Forbidden by Narya

Chapter 1

“Do you believe it?”

Turukáno looked up, slowly. His cousin's head was tilted like a hawk gauging a distance. “No.” He closed the book; the gentle, sweet scent of old paper curled up through the air, and he laid the volume back on the shelf. “I don't think so. Do you?”

That smile – mischievous; superior; full of cunning and as sharp as a new-forged blade. A smile to cut oneself on and then laugh as you lay bleeding on the ground. “Of course not.” Curufinwë fluttered his lashes. “You aren't afraid?”

“Of a stuffy old scholar who probably knows no more about any of this than we do?” Turukáno snorted, hoping he sounded more convincing than he felt. “Don't be foolish.”

“Then shall we try?”

He gave a startled half-laugh. “Curvo...”

At the far end of the library, a door opened – two of the house staff, Turukáno guessed, though they were a long way from being in view. Curvo's eyes gleamed a challenge; he stepped forward, brushed a lock of Turukáno's hair off his face, quirked an elegant eyebrow. Turukáno felt a shiver of pleasure like summer's first breath.

“May I?”

Curvo's whispered request tickled his cheek, hot and enticing and sweet. Footsteps echoed on the tiled floor. Turukáno's breath quickened, and he closed his eyes. “Yes.”

It was gentler than he expected. Curvo stroked his thumb over his lips, then slid his fingers into Turukáno's hair and pressed their mouths softly together. Turukáno wound an arm around his cousin's waist, pulled their bodies close. The footsteps drew nearer; Turukáno's breath came in warm, sharp gasps, and he tipped his head back as Curvo kissed his jawline, his neck, his collarbone, tracing light, curled patterns with the tip of his tongue...

Turukáno whimpered. His cousin laughed; he placed a last, light kiss on Turukáno's lips, and stepped away.

“Curvo...” Turukáno was unsettled to find that his legs felt hollow and his head was light, while his hips and groin were full of a sweet, aching warmth. “What was that for?”

Curufinwë shrugged, then gave a wicked grin. “Consider it practice.”

“Practice?” Turukáno echoed stupidly.

“Mm. For when you finally summon the courage to kiss Elenwë.” And then his cousin sauntered from their alcove, whistling, carelessly elegant in spite of his coltish form. He gave a jaunty salute to his grandfather's servants, then he glanced over his shoulder at Turukáno, and once again smiled that smile like the edge of a knife.