The Ice Between by Nibeneth

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Chapter 7

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On the Helcaraxë, somewhere in the midst of the desolate icy wastes that stretched from Araman to the gray beaches in the north of Beleriand, was an island.

The Noldor happened upon it during the summer, when the valley in the center of the island flowered into a carpet of white, pink, yellow, and green. Scrubby berry bushes seemed to produce the finest fruit any elf had ever eaten, and sorrel, dandelion, and coltsfoot swept away the malaise of deprivation almost overnight. Small reindeer and a riotous population of seabirds were a welcome relief from the uninterrupted diet of fish, seal, and tough sea plants that had kept them alive for so long already. Fresh water flowed in streams and they slept soundly in stone caves in the hills, for once truly protected from the elements. They rested and recovered and replenished their supplies, and many fell down and wept in praise of Yavanna’s bounty.

All too soon, it ended.

The warm currents that brought life to the oasis froze over, and the flowers faded in the cold and darkness. The birds flew south. The reindeer herds grew thin and wary of their hunters. The terrible truth that Beleriand still lay ahead returned to the lips of the Noldor, and they knew they could not stay.

The terror was not over.

Sometimes, when he found himself enjoying a good meal or fine silk against his skin, Fingon thought of that island. Throughout the brief respite, he had known it would not last, but even that could not keep him from madly hoping that it would never end. Now too he remembered it in Maedhros’ kisses and the hot weight of his body against Fingon’s, the taste of his sweat and the sounds of his pleasure echoing in Fingon’s ears.

The blizzard battered the walls over five days and nights. Maedhros and Fingon emerged daily to bathe, eat, and socialize a little, but otherwise they locked themselves in Maedhros’ chamber, relearning each other’s bodies as the wind howled around the battlements. Everywhere, from the couch to the floor and the bed to the desk, they made love, rested, sat and talked, and started all over again. Each success drove away a little more of the darkness in Fingon’s mind. He didn’t care if it was temporary. This moment was infinite, and he would carry it like a torch into the uncertain future.

“This would be much easier with two hands.”

Fingon lifted himself up on his elbows to peer at Maedhros where he knelt next to the side of the bed. His mussed hair was just visible. “Do you need help with that?”

“I’ve almost got it, I just…” There was a small pop of a cork being released from a bottle. “Shit, there it goes. Spilled a bit.”

“We’ll worry about that later,” Fingon said. Right now his whole body was alight with the promise of being touched. Maedhros straightened his back and licked his lips as he surveyed Fingon’s flesh laid bare before him. His eyes flicked up to Fingon’s face and a small, devious smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

“Lie back,” he instructed. “Pull your knees up. Don’t touch yourself.”

Fingon’s face grew hot and his cock grew even harder at the sound of Maedhros’ gentle commands. Now that it was on his mind, not touching himself suddenly became a conscious struggle as Maedhros began kissing him, suckling at the backs of his thighs and teasing him with just a hint of teeth. He gasped and jerked at the electric touch of Maedhros’ lips and tongue caressing downward—the flick of his tongue at his entrance drew a soft curse from him and he tangled his fingers in Maedhros’ hair. “More,” he said, earning a small chuckle from Maedhros as he gripped Fingon’s thigh with oiled fingers and burrowed his face between his buttocks. It had been so long and the sensation was almost maddening and Fingon couldn’t keep from gasping out loud again. He needed more and it took everything he had to keep his hands off his cock. It was even worse when Maedhros drew back slightly and his only touch on Fingon’s slicked, heated skin was the faint tickle of his breath.

“Why did you stop!” Fingon lifted his head. Maedhros’ eyes were at once focused and dark with arousal.

“Do you not want more?” He gave him a small smile, and heat rushed to Fingon’s face.

“No! Uh, I mean yes! Yes please !”

Maedhros laughed. He leaned in and swirled his tongue around the head of Fingon’s cock, earning another soft gasp, and then Fingon exclaimed in surprised pleasure when he began massaging his entrance with his fingers. “Relax,” he said, and his voice was a solid foundation that brought Fingon back down a little. “You’re too tense.” And then, softer, “I have you. Just relax.”

Fingon was torn between breathless need and the desire to put himself completely into Maedhros’ hands. He closed his eyes, breathed in through his nose, and consciously made himself relax.

“Good,” Maedhros said. He slid one finger in—sparks fired behind Fingon’s eyes and he moaned aloud in unabashed pleasure. “I bet I could make you come with just one finger.” Maedhros’ voice was steady, but when Fingon lifted his head again, he saw his cheeks flushed bright red and his eyes round and dark as he gazed at the expanse of Fingon’s body. He was enjoying this just as much as Fingon was.

“I said I wanted your cock, so you had better not,” Fingon retorted, but that just earned him a lofty chuckle.

“That is up to you, my dear.” Maedhros pressed the pad of his finger up firmly inside him and Fingon squirmed, panting. “Will you hold out or will you come before I decide to give you my cock?”

Oh, that was mean, but it made Fingon’s face even warmer than he thought it could get. “Do your worst.”

Maedhros grinned. His teeth flashed in the firelight and slowly he pushed in a second finger alongside the first. “Don’t come yet,” he insisted as he massaged and gently began to open him up. Fingon struggled against the pleasure pooling in his body—he had waited so long for this, and he was determined to last long enough to feel Maedhros thrust and spend inside him, directing him the whole way. Maedhros’ hand stilled, and Fingon growled a little at the interruption. “Do you need some more oil?”

Fingon nodded, privately grateful that Maedhros was paying attention, because he certainly wasn’t, and he did want to be able to sit comfortably afterward. Maedhros carefully withdrew his fingers. He ducked below the edge of the bed to coat his fingers in oil again, and then came back with his lips and tongue on and around and in Fingon’s hole. Fingon let out a rough breath and dragged his fingers though Maedhros’ hair where it tumbled over his belly, and Maedhros sucked a bruise right into the crease where Fingon’s thigh met his groin.

“Ahh!”

“I have you.” Maedhros’ breath was hot and wet and rapid against Fingon’s skin. Again he lifted his head to meet Fingon’s eyes. He bit his lip—slowly, carefully, he pushed his two fingers in, and teased with a third. “Do you want another?”

“Yes!”

When the third finger entered him, Fingon had to bite his cheek and dig his fingernails into his thighs to keep from coming right then. Maedhros, sensing his desperation, paused in his massaging and kissed the inside of his leg softly.

“All right?”

“I’m so close, I need—” He squeezed his eyes shut. “I need a minute.”

Another soft kiss, and he pulled his fingers out again. They paused, breathing, and when Fingon looked into his eyes, Maedhros got to his feet. “Scoot back a bit?”

Fingon slid back from the edge of the bed, giving Maedhros enough room to settle on his knees between his legs. He was pink all over, from his face all the way down his chest and up his freckled thighs to his hard cock. Fingon licked his lips, and Maedhros grinned when he noticed the gesture. Fingon gazed at his body, at his scars and the ruin of his right arm and shoulder, without flinching. The damage was not beautiful to behold, but Fingon was neither disgusted nor afraid. Maedhros had nothing to hide from him, especially not now, when everything was laid bare and their determined love and trust for one another had finally come to fruition.

After a few more minutes spent catching their breath, Fingon reached for Maedhros’ hand, guiding it back down toward its previous occupation. He resumed massaging with three fingers, and Fingon tipped his head back with a groan. He relaxed with the knowledge of how much Maedhros loved doing this. There was no doubt and for once no anxiety, only love and genuine enjoyment. A glimmer of gold teeth showed at the corner of Maedhros’ mouth. Fingon’s body started to beg for release once more—he balled his hands in the coverlet and trusted that Maedhros was reading his every movement and sound as he worked. Maedhros’ hand stilled again when a twist of his fingers wrung a needy whimper from Fingon’s throat.

“You are such a beauty,” he said, and Fingon was surprised at the roughness in his voice which had held so much control up until now. “I just… look at you! Your hair, your beautiful skin, your amazing cock…”

Fingon reached for him. Maedhros leaned over him for a kiss, wet and lingering, and then he sat back on his knees.

“Please,” Fingon said, laughing in his desperation.

“Hmm, yes, I think I’ve denied you long enough.” With firm but gentle directions he lifted Fingon’s right leg over his left shoulder, ducking his head to lick the perspiration from the back of his knee. Fingon gasped and arched his back, but he was determined to last, and he focused on Maedhros’ solid form beneath his leg to keep himself steady. “Ready?”

“I’ve been ready!” Fingon laughed. Maedhros pressed close. The head of his oiled cock nudged against Fingon’s entrance, and slowly, gently, he pushed himself inside, and Fingon let out a rough groan that made Maedhros’ hand close tight on his leg.

“How is it? Does it hurt?” Do you need—” his care and concern could not mask the crack in his voice or the instinctive roll of his hips as Fingon dragged his face down for a rough, sloppy kiss. His tongue slid between Maedhros’ teeth and he swallowed the breathy sound of want that escaped Maedhros’ throat as he thrust again, sending a wave of heat and pressure through Fingon’s body. Fingon couldn’t get close enough—Maedhros leaned in, and Fingon, with his leg over Maedhros’ shoulder, was bent almost double. His other leg was wrapped tightly around Maedhros’ waist. The position drew Maedhros in deep, but it still was not enough. Fingon wanted to feel him in his bones, as close to him as the blood in his veins.

“More!” he begged against Maedhros’ lips, and Maedhros obliged, pressing a line of hot, wet, sharp kisses down his jaw and neck, nuzzling and sucking as he fucked. Fingon curled his fingers in his hair and earned a soft groan when he combed his fingers through the tousled waves, pulling a little, but never causing pain. Maedhros’ body was like a coil of steel, and Fingon pressed up harder against him.

“Fin,” Maedhros said. “You feel… amazing.”

Fingon captured his mouth, biting his lower lip, and he groaned. The sound went straight to Fingon’s cock and he knew that all too soon, this would be over. Still he craved the steady build to the peak and the heart-stopping leap of orgasm, knowing at last that he did not fear failing before he reached the top. Maedhros needed his left hand to steady himself, but his fingers curled in the sheets as if he was holding on for dear life.

“Come in me,” Fingon whispered, and suddenly that was all Maedhros needed. He let out a desperate gasp. He sank his teeth into the crook of Fingon’s neck and shoulder, a pleasure just this side of painful, and then Fingon was coming with him, a bright rush of warmth that filled his whole body and left him dazed and fuzzy as he finally came back down to the bed where he lay with Maedhros, intertwined.

Afterward, Fingon panted up at the ceiling while Maedhros rose to wash up a bit. He couldn't speak, he could barely think, and all that came to his mind was how in love he was and how much he longed to have Maedhros with him always.

“My dear Findekáno, it seems I have worn you out,” Maedhros teased lightly. He made a great show of fluffing a pillow and gently placing Fingon's head on top of it.

Hands over his face, Fingon blasphemed softly.

Maedhros, chuckling, returned to the bed and pulled the covers over both of them. Fingon leaned into his body and the two of them lay satisfied and smiling.

“You are a feast,” Maedhros said at last. He kissed Fingon's neck tenderly, right over the still-stinging bite he had made. “And I cannot imagine ever having my fill of you.”

Fingon grinned. “Nor will I ever be fed up of you.”

Nestled under the blankets, with Maedhros’ arm around Fingon’s shoulders and his hand stroking his chest, they lay in silence. The wind, as always, formed a backdrop against their breath.

“Part of me is a little worried it’ll only work when we’re snowed in,” Fingon admitted.

“Unlikely. I look forward to defiling the high halls of Barad Eithel with you next year.” Maedhros kissed his braids, and Fingon laughed.

“As do I. And my trip is not over yet.”

“No indeed.” His voice was smiling. He tweaked Fingon’s nipple, earning a small yelp.

Fingon closed his eyes. He did not remember the last time he had felt so content and relaxed. His memories of the bliss of Valinor seemed to be veiled in fog—or ice. All the long days and nights he had spent with Maedhros, first as sneaking youths and then as men of Finwë’s court, had fallen into a different place in his mind, like a book that had been finished and placed back on the shelf. That it was over did not mean that it had never happened. Now, impossibly, he was lying in Maedhros’ embrace once again, and no matter how much had changed, there were some things that would always be the same.

He must have dozed off. Eventually, the sounds of a muffled thud and cheers roused him, and he tipped his head to look up at Maedhros.

“What’s going on?”

“Wrestling tournament.” Maedhros’ eyes remained closed. “Eliadis mentioned it.” Separated from the stimulation of the rest of Himring, those in the keep had turned their attention away from board games and polite conversation and toward loud arguments and increasingly reckless pastimes, a distressing number of which involved fire. A bored Noldo is a dangerous Noldo , more conventional wisdom said, and Fingon considered it absolutely true. He was not surprised that Eliadis, in her role as a defender of Himring’s people, would try to channel that into something with rules and defined objectives.

“Did you want to watch it?”

“Not especially. I already know that Raemben will beat all comers and after the first few rounds, it will just be boring to watch.” His lips curled up at the corners. “Besides, I like our way of wrestling much better.”

Fingon laughed and pressed close.