By Stars' Light by Erfan Starled

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Chapter 12

 

Calyaro was there, standing over him. Kneeling on his bed covers, saying hush while his hands were on Finrod, his body tantalisingly close. Finally satisfied with his victim’s state of arousal, he lay back on the new-woven linen and smiled up. That smile was all amused provocation, heat and expectation. Finrod took firm hold on his ravelled control and enjoyed staring down at the naked body, glad it was his turn to tease and raise raw pleasure in that compelling voice.

 

He liked what he saw. Liked that he could touch the curving ribcage, and smooth the skin of sun-browned flanks. He let a hand spread out on Calyaro’s flat belly, and felt its soft heat with his thumb as he ran it in an arc back and forth. He liked the way he was allowed to do as he pleased, while the smile he was growing to love played across the angular face and warm eyes watched him.

 

His prick had filled, urgent not just at Calyaro’s touch but at the thought of what they might do together. Calyaro’s eyes never left his, which added an intensity that transmitted itself to his groin. His own hands started roaming where they willed. He wondered what to kiss first and delayed. He wanted to look. And touch. The skin of Calyaro’s buttocks was smooth, the creases a beautiful curve, the spare body still forming rounded soft muscles when he was relaxed. Finrod let his fingers gently explore his prick and balls and the sensitive inner thighs. He turned Calyaro on his side and cocked one leg forward so he could explore there, too. Calyaro languidly turned his head to watch him.

 

Finrod kissed him hard, serving notice that he wanted him and would have him if he could. He could almost feel Calyaro smiling before he met tongue with tongue and their lips and hands were all they knew.

 

Calyaro’s hands took to Finrod’s hair and then ran underneath it down his back and thighs. They kissed again less frantically, and then Calyaro was spreading oil on Finrod’s prick. Reaching behind him.

 

“I don’t mind,” Calyaro murmured to him, pausing. “Either way.” Up until that moment, Finrod thought he knew what he wanted but oh, to feel those hands there, offering to make him ready…

 

He flattened himself limply to the sheets and let Calyaro do whatever he liked, groaning and flexing his hands against the pallet. Calyaro laughed and made the most of it, playing with him, dragging it out, making him sing sighs and grunts and groans as hands and fingers stroked and pressed. Finrod had never known that his buttocks and groin had so many sensitive places apart from the obvious. He found it out, as strong fingers, palm and heel of hand plied him with sensation.

 

If it had gone on forever, Finrod would have lain there willing prisoner to pleasure he had not imagined. Instead, Calyaro drew a firm hand down the side of his spine and let it come to rest on his backside. Lying beside him he said in his ear, “Well, Prince? What would you like me to do?”

 

The musical voice with its low intonation completed what hands had begun. ‘Whatever you want,’ Finrod wanted to say, ‘but do it now…’

 

Finrod woke up cursing and threw his blanket off him. Still not sure whether he really wanted to start a relationship of a kind he had not envisaged, he stalked out into the open with his weapons and took to the soothing activity of tending his sword and his dagger with a whetstone and oilcloth.

 

He valued the weekly ritual and had a favourite spot overlooking one of the wide sweeps of frothing rapids. Willows hung over the water there, finding foothold on one of the series of ledges where greenery had collected up the side of the cliffs.

 

Mindlessly running metal over stone and checking the angle, he found his light blocked.

 

“My lord? Might I have a word with you?”

 

Calyaro rarely sought him out. Finrod sat back and looked at him. He seemed well. “What have you got on your mind?”

 

“The building will be entirely finished soon, all the major structural work at least.” They would still have various small-scale work that they would be finishing off for years to come. “I wondered – I wanted to ask you if I could stay on here when the others go back to Minas Tirith and Barad Eithel?”

 

There was no clue as to why he was asking to be gleaned from his face. “There is no reason why not, but I admit I am curious as to why you would like to stay?”

 

Calyaro, who was standing before him, slanted a brief look at him and then gazed down at the trees. “Because I like it here? Because there is still work to do that I am good at?”

 

“Is that all?” Finrod was looking closely at him, and Calyaro’s eyes had that older cast to them, and the slight smile was there. Suddenly he was sure, and stood up.

 

“There is also the fact that I like working for you…” the singer admitted.

 

“Working for me? Or do you just – like me?” He took a step forward, and a second.

 

“Prince Finrod, I – ” Whatever he had been going to say was lost. Finrod, deciding that waiting was not going to help matters, kissed him. It was one way of finding out.

 

The kiss was returned and there was an end of questions.

 

When they fell apart, Finrod half-laughed and half-gasped for breath, wiping his mouth and looking into the somewhat amused grey eyes.

 

They both said, “Yes,” at the same time. Calyaro gestured to him.

 

“Yes,” Finrod said mock-gravely. “You may stay on. Your turn.”

 

“I was just going to say, yes. I like you, not just working for you. And your hair,” he said, “I like all that golden hair…” He ran a hand down it in a curiously delicate gesture. Almost humble. Fascinated.

 

Finrod laughed, and shook his head. “Well, that’s alright then.” He felt a little dazed. “Ah, would you eat with me tonight?” And other things, he thought to himself with satisfaction.

 

Calyaro smiled his quiet smile. “Thank you, yes. I’d better take my leave, I think. For now.” He drifted toward the path, and added, “I shall look forward to it. Prince.”

 

Finrod felt his insides respond to the words and the thoughts that went with them and inclined his head rather than let it show by his voice failing him.

 

Supper came and went, and they chose the woods by starlight to get acquainted this first time.

 

Afterwards Finrod did not know who moved first or who pulled whom close. Their bodies were hard against each other, he knew that. He felt his own heart beat fast. The body in his arms relaxed and welcomed his embrace and when he quieted a little from the first thumping of his heart, he kissed him.

 

Calyaro waited for him to make that first move, but then – then there was no restraint and Calyaro had definitely done this before… Finrod smiled to himself, remembering his dream. He had supposed Calyaro was no stranger to love of his own sex, but he had only a few smiles to go on. And a kiss by the river. There was that.

 

He had told Galadriel he did not think of Amarië but it had not been true. He had not forgotten her. He doubted he would ever look at another woman, but he was not sure if that was to do with gender or faithfulness or just the trauma of the nature of that parting. He did not need to think about that and instead caught Calyaro’s mouth with his own.

 

Calyaro seemed intuitive and had broken off his attentions while Finrod got his second wind, but then he was all over Finrod, experienced and generous and thorough, and Finrod, copying him, knew it would all be well. It would be very well. He should not have waited this long to lie with someone again…

 

Finrod broke away from the kiss and arched heavily into Calyaro’s firm hand. He found himself held hard behind, and he forget all else but grabbed tightly the body that was so sweetly serving his until he came, gasping into the curve of sharp collar bone and shoulder.

 

Calyaro groaned and although things seemed very hazy, Finrod heard it and fumbling, loosed his fingernail grip on shoulders and back. He moved his hands unaccustomedly to find a comfortable fit for their bodies. Holding someone else’s erection was a matter of different angles than the unthinking tending of his own body.

 

Still absorbed in his own light-headed, limp pleasure, he turned sideways a little. He  got a hand under Calyaro’s waist and there held him close while his other hand more expertly grasped the tight length that waited on him. As soon as his hand took hold once more, Calyaro moaned, a hum of desire and gratitude and pent up passion that delighted Finrod.

 

He roused out of his own replete torpor to enjoy watching the other’s face, rather cruelly taking his time about this task, their eyes meeting when Calyaro half-opened his eyes in question at this different mood. Finrod leaned in and kissed him thoroughly, and was still kissing him when Calyaro stopped breathing, sighed and came.

 

Finrod propped himself up on his elbows, leaning over the lean body, so different from his own, searching the face that seemed content and alertly questioning – as if to ask, was all well between them? He kissed him again, just because he could and then gave in to drowsiness.

 

Later, when they woke, and idled in closeness that was in no hurry to do anything, Finrod said, “I find myself thinking about your eyes a lot. I was thinking of calling you Sindamíro on their account. You have beautiful eyes by starlight, and candlelight. Mir for short. Do you like it?”

 

Calyaro rolled the eyes in question. “I’m not an ornament.”

 

“No? What then, when we have built this place? Shall you be my singer? You would be very decorative, I assure you. I remember you standing in Fëanor’s halls. You had such a presence.” He ran a hand up Calyaro’s torso, thumbing his nipples and coming to rest across his collar bone, cupping his shoulder and neck. He lowered his voice, “I never thought I would be doing this to you, though.” He could have stroked him all night, front and back, just for the intense pleasure of giving pleasure. He looked forward to finding out all that Calyaro enjoyed most.

 

A silence. “No.”

 

“No? You want me to stop?”

 

“No, I do not wish to play your minstrel.”

 

Finrod stopped caressing him at the abrupt reply. “What then?”

 

“I have a few ideas. When I’m ready, I’ll tell you. Ask you,” he amended, more carefully, suddenly wary that it was a prince’s invitations he answered, not just the teasing request of a younger lover.

 

Finrod lay back beside him and gave up trying to do more than enjoy the closeness as they lay side by side. “There is no need to decide. This is a new venture, with room for new paths.”

 

Afterwards, Finrod remembered that odd little conversation. He waited, but for a time Calyaro said no more along those lines and Finrod did not ask. Sometimes he saw an oddly intent look in the singer’s eyes when the watch mustered for departure in their discreet twos and threes. Calyaro practiced determinedly with his bow, but most of the population did that for exercise and sport, whether or not bearing arms in defence of the borders was their work.

 

Those who applied to the watch had to meet exactingly high standards with a bow to be admitted. The task would be deadly dangerous if ever their real purpose was called upon. Finrod remembered those clues later. At the time he blindly let them pass, content to let Calyaro speak when he was ready.

Chapter End Notes

 

 

Names

Sindamíro – grey jewel 

 

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