Bittersweet Dark Chocolate by Cirdan

Bittersweet Dark Chocolate

Read Bittersweet Dark Chocolate

Fingon came to Himring in the spring after the fortress had been full- wrought, and he was accompanied by a company of the Pillar. It was a mission of diplomacy, nothing more. Maedhros showed Fingon the entire fortress, built after the manner of Formenos. Fingon spoke of news in Western Beleriand and their friendship with the Elves of the Falas. Maedhros, in turn, spoke of the status of the kingdoms of the sons of Feanor and of the fair hunting offered in East Beleriand. A high feast was held in Fingon's honor. And as the night grew late, rather than leave the task to a servant, Maedhros personally showed Fingon to his room.

As soon as the door was closed, Fingon took Maedhros in his arms and nuzzled his neck. He didn't really kiss Maedhros, only brought his face to Maedhros' skin. His hands didn't stray from Maedhros' shoulder blades, but they gripped him with an eagerness that startled Maedhros. They hadn't seen each other in almost 30 years, not since the Feast of Reuniting. During the day, they had remained politically friendly but rather distant, especially in body language. Maedhros had thought that perhaps Fingon didn't feel the same nervous pitter-patter of the heart, the excitement of seeing again an old friend. There was something intensely gratifying about having Fingon change so suddenly in private that made all Maedhros' earlier doubts seem worth it. Fingon's body pressed Maedhros up against the door. He inhaled the very smell of his friend then drew back.

"Hi," Fingon said with the most adorable, ridiculous expression, as if they were seeing each other for the first time and had not spent an entire day in social pleasantries.

Maedhros smiled slightly. "Hi."

There was no "I missed you," no "how are you doing?" And Fingon never asked if it was okay if, after they'd kicked off their boots and settled on the couch, he could crawl atop Maedhros and bury his face into those luxurious, soft copper locks. But there was something unbelievably alluring in that skipped step of propriety, and it made Maedhros feel truly loved to have Fingon unable to resist him as soon as they were alone.

After long moments of nestling in Maedhros' hair, Fingon drew back and looked at Maedhros with an almost blank expression and eyes like the very mist upon Lake Mithrim. Maedhros thought he would kiss him but instead they stared into each other's eyes, neither quite sure what to do next. At last, Maedhros rubbed his nose to Fingon's.

"You have a very sexy nose," Fingon said with all due seriousness. Maedhros smiled.

"We have a long day tomorrow," Maedhros said finally. The rest of my brothers should arrive by noon, and then we'll hold a feast in your honor and introduce you to the new allies of the Noldor." Maedhros made a face. "I should warn you, though, Celegorm and Caranthir have become even more egotistical than before. Celegorm wants to call himself King of Himlad, not just Prince. He thinks it'll be fine so long as he acknowledges Fingolfin as High King. And Caranthir..." Maedhros sighed. "I should've sent Curufin with him instead of Celegorm. I can't pull the twins quite yet because they're still winning the trust of the reclusive Silvan Elves."

"At least they have the earnest looks and charisma to make such friends," Fingon noted. "Odd since they're hunters and many of the Silvan Elves reject such lifestyles."

Maedhros nodded. "But as I was saying, we have a long day tomorrow. I should get going."

Fingon's eyes pleaded with him to stay longer, but aloud he agreed, and so Maedhros left.

---

Despite Maedhros's earlier fears, the day actually went smoothly. His brothers, whom he hadn't seen in a little more than a dozen years, seemed to have mellowed out. They were pleased to see their cousin Fingon but mostly pleased to see each other again. There were tales to be told, of the growth of their realms and the unexpected prosperity. There was some friendly competition, of course, in the showing off of the companies that had come to Himring. Caranthir's people were arrayed in stunning mail and helms, and their shields were bejeweled with wealth found in the Blue Mountains. The twins had recruited many excellent archers, and though horse- riding had before been rare in their regions, most could now ride and shoot with unsurpassed accuracy. One young, enthusiastic Elf, Diriel, was even able to stand on his mount as he shot a rapidly moving rabbit. The brothers applauded this show of marksmanship and teased that the twins had little to do with the boy's obvious innate talents. So impressed was Fingon that he named the boy Lord of the Mark, and Diriel's symbol became the three circles of a target. Celegorm and Curufin were as they were before, but Celegorm was less arrogant than Maedhros had expected, and Curufin later confided that their brother's heart was softened by his love for a Sindarin lady named Nimloth, who was akin to King Thingol. Celebrimbor was young and brilliant, as they'd all expected he would be, and many of the gifts given to Fingon by Celegorm had been forged by Celebrimbor's skilled hands.

After the day was over and many cocktails, mixed by a representative of the Falas who had accompanied Fingon, were tasted, Fingon retired to Maedhros's quarters for some more "counsel" before the night was over. It had been a taxing day indeed. Maedhros changed shirts, for he had also competed in many of the contests of martial skill, and Fingon watched him quietly as he did so.

"Did you want a clean shirt?" Maedhros offered.

"I'll change when I get back to my room," Fingon said. He pulled Maedhros to the bed and fell atop the red-head. His hot breath moved across the open neck of Maedhros's clean shirt. "Mm, fresh smelling."

Fingon was a comfortable weight to have on top. Maedhros boldly slipped his hands under Fingon's shirt and felt the sweaty skin of Fingon's sides. Unlike Maedhros, Fingon wasn't ticklish there.

"The day went better than expected," Maedhros noted. Fingon murmured his agreement into Maedhros's neck. His lips traced their way upward, just short of Maedhros's unmatchablely sexy ear, and Maedhros wished he'd just take the ear and be done with it. "I didn't realize how much my own brothers had changed in recent times. I've only seen Maglor of late, sometimes Curufin or Celebrimbor. I think they're happy to be able to establish their own lives apart from their eldesst brother."

"Turgon is the same way," Fingon admitted. His breath on Maedhros's ear, hovering near but not touching was infuriating. "He has become good friends with Cirdan the Shipwright, and it is because of that friendship that I was able to bring along one of the fine cooks of the Falathrim. That reminds me of a favor I must beg of you."

"Anything," Maedhros said, for at that moment, Fingon's lips accidentally brushed against Maedhros's expectant ear.

"My father wants to build a fortress like Himring at Eithel Sirion. We have need of good stonecutters and masons. Everyone knows that the followers of Feanor are the best at such matters. Could you lend me some people?"

Maedhros murmured his agreement. He entwined his fingers under Fingon's plaits and pulled his head to him. Fingon didn't need any more prompting to take Maedhros's shapely ear into his mouth. His lips caressed the finely pointed lobe ever so expertly. Maedhros sighed contentedly. They might as well have been having sex.

"I'll give the House of the Hammer to Fingolfin," Maedhros said when he found his voice again. "You might need them in the future, and it's probably best if you have craftsman sworn to your cause."

Fingon stared into Maedhros's eyes, and his fingers played with the still moist ear. "I don't want to take anyone away from you," he said at last.

"Don't worry about it. It's a gift. It's probably best if the skill of the Noldor is dispersed more evenly over Beleriand."

"In case Morgoth should strike unexpected?" Maedhros nodded. Fingon rubbed his nose to Maedhros's. "My poor, poor Russandol. Still haunted by the darkness of those days."

Maedhros shrugged. "It'll always be a part of me. I'm getting used to it."

"I only wish I could be here to help you forget."

"I do not wish to forget. It's a part of who I am now. I want the bitter and the sweet."

Fingon suddenly drew away and grinned madly at Maedhros. "The bitter and the sweet? That reminds me. I wanted to introduce you to a new treat of the Falathrim." He stood and went to the pouches that he'd left on the table.

Maedhros propped himself up on his elbows. "What? More food, undoubtedly."

"Chocolate," Fingon said.

Maedhros laughed. "You already introduced me to the bittersweet dark chocolates, my friend. It seems you've already forgotten."

"Nay, this is something new." Fingon returned to the bed and pushed Maedhros onto his back. He parted the already open shirt and held up a flask. "I present to you the newest marvel from the Falas: liquid chocolate. Dark chocolate since that's your preference." He undid the stopper and dripped several drops of the fragrant fluid onto Maedhros's chest. Then Fingon lowered himself slowly and licked the chocolate from Maedhros's skin. Maedhros enjoyed every sensuous moment.

"This should definitely drive back the memories of darkness," Maedhros noted.

Fingon smiled boyishly and ran his finger along the rim of the flask. "Bittersweet," he said with a charming little wink.

Maedhros chuckled softly and reached up to tip the flask. The liquid dark chocolate splashed just over his heart and trickled down his sides and into the groves of his well-defined abdomen. Fingon licked at the chocolate running down his sides that threatened to soil the clean shirt.

"With you, there is only the sweet," Maedhros said.

Fingon kissed him, and Maedhros tasted the chocolate still on his lips and smelled it in his breath. "It's because friends forgive the bitter and remember only the sweet."

Maedhros smiled and licked a smudge of chocolate from the corner of Fingon's mouth. "Then I'll remember the chocolate and forget the dark."