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Written as a Smubble for Wanksgiving 2024, for Pages, SFW. Amarië watches Galadriel win a race.
Artanis speeds over the finish line first of the runners. She stands, panting, bare-headed, her golden braids twisted into a victor's garland on her brow already - the arrogance! - and Amarië's gentle hand clenches into Findaráto's. Spectators' cheers fade into a roar in her ears.
If Amarië is blushing, it is not because she is eyeing her lover's sister, a simmering heat inside her. Her eyes are not on the hem of Artanis' robe, barely brushing the upper edge of her thighs, or on the sweat beading her face.
Artanis senses her eyes and looks up, radiant, smiling like a wolf.