Harvest Dance by oshun

Chapter 1

Pulsing torches lined the forest glade. The harvest festival, held near a farming village just outside of Tirion, throbbed with music, laughter and quick, ancient dances brought from across the Sea. Lanterns strung overhead swayed in the light wind making the shadows move. Last days of summer idleness, back to lessons and the forge . . . Pityafinwë thought, wistful for only a moment. Won't do to let my thoughts go in that sort of maudlin direction. I should see him here tonight with any luck. He released a snort of a laugh at himself and his nascent sentimentality.

A warm hand closed around his upper arm. "Ah, Pityo, you are one of the few people I know who can stand all alone at the edge of a crowd and laugh at your own jokes."

"And you, Arakáno, are one of the few who sneak up behind me at festive gatherings for the sole purpose of entertaining yourself at my expense."

"But you are always amusing, sweet cousin. Where is your brother?" Arakáno's warm breath upon his neck sent a frisson of goosebumps across Pityafinwë's shoulders and down his back.

"Telvo? Oh, he found a hapless local girl--I meant a fortunate local girl--who is eager to keep him company. Want a drink?" Pityafinwë turned to lock onto those motivating pale blue eyes and extend a small container toward Arakáno.

"Don't mind if I do. Although, I have been warned. Curious to know if this pig slop is as harsh as I have heard." Arakáno brought the flask up under his nose and sniffed cautiously. "You and Telvo actually make this stuff?" Never short on raw nerve, he tilted his head back and took a long, deep swallow.

Pityafinwë watched him, delighted and appalled, utterly unable to control his grin. He really ought to learn to listen to warnings.

"Eru! Varda's frigid nipples, Pityo! What is this poison?"

"Just a little something to loosen you up." As though either of us ever needed that.

"Hmmm," Arakáno replied, opening his mouth to accept a hot but tender kiss, as his long black hair fell over his cousin's half-bared chest.

"These rustics do know how to celebrate, but I still think we should find a quieter spot," Pityafinwë whispered.