physical moments? Like the way Fingon would link their arms when they walked together, or fall asleep on his shoulder when they watched a movie, or now… He immediately pulled his coat close around him, turning up the collar, pressing his elbows to his sides.
“No.” Fingon reached out for him. “I didn’t mean to stop, I hate when you push me away, I hate it…”
“We’re cousins,” said Maedhros again desperately. “And friends! I like being your friend. You’re…you’re too young for me to do anything more than that.” He tried to say that he wasn’t interested in a relationship, that he didn’t think he was interested in men, or women, or anyone, but he couldn’t get out the words. He’d thought that was true. But then Fingon had come along, and with him, a flood of alien feelings. “You’re too young,” he repeated instead.
“But what about when I’m not too young?”
“I don’t know.”
Fingon sighed, suddenly defeated, and got to his feet. Maedhros felt a pang as he looked up at Fingon’s shoulders hunched against the cold, but Fingon lifted his chin and glanced up at the horizon, away from Maedhros. “Don’t worry about me asking again,” he said. “I don’t want to put you in a position of having to be diplomatic with me.” And he turned and walked off, hands in his pockets, head bent against the rising wind.
3. December
“Maitimo!”
Maedhros looked up, startled. A familiar figure was sprinting across the frozen grey park towards him, curls flying, a look of pure joy of his face. A blue and white scarf was unraveling from his around his neck, trailing behind him like the tail of a kite and perilously close to flying free altogether. It did nothing to dispel the sense that the racing figure was about to take flight in his exuberance.
“Finno?”
They hadn’t spoken in weeks, not since that day on the fields behind the school, and Maedhros had taken to spending his Thursday afternoons in town rather than behind the high school with Fingon. He could have stayed on campus, of course, or at the house on Mithrim Lake Road, but his restless and relentless feet would always take him to Tirion on Thursdays. There, unable to allow himself to walk towards the school, Maedhros would circle the square a couple times, then tell himself he should get his reading done on a park bench with a hot drink. Better than the school library, which was always crowded this close to midterms anyway, he reasoned. Maglor sometimes asked where he went, but knew Maedhros well enough to stop asking once it became clear that Maedhros was going to deflect his questions.
Fingon had sent him a couple IMs over the past month, but they had been perfunctory, and Maedhros could tell that his own replies had been clipped, almost terse in his effort to sound like nothing more than a friend. He’d succeeded too well. In his effort to sound like ‘only a friend’, he had ended up sounding anything but friendly.
FinTheVal89, 12.01.06 3:05:55pm: hey
FinTheVal89, 12.01.06 3:29:01pm: still studying for that midterm then?
NelyafinWay, 12.01.06 3:57:22pm: yes
FinTheVal89, 12.01.06 3:58:05pm: cool
FinTheVal89, 12.01.06 4:01:45pm: well good luck
FinTheVal89, 12.01.06 4:02:31pm: we’re sposed to get snow tonight btw
FinTheVal89, 12.01.06 4:02:39pm: i’m psyched for the ski season
NelyafinWay, 12.01.06 4:06:17pm: yes, should be good
FinTheVal89, 12.01.06 4:10:12pm: ok guess i gtg
FinTheVal89, 12.01.06 4:10:15pm: bye
FinTheVal89 has signed off
NelyafinWay, 12.01.06 4:10:20pm: bye finno
He wanted so badly to talk to Fingon with the same ease they’d had before, but something had dropped between them that made all the words come out of Maedhros’ mouth cool and detached, and had eventually made Fingon give up on reaching out altogether. Maedhros had tried to tell himself it was for the best, but every time he thought about it, his stomach hurt, like missing Fingon was a bug he just couldn’t shake. He couldn’t blame Fingon for not trying to reconnect – what did he offer Fingon other than constant guilt and avoidance?
But now Fingon seemed to be leaving all of this behind, the whole stupid lonely month forgotten, his face transported with happiness as he dashed towards Maedhros.
“I got in!” Fingon cried, when he was just a few strides away. There was a paper clutched in his hand. “I got in, Maitimo, I’m going to Beleriand!”
“What?” Maedhros half rose from the bench, his book dropping to the ground from his lap.
“I’m going to Beleriand, Maitimo! With you! I did it.” And without further ado, Fingon flung himself into Maedhros’ arms and kissed him.
Maedhros staggered, shocked, and thought for one moment to push Fingon away. But then the reality of Fingon’s warm lips on his, and Fingon’s hands clutching at the front of his jacket, fully permeated his consciousness and the tiny voice that had been telling him no, don’t for so long was wiped away. His body thrummed with happiness, and with the blinding realization of just how badly he had wanted this.
His own spirits suddenly impossibly high, he wrapped his arms around Fingon’s waist, almost pulling him off his feet, and kissed him back.
4. April
Azaghâl leaned against the wall next to Maedhros and eyed the streams of wide-eyed prospective students tromp past on their guided tours.
“They get younger each year, don’t they?” he grunted, and lit a cigarette.
“Mmm,” said Maedhros, his eyes scanning the crowds.
“I only just avoided being roped into chaperoning one of them. Pretended I had an exam and couldn’t possibly host a prospie.” Azaghâl grinned and blew smoke. “Like you could pay me to escort some high school senior around and give ‘em the – ”
“Mae!” A figure pushed through the crowds and waved to Maedhros, a bright smile lighting up his eyes. Maedhros’ throat went dry in the way it did every time he saw Fingon. Fingon’s tightly curling hair was shorter than he’d seen it last, and he looked older – maybe it was just how his new haircut flattered the strong lines of his jaw. “Hey, you! Did you know it’s a lot harder to find your host when he’s not in a dorm? None of the coordinators could tell me where you were; it’s good thing I have an internal Maitimo beacon. Ready to give me the tour?” He came up and jostled Maedhros’ shoulder in a way that made it clear he’d much rather be greeting him more effusively.
“Red,” said Azaghâl thoughtfully, as Fingon rummaged in his backpack and pulled out a campus map, “something you forgot to tell me?”
“Oh,” said Maedhros weakly. “Did I not tell you my cous – friend – Fingon got into Beleriand for next fall?”
“Nope,” said Azaghâl. “Who’s Fingon?”
Fingon kicked Maedhros in the ankle as Maedhros looked guilty. “You jackass.” He held out a hand to Azaghâl. “I’m Fingon. You’re the housemate, yeah? I’ll be staying with you guys this weekend, though given that Mae didn’t even give you a head’s up, maybe he should stay out in the backyard.”
-
Much later that evening they left the dining hall, Fingon still exclaiming happily about the concept of an ‘unlimited meal plan’, and Maedhros scratched his head. “I guess I’ve showed you most things on campus. Sorry that lecture this afternoon was so boring, by the way. They’re usually better, but Professor Brown is out of town and we just got his TA. Um, so now…”
“Now,” said Fingon, eyes following a group of whooping students down the sidewalk, “I think you should show me a college party.”
“You’re underage,” said Maedhros automatically, but Azaghâl rolled his eyes.
“Ignore Red, you know he’s a stick in the mud, right?”
“I do,” said Fingon, grinning. He slipped his hand into Maedhros’ as if it was the most natural thing in the world, and Maedhros’ retort vanished from his head as he smiled stupidly at Fingon.
“I know a house party we can hit up tonight,” said Azaghâl, pulling out his phone and flipping it open to text someone. “You and I can go if Red’s too disapproving.”
“No,” said Maedhros quickly, “no, I’ll go.”
-
The basement was hot and crowded, the music a pulsing thrum against their eardrums, the heat of other people’s bodies crowding close around them. Someone dropped a bottle on the bare concrete floor near them, and Maedhros grabbed Fingon quickly around the waist to pull him out of the way. Even once they’d maneuvered out of the worst of the crush, Maedhros didn’t let go, letting his hands settle low on Fingon’s back. Fingon looked up at him, and Maedhros saw something almost flustered flicker across his features.
“You okay?” Maedhros asked quietly, still holding him. “I knew the vodka Red Bull was a bad – ”
“No,” said Fingon, and his voice was certainly clear and unslurred. “No, I’m fine.” He wrapped his arms carefully around Maedhros’ neck, and unconsciously, the two of them began to sway together to the music. Dreamily, Maedhros slid a hand up Fingon’s back, laying a hand between his shoulder blades and pulling him closer, and he could feel Fingon tremble. He was so warm… Maedhros’ hand moved up Fingon’s back to the nape of his neck and tangled lightly in Fingon’s hair. Fingon tipped his head back, his lips parting as he stared dazedly up at Maedhros.
“Finno,” said Maedhros softly, and he felt Fingon tremble again. Fingon’s hips were snug to Maedhros’ thigh, and he could barely restrain a shudder of his own when he felt Fingon pressed against him, close enough that he could tell Fingon was aroused. They were turned now so that Fingon’s back was almost against one of the basement walls, and Maedhros completely forgot about the crowds around them. The music pounded through his body, and there was a charge running under his skin, whether from the cheap vodka or Fingon’s proximity, he couldn’t tell. Fingon’s arms tightened around his neck, and in the next moment, Maedhros was kissing him.
Fingon’s lips were full and warm and tantalizing, and Maedhros wanted to bite them. He held back the urge and sucked at Fingon’s lower lip instead, and Fingon moaned – a vibration that Maedhros felt rather than heard – and parted his lips for Maedhros’ tongue. Maedhros’ hand tightened in Fingon’s hair, and Fingon ground his hips against Maedhros, one hand gripping at Maedhros’ shirt and the other threading into Maedhros’ hair in turn.
Maedhros felt a sudden fierce desire to lower his hands to Fingon’s hips and lift him up, press him against the wall and –
He pulled back, breathless.
“Maitimo.”
“I can’t date you,” said Maedhros wretchedly. He felt immediately devastated at how Fingon’s bright eyes went dull, but then Fingon was pulling him close again.
“I don’t care,” he whispered, and Maedhros knew it was a lie. “I’m not asking you to date me right now. I’m asking you to shut the fuck up and keep kissing me.”
Maedhros shut the fuck up.
Fingon tasted like liquor and Red Bull, but it was his own taste that made him so blindingly intoxicating to Maedhros. It had to be illegal, he thought, for something to feel this good, and he worried hazily that he might never be able to stop. They made out against the wall until their lips were bruised and a chuckling Azaghâl tugged on the back of Maedhros’ shirt to say, “They’re busting up the party, you two, time to go.”
They slipped out the back door and lit out for the house, Fingon laughing at the rush and Azaghâl shooting innuendos at Maedhros until Maedhros tripped his roommate to shut him up. Maglor was still up when they came back, and though he raised his eyebrows at Maedhros and the way Fingon was still laughing and hanging off his shoulder, he didn’t say anything. Maedhros forced himself to sleep on the couch that night while Fingon took the bed, and he pretended that the disappointment in Fingon’s eyes was worth his easy conscience.
He knew he could only hold out so long, anyway.
5. May
The bed gave a warning creak, and a pillow dropped onto the floor without either of them trying to retrieve it. The blankets were already impossibly twisted and Maedhros cursed, for the thousandth time, the old and creaky bedframe. He stilled, trying to keep from moving the bed again, and Fingon made a small noise under him.
“Mae,” he whispered, hands tight on Maedhros’ hips, “Mae, please…”
Maedhros tried to collect himself. There were issues at hand here beyond the noisy bed. “No.” He closed his eyes, his forehead dropping down against Fingon’s. “No, we should slow down.”
“But – ”
“I shouldn’t have even gone this far. I’m sorry.”
Maedhros was braced above Fingon on the bed, and Fingon’s knees were rising up on either side of his hips. They were both still clothed, but it was a technicality at best; Fingon’s shirt was pushed up over his stomach, his throat marked by Maedhros’ mouth, and the way he was grinding up against Maedhros’ groin was in no way less provocative for the fact that there was the material of their jeans between them.
Fingon dug his fingers into Maedhros’ sides. “You are such an ass,” he said, frustrated. “I’m 18 now.”
“You’re still…” Still younger than me, still in high school, still my cousin, still the son of my father’s least favorite brother… and still grinding steadily against him.
“Stop,” Maedhros whispered, not pulling back.
Fingon stilled, but he continued to stare accusingly up at Maedhros. “I am so tired of constantly trying to convince you it’s okay to want me.”
Maedhros swallowed. “You should stop trying, then.”
“But I want you to want me.” Fingon’s frustration broke for a moment and a grin flickered across his face. “I neeeed to you to need me. I’d looooove you to love me. I’m begging you – ”
“Finno,” Maedhros groaned, half laughing. “Stop singing.”
Fingon hooked his ankles behind Maedhros’ legs and his fingers into Maedhros’ belt loops. “Does Cheap Trick not achieve the results I’m going for? I’ll make a note.”
“You’re so impossible.”
“Yeah, you’ve said.” Fingon lifted his face, and Maedhros kissed him, pressing his mouth softly to Fingon’s swollen lips.
They’d been making out for an hour now, or maybe more. He’d heard Maglor leave for band practice at 5pm, and that was about half an hour into tumbling Fingon down on the bed and pushing his shirt up so he could touch his skin. Azaghâl was studying down the hall, so they had to stay…quiet…
…but it was getting more and more difficult to keep himself from making noise.
“I want to have sex with you,” Fingon breathed into their kiss. “I want it so bad. Please, please, please…”
Maedhros had thought he couldn’t get more aroused than he already was, but it turned out that the sound of Fingon begging in that hoarse whisper was enough to do it. It was enough to make him forget about We should slow down, too. He rolled his hips against Fingon’s, shifting himself so that their erections were in alignment. Fingon gave a faint, breathy moan at this, and hid his face against Maedhros’ shoulder.
“Shh,” whispered Maedhros, and started to move. The friction between them was wicked, the pleasure chaffing but acute. He could feel how his cock was leaking pre-cum, how the front of his shorts must be wet through. He had a blinding moment imagining Fingon reaching down to touch him and pulling his hand away, wet, and then he was moaning himself, and Fingon was reaching up to cover his mouth, laughing as he whispered, “You’re the one who told me to be discreet!”
Maedhros didn’t care. He wanted more of Fingon bare and jerked his shirt off, going momentarily speechless at the sight of that smooth brown skin against his sheets, and then Fingon was tugging him down, one hand stroking the back of his neck and into his hair, and they were kissing again, messy and desperate. Maedhros fumbled to get some of the material between them out of the way, tugging down his jeans and pulling at Fingon’s too. Fingon lifted his hips to let Maedhros jerk his pants down. Once they were free to rub against each other, Maedhros reached down to wrap a hand under Fingon’s thigh and pull his leg up to his waist, and Fingon threw his head back. He was trying to keep himself quiet, but the stifled, frantic noises he was making were doing nothing to quiet the heat blazing through Maedhros. Made bold and reckless by pleasure, Maedhros lowered his head and dragged his tongue over Fingon’s collarbones, sucking at Fingon’s shining skin and simultaneously sliding his hand up to squeeze Fingon’s ass, pressing them even tighter together. Fingon cried out at that and threw an arm over his eyes, panting, as if by shielding his eyes from Maedhros he could keep himself better under control.
Maedhros grinned – he couldn’t help himself – and rocked forward deliberately.
Fingon squirmed desperately under him, movement that dragged a groan from Maedhros as well. Fingon buried his face in the crook of his arm and rasped, “Mae, Mae, oh god, oh god, you’re gonna make me come.”
“I know, I want you to. Come on, Findekáno, show me – ” Maedhros reached until he could rub his open palm over Fingon’s cock, an artless, inelegant gesture that nevertheless had the effect he wanted.
Fingon came, arching back against the pillows, one arm still crooked over his face, his heels digging into the back of Maedhros’ thighs. Maedhros hovered somewhere on the brink, blood pounding in his ears, and in his last coherent moment he managed to gently pull Fingon’s arm away from his eyes. Fingon gazed up at him, his eyes hazy with pleasure, his lips parted around his panting breaths, and it was only Maedhros’ shuddering orgasm that could make him take his gaze away from that sight, closing his eyes as pleasure rattled through him.
He would have rolled away, but Fingon held him fast, and so instead he sank down, laying his head carefully against Fingon’s breast. Fingon murmured slightly as Maedhros shifted down – stretched out like this, his legs hung over the end of the bed, and his torso rested between Fingon’s legs. He thought vaguely of what a mess they’d made between them, but decided he didn’t care. He felt too happy. Fingon was humming, and Fingon’s fingers were stroking through his hair, and Maedhros waited, patiently, for the guilt to rise.
“That was good,” said Fingon after a while. “You are good.” He gave Maedhros a light kiss on the top of his head.
“Thank you for the validation.” But Maedhros did feel rather validated.
Fingon hummed again. “Someday maybe I’ll actually convince you to take the next step and fuck me for real.”
“Someday,” said Maedhros, turning his head to mouth at Fingon’s collarbone. Still waiting.
“When?”
“After,” said Maedhros, and closed his eyes to the gentle pull of Fingon’s fingers. “After you graduate. I just want to make sure…I just don’t want to… It’ll be better. When we’re both…” His voice faded, his body growing heavy against Fingon’s. “Next year,” he murmured, with the last of his willpower.
“We’ll see about that,” said Fingon, but Maedhros was already asleep.