Fistful of Swoons by Agelast

Chapter 1

Read Chapter 1

As the miles between him and his destination shortened, Findekáno began to be assailed by doubts. He had struck off to Formenos on pure impulse, had, in fact, blandly lied to his parents about his whereabouts -- his favorite aunt, Lalwendë, had just dropped anchor in Alqualondë and he had hinted strongly that he was to go there to see her. But now, only a scant few miles from Formenos, he wondered at his own impetuous haste. Surely Maitimo would disapprove -- of him lying, if nothing else. Maitimo never lied, never did anything wrong, was always perfect.

Maitimo would also disapprove of Findekáno presenting himself at Formenos without an invitation, but Findekáno could hope that his friend would find it in his heart to forgive him. Findekáno had never been so far north before; he was fascinated to find that the sky here was more blue than silver or gold, and that the blue was ever shifting, growing deeper and deeper until Varda’s stars gleamed and twinkled against it, brighter here than they had been in Tirion.

Findekáno slowed his horse to a trot and wondered if he should not just camp in the woods that night and make his way to Formenos tomorrow. He had never been so completely alone now as he was now. The constant murmur of voices, of people telling him what he should do, how he should feel -- all were silenced as if they were separated from him by a vast ocean.

He found that he enjoyed the silence. Yes, he thought, Maitimo could wait.

*

Though the land was wild, he was still in Valinor and had no thought of danger. He picked a clearing, some ways from the road as a good spot to spend the night. His horse, he tied to a tree very near some tall, lush grass. And he unrolled his bedroll in the middle of clearing, the smell of crushed grass around him. He had some waybread, baked by his sister, still newly initiated with the ways of the Earth-Queen. They were appallingly hard -- Írissë was not one for baking, not even baking wrought with mystery at every step of the process. But still, they filled his stomach -- albeit uneasily -- and soon Findekáno curled up in bed and fell fast asleep.

His dream was a familiar one -- he had had it off and on since he was a child. He was on horseback, riding as hard as he could. The landscape around him was unlike anything he had ever seen -- a wild, open plain with mountains looming at the very edge of the horizon. Though he passed in a blur, it seemed to him that the plain was blacked and sere, though he did not know how that could be. It was unlike anything he had ever seen.

He himself felt strange. He was galloping as if in pursuit of a stag or another beast. But he was not dressed for the hunt. Instead, his body felt heavy, as if much weight was upon him, and when he glanced down, he saw that he was in armor. Not the armor he would see on the palace guards, or the one he would wear when fencing. There was nothing light or decorative about what he wore, and he realized that he was also heavily armed.

A sword hung by his side, and he reached for it -- and woke up with a start.

He was not alone in the clearing, and it took him a few moments for him to realize that the excessively tall figure that loomed over him was Maitimo. Maitimo, who did not seem particularly pleased to see him. His words confirmed this impression.

“Findekáno, what are you doing here?” Maitimo sank to his knees, as Findekáno sat up in his bedroll. He was wearing simple walking clothes, completely devoid of jewels. His hair was neatly braided into a single plait. He was so beautiful that Findekáno was temporarily unable to speak.

At Maitimo’s look of concern, however, he managed to rouse himself. “Uh, you haven’t received my letters? I thought I had coded it very well, actually.”

“I didn't think you would actually come.”

“Well, I have! I wished to to see you, Maitimo. It seems cruel to me that you and I should never see each other, when it is only Uncle Fëanáro who is exiled.”

“He is exiled because of your father,” Maitimo said, with deceptive mildness.

Findekáno bristled. “He is exiled because he attacked my father.”

“And yet here you are, eager to see the son of man who did your father such violence.”

“Maitimo, I thought that we --” Findekáno swallowed sharply. “We have been friends for so long. How could you throw all of that away?”

“I am not the one who is throwing it away, Findekáno! You are not the one exiled! I am!”

“You are not! You chose to go into exile.” Findekáno shook his head in disgust. It had been so easy, in Tirion, to assume that Maitimo would want to see him as much as he had wanted to see Maitimo. But instead, they had immediately fallen back into the same arguments that had plagued them in Tirion.

He stood and began to roll up his bedroll. He didn't look at Maitimo. Maitimo stood, too, and seemed content to say nothing, and watch him, arms crossed. Findekáno went to check on his horse -- who nickered at him in greeting -- and put back his bedroll.

He was about to mount when he heard Maitimo call him back. He turned, a sharp retort already on his lips when he was pushed none too gently into a tree, as Maitimo enveloped him in a tight embrace.

“Wha-- oooh,” said Findekáno, his breath nearly knocked out of him. He thought Maitimo would lift him off his feet. Maitimo was looking at him with curiously bright eyes.

“You utter fool,” Maitimo said, “would you really have gone back without seeing me?”

“I saw you,” Findekáno said, when Maitimo loosened his grasp. “You didn't want to see me.”

“I do,” Maitimo said, “I do want to see you. But Findekáno, think! If you were caught here, I -- I can't imagine what would happen. No one must know.”

“Then hide me,” Findekáno said, pulling his hand against Maitimo’s cheek. Maitimo closed his eyes for a moment, and then nodded.

“All right,” he said, “this is what you have to do…”

*

Following Maitimo’s instructions, Findekáno walked about seven miles due south until he came upon a drain emptying into a pond. It was large enough for him to walk through, if he bent his back. Maitimo had taken his horse, reasoning that an extra one would arouse less suspicion than an extra cousin would. Findekáno sighed, held his nose and went in.

After some time in the tunnel, he was able to stand upright. After his eyes had adjusted to the light, he realized that that there was a subtly glowing line that led him forward. But he was wary of taking it, thinking it might lead to a trap. He remembered Maitimo’s advice. He kept to the left and counted his steps.

He had walked perhaps a half an hour when he saw it -- a lone Fëanorian light ahead, waiting for him as Maitimo had said it would be. He hurried toward it, and found a slight rope ladder stretched down to him. He grabbed it and climbed -- and climbed -- and climbed. It seemed like he had climbed at least three stories until he spied a crack in the stone wall, and that crack resolved itself into the outline of a door. Findekáno knocked once. The door opened immediately, and Maitimo leaned out and hauled him inside.

“Not a word,” Maitimo muttered to him, and hustled him down the hall and up a flight of stairs. He sniffed at Findekáno’s clothes and made a face. “There’s a washroom off of my chambers, here.”

“Are you implying that I smell, my cousin dear?” Findekáno said, with a silly grin. Maitimo raised his brows.

“If I am only implying it, I am not being clear enough,” Maitimo said and followed him inside.

Findekáno shrugged and began to strip. He felt as if every available inch of his skin was covered in dirt, and the thought of having a bath was a welcome one. Maitimo stood, his back against the door, and watched him.

“Here, be helpful,” Findekáno said, taking off his boots and turning on the spigot of hot water into the tub. He threw his boots in Maitimo’s direction. “Scrub these.”

“You are an endearing guest,” Maitimo remarked, bending down to pick up Findekáno’s discarded boots. “I hope you remembered to scrape your boots before you came in here, otherwise all of this is for naught. There’ll be a trail of mud leading right up here.”

“Oh,” Findekáno sighed, as he sank into a tub of hot water. “I hope I did, I can’t remember now.”

“You,” Maitimo said, coming over to the side of the tub and bending down to Findekáno, who raised his head, expectantly. “Are very bad at this secrecy lark.”

“I’ve never had to keep a secret before,” Findekáno said, taking hold of Maitimo’s collar and pulling him down lower, until the tip of his braid slipped into the water. On impulse, Findekáno grasped the tie and pulled Maitimo’s hair loose. It fell in loose waves downward. “Oh, I've gotten your hair wet, see? You better come in here and wash it off. I’ll help.”

“Findekáno, you really are the the most shameless…”

Findekáno surged forth and kissed Maitimo, hard. Maitimo’s hands reached down, in between Findekáno’s thighs, and he thumbed the tip of his cock. Findekáno opened his mouth and breathed out his cousin’s name. Maitimo looked at him with undisguised hunger.

But what he planned to say next, Findekáno was never able to learn because someone began to knock persistently on the door of the washroom, calling Maitimo’s name. Maitimo rose so fast that he almost slipped in the spilled water.

“What do you want?” he barked impatiently.

“Nelyo, I need to use the washroom, please,” said Ambarussa through the door. “Please!”

“Use the washroom near your room! That's what it’s there for, Umbarto.”

“But Tyelkormo is washing Huan in there!”

“He's what --?” Maitimo pinched the bridge of his nose. “No. Don't tell me. Go down there and tell Tyelkormo if he thinks Huan deserves to wash in the washroom, then he deserves to sleep in the kennel. Tell him if he insists on continuing in this way, I will come there down and correct him.”

The last part of Maitimo’s speech was delivered in a singularly sinister fashion. Findekáno bit his lip, trying not to laugh.

Ambarussa, however, only wailed that Maitimo was so unfair, and his footsteps could be heard retreating from the door. Maitimo turned to Findekáno and said, with a dramatic flourish, “You see what I must deal with?”

“I see too clearly. Do you have a towel for me? I’m getting as wrinkled as a prune.”

“You’re no good to me as a prune,” Maitimo said, with a lofty lift of his head. He brought a large, fluffy towel from the wardrobe next to wall and unrolled it at the foot of the tub. Findekáno got up from the bath and was immediately wrapped up in towel and shepherded through the open door, into Maitimo’s sleeping chamber.

Maitimo’s room in Formenos was the exact copy of his room in Tirion, save the high windows looked out to the forest, and beyond it, jagged mountains. Here, Findekáno saw that the light outside was tinged with more silver than gold; he had wasted almost the entire day on his little misadventures in the the tunnels underneath Formenos.

He cast himself on to Maitimo’s bed and waved off the change of clothes that Maitimo had brought him. Maitimo placed them neatly on the seat of his chair. Findekáno stretched out and looked at Maitimo under the heavy sweep of his lashes, his lips pouted. Maitimo came closer to him, hovering uncertainly over him for a moment before stepping back and shaking his head.

“Have you come all this way to just to seduce me, Findekáno?”

“Maitimo, you wound me. You know what I want to do to you is never just seduction,” Findekáno said, sitting up and drawing Maitimo to him. When Maitimo was close enough to catch, he hooked an arm around Maitimo’s waist and pressed his face into the crook of Maitimo’s neck.

He had missed this so desperately -- the closeness of it, of the smell of Maitimo’s hair. “I miss you. I love you. Come back to Tirion with me.”

He could feel, more than hear Maitimo’s sigh. “I miss you and I love you, but I cannot return to Tirion until my father can return as well.”

Findekáno pulled back and said, thoughtfully, “It’s interesting that you always mention your father whenever we are intimate. Why do you think that is?”

“What?” Maitimo turned almost as red as his hair. “I do not.”

“You do,” Findekáno said, and pressed a kiss on the side of Maitimo’s neck. Maitimo was still, but his breathing seemed to grow heavier. Findekáno inched even closer to him, caressing him on every inch of skin he could reach. “You are wearing too many clothes, I think.”

“Findekáno…”

Findekáno’s voice dropped lower. “Do you imagine it, sometimes, if your father should walk in right now and see us. What would happen? What would you do?”

Maitimo drew a sharp breath and Findekáno smiled. He was not surprised to find himself suddenly flung on his back, with Maitimo on top of him, radiating fury -- and yet -- he pressed against Findekáno and very deliberately began to rub against him. Maitimo held back Findekáno’s hands; he was fixed against the bed.

Findekáno stretched out, happy to have riled Maitimo up this much, before Maitimo pulled back and smiled. Findekáno felt a touch of foreboding, which was confirmed by Maitimo’s next words.

“Cousin,” Maitimo said smoothly, “forgive my haste. This is your first time in Formenos. Surely you would not wish to spend it all in my bed?”

“I have no problems with that,” Findekáno said faintly. He rubbed his cock, already half-stiff and looked at Maitimo meaningfully. But Maitimo had pulled away, smoothing out his clothes and hair, and visibly seemed to calm himself.

“Come on, Findekáno,” Maitimo said, after taking a moment of consider him. “You’re looking like a tragic wreck.”

“You ungrateful object,” Findekáno said, sitting up. “I feel like a tragic wreck.”

“Aren’t you hungry? There’s a plum tart in the kitchen that I’ve hidden away for tonight. I will let you eat it, if you like.”

Findekáno opened his mouth, but his stomach, the traitor, spoke for him by rumbling loudly. Giving up it as a lost cause, he clambered out of bed and dressed quickly, from the clothes that Maitimo had brought in earlier. He had no shoes and was about to go without, before Maitimo stopped him with a little tsk of disapproval.

Maitimo gave him a pair of leopard-spotted slippers. At Findekáno’s raised brow, Maitimo sighed. “They’re Tyelkormo’s.”

“Of course they are,” Findekáno murmured. “So. How do we get down?”

“We use the servant's' passage. Let me see if the way is clear--” Maitimo stuck his head out of the door for a moment before turning back to Findekáno. He motioned him to hurry up. “Come quickly.”

They stole out of the hallway as quietly as they could and went over to the corner opposite Maitimo’s door. He depressed a stone slab in the middle of the wall, and a doorway appeared from nowhere. Inside, Findekáno saw steps going downward, lit by blue lamps embedded in the stone. It was a little eerie, in truth, but he supposed one got used to it. Or, since Fëanáro rather famously never kept servants long, there usually was no one to get unnerved by it.

Down and down the stairs they went, with Maitimo in the lead. After a while, Findekáno (who quite enjoyed the sensation of looking over Maitimo’s head as they walked down) reached out and grabbed Maitimo’s shoulders. Maitimo stopped walking and Findekáno bumped his chest against the back of Maitimo’s head. Conspiratorially, he bent down and said, “Do you remember the last time we did this?”

“Did what?” Maitimo hadn't turned, but there was a hint of a smile in his voice.

“When you tried to impress me with your cooking, of course.”

“I always impress you with my cooking, Findekáno. You are insatiable and, frankly, not always discerning.”

“I’ll show you insatiable--!” Findekáno planted a hasty kiss on Maitimo’s neck. Maitimo seemed to sway for a few seconds before he shook his head.

“You're going to make me fall,” he said. “Come on, there’s only a few more steps…”

There were -- and soon Maitimo opened the door and they came out in a bright and spacious kitchen. Findekáno took a seat at the table -- one that was as broad and long as the the dining room table at his father’s house -- and waited for Maitimo to come back from rummaging in the pantry.

After a few minutes, Maitimo returned with half of a cold chicken, bread, and a piece of yellow cheese. With a sigh, he said that he could not find the plum tart (clearly, it had been found and eaten by someone else) but hoped this would do as well. Findekáno, who was ravenous at this point, said that he didn't mind at all. They ate together quickly, with many looks around to make sure one of Maitimo’s many brothers didn't come shambling into the kitchen.

This could be life for them, Findekáno realized with a pang. Sharing meals together, being together, not looking over their shoulders all the time. If they had been ordinary people instead of princes of rival houses, would anyone bother to forbid them from each other?

“Your face has an unaccustomed look of melancholy, cousin,” Maitimo said, his voice light and teasing. “What makes you so sad?”

“Nothing,” Findekáno said. “Well, actually, I regret that I will not have your plum tart. The meal you have given me was delicious, but--”

“All right,” Maitimo said, rising from his seat. “Hold on. Let me see what I can do.” He darted off back into the cold-pantry and brought back with him a bowl of plums and a crock of butter. As soon as he had all of his ingredients together, he worked quickly and efficiently, with no wasted movements at all.

“Do you like it? Cooking, I mean,” Findekáno asked, as he watched Maitimo’s hands make quick work cutting up of the bowl of plums, leaving the pits beside it in a neat pile.

Maitimo gave him a lopsided smile. “I enjoy it, sometimes.”

“You like to take care of people.”

“I have to,” Maitimo said, as he dumped the already-chilled dough onto the cutting board and began to work on it.

“You like to,” Findekáno said, taking the bowl of cut-up plums and stirring in the honey into the mixture. He accept Maitimo’s offer of cinnamon and a dash of salt, and continued mixing. There was a vial of almond oil on a shelf near him. Findekáno considered it for a moment before he took it and dropped it in his pocket.

“I suppose I'm used to it,” Maitimo mused, rolling out the dough with a rolling pin into a roughly round shape. “I have been doing it so long that it's become second nature to me now.”

“What would happen if you only took care of yourself?”

Maitimo, who had been looking around for a pan to bake the tart, went still. Almost solemnly, he said, “Then I would be miserable, Káno.”

Soon, the tart was in the oven and they were free to explore. Maitimo knew of all -- almost all, he said -- the little secret passageways that crisscrossed the castle. They spent some time on the turrets, looking out onto the wild landscape of trees and hills. Findekáno was pleased to see the sky darken into silver-black, with bright swathes of stars. The wind, however, was brisk, and Findekáno wrapped his arms around himself. Maitimo put a hand on Findekáno’s shoulder.

“Come on,” he said, “let's go somewhere warmer.”

Somewhere warmer turned out to be a library, one of the several in the castle. It was mostly devoted to poetry, and located in a rather remote corner of the house. Two lofty windows dominated the southern wall, with thick velvet curtains that reached to the floor.

Maitimo worked to make the fire, which burned low in the fireplace, come roaring back to life. They sat in front of it, warming their hands and inching closer together.

Findekáno admired at the way the fire set a ruddy glow to Maitimo’s cheeks and brought out the copper glint in his hair. He was, truly, very beautiful, combining as he did Fëanáro’s startling good-looks with Nerdanel’s warmth and strength. Everyone in Tirion had spent at least some time in love with Maitimo, but it was only Findekáno who had got him.

It was with both pride and lust that Findekáno looked at Maitimo. He could, perhaps, look at Maitimo all day and not get tired -- nor would Maitimo get tired of being admired. Findekáno chuckled to himself, and Maitimo turned to him and asked what was the matter.

“I was only thinking -- oh, it's stupid,” Findekáno said with a sigh. “I was only thinking that I would be content to look at you forever.”

“Yes, it is stupid,” Maitimo said, drawing Findekáno to him. “Because knowing you, you’re never content to just look.” He placed a gentle kiss on Findekáno’s cheek, and then neck.

Findekáno sighed. “Maitimo, this will be the third time … If you pull away from me again --”

“Oh damn,” Maitimo said, surging up. “My tart!”

“Of course,” Findekáno said, reaching for Maitimo.

“No, I mean I have to go rescue the plum tart,” Maitimo said, running out the door. “If someone comes to the door -- hide!”

Findekáno got up and closed the door with a sigh. He began to look at the spines of the books to see who they were by, and was surprised to find some volumes of his aunt Findis’ poetry in the stacks. Findis, he knew, had been rather close to Fëanáro when she had been younger. Now, Findis was not close to anyone, much, since she had elected to live in Valmar during the time that discord had sprung up between his father and Fëanáro. He took out one of Findis’ books and flicked through it. A line stuck out to him -- he is exactly the poem I wanted to write.

Then, he heard a sound. Footsteps were coming down the hallway. Could it be Maitimo? Findekáno’s first instinct was to stand and confront whomever it was. But Maitimo’s words came back to him. It would not be fair to him for Findekáno to betray his trust. So he darted behind the curtain and waited.

After a few moments, the door of the library opened. Findekáno spied out from the gap in the fringe and saw, to his dismay, Fëanáro stride in, with Makalaurë behind him, expounding to him some intricacies of his latest rhyme-scheme. Fëanáro only seemed to pay his son half-a-mind. He looked around curiously, a slight frown on his face.

“It is strange,” he said, “I could have sworn I heard Maitimo’s voice in here. Wasn't he speaking to you?”

“Not I,” Makalaurë said, looking a little crestfallen. “I haven't seen him all day. And here I thought you had taken a genuine interest in my experimental poetry, Atar.”

“Of course I am interested,” Fëanáro said impatiently. He took several steps towards the curtain Findekáno was hiding behind, but at the last moment, he side-stepped and went to the window next to it. He pushed aside the heavy curtains and said, “I suspect that Nelyafinwë may be writing … letters.”

“Letters?” Makalaurë wandered around the library and picked up Findis’ book, which Findekáno had left lying on the shelf. He put it back where it belonged. “I suppose I have noticed some messenger birds around his windows, sometimes. What do you think he’s hiding? A secret lover in Tirion? A long-distance gambling problem? Or is he thinking of raising pigeons, perhaps?”

“Don't be ridiculous, Nelyafinwë would never take a follower of Nolofinwë as a lover. But he is hiding something. And I want you to find out what it is.”

“I will, Atar. And when I have Maitimo confess to his appalling pigeon-gambling problem, you’ll be the first to know.”

Fëanáro frowned. “I don’t think you are taking it as seriously as you should.”

Before Makalaurë could reply, however, who should come through the door but Maitimo himself? He was carrying a slice of plum tart with him on a small plate, and he smiled brilliantly at both his father and brother.

“There you two are! There's a fresh plum tart cooling in the kitchens, you should get to it before the twins finish it off.”

“Kanafinwë can go and get some, but I wish to speak to you.”

Makalaurë nodded, but only took a few steps before he stopped and lingered by the door.

“All right,” Maitimo said, turning his back to the window and setting down the plate on a desk.

Fëanáro took a deep breath and sniffed. “It's a little close in here. Should we open a window?” He went over and threw open the curtains. He paused. “Someone's forgotten to close this window. What if it had rained?”

“Leave it open,” Maitimo said faintly. “It is quite hot in here. What did you want to talk to me about?”

“It’ll keep,” Fëanáro said. “Come on, Káno. That tart won't last.” They walked out of the library, with Makalaurë close the door behind him. After a long moment of waiting for the footsteps to die down, Maitimo rushed over to the window. He looked down and hissed, “Findekáno! Where are you?”

“Here,” Findekáno said, to the left of him. He was standing on his tiptoes on the small ledge over the window of the room next door. His feet were bare -- in the panic, he had snatched his slippers off his feet and tossed them down into the bushes below. Maitimo held out his hand and Findekáno stretched until he grabbed it. The was a scrabble to get Findekáno off the ledge and back into the room. At the end of it, Findekáno was so glad to be back that he gave Maitimo a long kiss. And instead of demurring or holding back, Maitimo kisses him back fiercely.

“I want you,” Findekáno said, pulling away for a moment. “Will you let me --”

“Yes,” Maitimo said, breathlessly. “Here?”

“Why not?” Findekáno said, throwing off his clothes.

“They could come in at any moment,” Maitimo said, biting at his lip. Findekáno followed it, nipping at for a moment.

“Let them,” Findekáno said, “I don't care. Do you?”

“I --” Maitimo swallowed hard. “No. But lock the door, at least.”

Findekáno sprang up and turned the key in the lock. When he returned, he found Maitimo was already mostly naked and lying on the carpet beside the fire. His eyes were fixed one the ceiling, and he looked, for the first time that day, utterly at peace. When Findekáno knelt down by him, Maitimo rewarded him with a lazy smile. Findekáno, feeling some strange tenderness in his heart, took Maitimo’s right hand and kissed it.

In Tirion, they had been mostly content with kisses and touches, with hot looks and carefully arranged meetings. Findekáno knew he was not Maitimo’s first love -- with such a gap in age between them, how could that be possible? And in his more honest moments, Findekáno allowed himself to feel a small measure of jealousy to those -- unknown, uncounted -- who had made a gambit for Maitimo’s heart.

But, Findekáno knew that if he wasn't the first, then certainly he would be the last and only. “I wouldn’t, you know,” he mused, laying Maitimo’s hand down and brushing a stray lock of hair out of his lover’s face.

“Not what?”

“I wouldn't care if everyone knew I loved you. As you say, I am terrible with secrets. I don't believe in them.”

“I know,” Maitimo said, sitting up. “When I return to Tirion, perhaps we could --” He hesitated, and then seemed to make a decision. “Findekáno, would you come and live with me? Somewhere away from our parents, our brothers. Would you do it?”

“Of course I would -- I cannot wait -- although I know I must. I would share a castle with you, a house -- a tent.” Still speaking, Findekáno unlaced his breeches and slid off his tunic. The vial of oil that he had stolen from the kitchen tumbled out of his pocket and he grabbed it, showing it to Maitimo with a challenging grin. “I would like to ride you like a horse. Do you have any objections?”

Maitimo grinned back. “None whatsoever.”

They prepared Findekáno together, the oil spilling between them until everything was slick around them. Maitimo stretched out his long, long limbs and bent them a little, and Findekáno clambered on top of him, heart beating like a drum. He had only done this one time before, but that had been in circumstances far different than this.

He felt Maitimo’s cock nudge against his rim, and after a moment (that felt like a hundred years) he began to sink into it -- slowly and rather uncomfortably. “Ahh, Maitimo, I --”

“Shh,” Maitimo said, running his hands down Findekáno’s sides, as if he was soothing a skitterish horse. But Findekáno began to sweat, his thighs trembling. Maitimo’s cock, while nicely proportional to his height, was nothing terrifying. So why did it seem like he was stuck?

“Maitimo, it isn't working,” Findekáno gasped, and then found himself rolled on his back, with Maitimo wedged in between his legs.

“You are far too tense, my dear,” Maitimo said -- practically purred. “It's up to me to rescue you, I suppose.” His head dipped down, and he swallowed Findekáno’s cock in a smooth motion. Findekáno shuddered and arched his back, trying to get a little more of Maitimo’s mouth on him. He certainly felt more relaxed. But Maitimo was not content at that -- he offered up his hands -- large, shapely hands, with fingers rather long and a little bony -- to Findekáno’s lips. Findekáno wet his lips and then took Maitimo’s fingers into his mouth, sucking on them, getting them as wet as he could. Finally, Maitimo left off Findekáno’s cock, and draped himself over him, and began to languidly finger him open.

Findekáno gasped (perhaps he squeaked) and pressed his mouth against the firm flesh of Maitimo’s shoulders, to keep the noises from coming out. Maitimo kept fingering him until Findekáno thought he would burst.

“Maitimo,” he said, low, “if you do not put your cock in me, I will scream.”

“Get on then, and have at it -- but for Eru’s sake, Findekáno, do not scream.”

“Interesting that you should speak Eru’s name now. Do you think if we join now, we would be married? Do you want to risk it?”

Maitimo wiggled under him impatiently. “Is this an oath or a fuck? Make up your mind.”

Findekáno grinned. Then, curiously, he cocked his head. “Do you hear something?”

“What?”

“I think -- harping?”

“Oh, Makalaurë. Practising, I suppose. His harping has been incessant lately. Come on."

“All right,” Findekáno said, sighing. He clambered on top of Maitimo and rocked against him. He bit his lip when he felt Maitimo, his fingers and his cock, breach him. It felt strange, but at the same time, completely intoxicating to think that -- even for such a small space in time -- he and Maitimo were so connected.

He began to move, up and down the length of Maitimo’s cock. Maitimo’s hands gripped hard against his hips and Findekáno groaned, beginning to spit out endearments like curses. He pushed him down farther and bent down to kiss Maitimo. Maitimo kissed him back, his hands threaded into Findekáno’s hair, digging into his scalp.

It was too much -- Findekáno pulled back, still seated on Maitimo’s cock and he so, so wanted to shout and scream and do anything -- Maitimo had let go of his hair and now was quickly rubbing his cock, until Findekáno came suddenly, his seed flecking the skin of Maitimo’s stomach. Somewhere along the way, their positions switched and Maitimo was on top of him, fucking him in earnest now.

Findekáno closed his eyes. He had never felt so much bliss.

*

It was over too soon, of course, and their escape from the library afterward a blur. Findekáno ate the plum tart with his fingers as they ran with light feet to Maitimo’s room. He dressed quickly in his own clothes and found his boots, cleaned and dried in front of the fireplace.

He and Maitimo shared one last kiss. Findekáno said to him: “Remember your promise when you return to Tirion!”

“I will.” Maitimo traced a finger down Findekáno’s cheek. “Do not doubt that I love you, Findekáno!”

“I do not doubt you in the least,” Findekáno said. They decided that it would be best if Findekáno would spend the remainder of his time in Formenos more safely hidden in the woods, when Maitimo could visit him a few more times with provisions and bring him back his horse.

He saw more of his cousins come and go as the week progressed -- once, Huan came bounding up to him, licked his face and then left without a single bark -- but after one final farewell to Maitimo, Findekáno took his leave.

 

*

Findekáno was some miles away from the borders of Fëanáro’s land -- all of which surrounded Formenos and was a wild and beautiful place -- when he heard the faint sounds of singing above him, in the trees. He looked up, and saw the grinning face of his cousin Makalaurë looking down at him.

“Well, I have seen my brother’s love-pigeon in the wild, though a pigeon is perhaps too harsh a word for it, a dove, rather,” Makalaurë said, shimming down the tree.

Then, dusting his hands, he said, “Hail, Findekáno, son of Nolofinwë! Why are you doing here, in Fëanáro’s land? Do you not know that my father has forbidden any follower of Nolofinwë from entering this place?”

“Am I near Formenos? I must be terribly lost,” Findekáno said calmly, not dismounting as Makalaurë approached his horse.

“Well, you are going the right way now,” Makalaurë said, nodding towards the direction of the main road to Tirion. “Did you enjoy my music the other night? It was one of my loudest performances to date.”

“I could not hear it, I was -- here. In the woods, as normal,” said Findekáno.

“Hmm. Perhaps you can dismount, Findekáno.”

“Is it a threat?” Findekáno asked.

“Certainly not. I am a well-wisher of both you and my brother.” Makalaurë offered his hand to Findekáno, who took a little hesitatingly. With a quiet laugh, Makalaurë continued. “Truly, if my brother’s affections are that way bent, then it is all to my benefit -- I am next in line.”

“It is a cold calculation, Makalaurë. You were not always thus.” Findekáno tried to extract his hand from Makalaurë’s grasp, but could not do so without hurting him, and that he would not yet do.

Makalaurë smiled and then pulled Findekáno close. “Listen, I would not betray my brother at any cost, but I grow weary of exile. There is no new music to play save what I make myself, there is no one to play with and the audience is always the same. All I ask from you is for you to send me a pigeon of yours sometimes, with new songs from Tirion and especially Alqualondë. Is this unreasonable?”

“No, but how am I to know that you will not change your conditions going on?”

“Maitimo would not allow it.”

“He knows of this?”

“He can guess, certainly. Do we have a deal?”

“All right,” Findekáno said, and they shook on it. Ruefully, he said, “What a family!”

Makalaurë grinned. “You chose it when you chose Maitimo. And when you were born, I suppose.”

“I suppose,” Findekáno said, a tad gloomily. Then it occurred to him that Makalaurë had not stipulated what kind of songs he wished for. He smiled and shook Makalaurë’s hand again and bid him a cheerful goodbye.

*

Riding back to Tirion, Findekáno felt the high spirits that he had felt upon leaving Formenos depart again. Perhaps he had not done well, to rush into the situation with no thought of how he was to get out. He had depended on Maitimo’s ability to manage behind the scenes, and Maitimo had come through.

Thought it had never been more apparent that Maitimo kept only was a step or two ahead of danger. But one day, he might falter…

But -- Findekáno frowned -- he knew that he would be there, to stop Maitimo from breaking.

After all -- the worst had already come to pass.