Ilverien by Lferion

Sustenance

Fingon ponders hröar and relationships while waiting

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Prompts - Lit:B3 Sins of our Fathers, Art:I1 Embroidery/Tapestry, Poetry:B2 Villanelle, Fanwork:G4 Rule 63

Read Sustenance

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Fingon adjusted the low, smocked bodice of the newly finished summer dress to cup and show the swell of emergent breasts. Feeling the cloth against the sensitized skin, the slight extra weight, seeing the curves framed by the ruffles made by the smocking was a particular kind of pleasure. Not sexual really, but including a pleasant awareness of those parts. He produced milk easily and abundantly, took pleasure in the fact and the sensation that his body could provide a child -- his child, any child he cared about -- with sustenance. The fact that he enjoyed wearing skirts that swished around his calves and bodices that made the most of his breast or chest, and at the same time delighted in employing his unquestionably male parts in making love with both his husband and his wife was -- should be -- no-one's business but their own.

The Dwarves have the right of it, he thought, gender as a choice, a thing one might embrace several aspects of in quick or slow succession over the course of one's life. Dwarven bodies generally hold the potential for both penises and wombs, seeding and bearing, where Elven bodies are generally shaped as one or the other in that area. But as with Dwarves, nearly every Elf can lactate. Fingon missed the company of Dwarves.

Somebody -- a father by authority, if not a father by seed and spirit; not likely to have been a mother of any kind, -- somewhen, had decided it wasn't appropriate, wasn't seemly, wasn't something, for a male Elf to be seen nursing, even though the other feeding tasks were praised and expected. Even though it was uncomfortable, even painful, to have eager milk and hungry children, yet be denied the simple solution to both by someone's notion of propriety.

Of course, somebody, somewhen, had also decided that intimate relationships should all and only be dyads, (preferably dyads of ner and nis, though other kinds were not forbidden), not the range of possibilities relationships actually did come in. Most especially not triads. That didn't stop triads from forming; it only prevented them from being publicly acknowledged.

And that was why Fingon had stayed on Avallonë, at the Cottage of Lost Play, the house Ilverien Littleheart had brought to their joining, when necessity had required Prince Maedhros and his wife present their infant daughter to the High Court of Assembled Kings. Fingon pointedly not invited, indeed dis-invited, prince or not.

But Maedhros was returning today with Ilverien and Erien their -- all three of their -- daughter.

And all three of them would be feeding her, though for the next season or so, Fingon would have the primary honor, letting Ilverien continue to adjust back to her single-self, non-bearing hroa, a process that took at least half a coronar for most, and a full coronar for some. Maedhros perforce will have been doing the most part of nursing Erien, and would be relieved to be secondary, as he had been in Ereinion's early years.

But most of all, they would be together again, loving each other for who they were as people, not as Princes, political pieces, expected to present themselves and live as apparent generative equipment dictated, not in ways that reflected truths more complicated, nuanced, and largely frowned upon.

*** *** ***

Joined in hand and heart and feä
At last come home from strife
Three we are and merry be

Upon the mainland two did plea
For nér and nér the scorn was rife
Joined in hand and heart and feä

To Avallonë by Crown's decree
A nís found, playing fife
Three we are and merry be

A play-filled cottage greet with glee
Away put sorrow's knife
Joined in hand and heart and feä

Content upon Tol Eressëa
We build our renewed life
Three we are and merry be

As princes, néri, lovers free
With her our witnessed wife
Joined in hand and heart and feä
Three we are and married be

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Desire

Fingon prepares himself for his lovers' arrival - a triple drabble and rondeau

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Prompts - L:I4 Literary Fairy Tale, A:N4 Quilling, P:G5 Rondeau , F:B5 Rule 34

Read Desire

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Oh, now he was aroused, nipples hard and breasts tingling at the thought of clever lips, caressing hands, pinching, kissing, sucking. Heat and hardness bloomed between his legs, a pulse between his nether-cheeks. He wanted their embrace, to be held by feä and flesh alike, filled, their captured prince, enchanted princess, harp aching to be played.

He was reminded of a picture he had seen once, made of long ribbons of paper, rolled and set on edge. Three figures engaged in intimacy, in intercourse, in making love, in intricate art.

Fingon had not allowed himself the indulgence of erotic fantasy while they were gone. It was much too easy, too tempting to lose himself in memory of love-play, of intense and energetic sex, of acting out stories Ilverien invented under her roused and rousing eye.

They would not arrive for hours yet. And once arrived there would be much to do, settling in. Erien to feed. Supper for themselves, for the household. Letters, news (letters would hold until morning.; news might also.) They would have public time together, and private time before too long. He wanted to wait for them. He wanted to be ready for them. (He wanted them to know he was prepared and waiting for them, theirs for the taking. Their princess-prince.) He straightened, stretched, feeling cloth caress breast and waist and buttock, the steady heat and pulse in belly, groin.

So then, use the time to make ready for them. Refresh the bed, prepare himself thoroughly (But not too thoroughly: find the point of balanced stillness, where arousal, stimulation was a simmer, present in the background, not the forefront.) Bath, hair, oil, intimate jewelry (cock ring, plug, slender chains between), makeup, kilt-skirt, matching breast-band that supported and displayed. Carefully chosen public jewelry.

Deep breath. Forward fare.

*** *** ***

I am your princess-prince, your lover true
Present with or far away, I burn for you
For carnal and for sacred joining flame
'Neath eyes that strip me bare and jointly claim
All of me revealed in your purview

Your kiss doth make me tremble, change my hue
To blazing red, set rod to weeping dew
Yours my secret places to touch, to fill, to tame
I am your princess-prince, your lover true

I am your willing vessel, yours to screw
With flesh or art, no element eschew
Sheathe me in you, yourselves in me the same
Plunder me completely, cry out my name
I ready come, my substance for you strew
I am your princess-prince, your lover true

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Return

The absent return and reconnect

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L:G5 Urban Fantasy, A:G3 Arthur Rackham, P:O4 Sonnet, F:G5 Fake Dating

Read Return

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The Ferry had been late, delayed first by an awkward piece of cargo, and then by a pod of cavorting dolphins, inviting the Elves to come swim with them. There were already several Elves in the water with them. Erien had been enchanted. Maedhros held her up so she could watch them even after they had agreed to play somewhere other than in the shipping lanes. Orenthis had been waiting with cart and carriage in the deepening twilight, and they were on the road home with smooth efficiency, but travel was slower at night, even with a first quarter moon and keen eyes. Erien had insisted on being fed in the carriage, and was now full and nearly asleep in the arms of her nanny. Maedhros hoped Fingon would not be disappointed at not feeding her until tomorrow. She would be wanting her bed very soon after they arrived home. Perhaps helping put her to bed would make up for it.

Ai, he wanted Fingon in his arms, every multifaceted, complicated, beloved inch of him -- quick mind, generous heart, expressive, responsive, beautiful body. Easy to arouse (too easy, Fingon would say, exasperated at tented leggings, a too-short tunic, a distracting itch slow to subside; there were other things he needed to do), and delightfully satisfying to please. So many things to tell him, discuss, hear his opinion on. So many things he wanted -- ached -- to do with him. Ilverien felt the same. It had been a very long two months.

Maedhros and Ilverien indeed knew, seeing Fingon waiting for them in the entry-hall straight-backed, carefully dressed, the tips of his ears becomingly flushed. Embracing him hello was delightfully informative icing. They hugged him between them, Ilverien from the front, Maedhros from the back, and in that tiny bubble of privacy, Maedhros took Fingon's full breasts in both hands, thumbs dipping below the edge of the gold-shot crimson silk breast-band to sweep across peaked nipples, aching to be touched and suckled. Fingon arched into those hands, the plug rocking within him, the fine chains shifting. Ilverien had one hand on him, then her thigh was pressing between his legs, and both her hands were gripping his nether-cheeks through the silken drape of the kilt, pulling his hips forward, hard against hip and belly. He shuddered in their firm embrace, on the edge of undone, only the snug cock-ring and his own formidable will kept him from coming there and then. (He wanted proper privacy, their comfortable, suitable bed, his husband and wife to take their time with him. He wanted, and knew they wanted as well.)

In the safety of their ams, Fingon brought his breath under control, his arousal back from the edge, to a steady, suspended state, maintainable with care. They were home, spouses and child safe and sound.

But there was still the Household-facing part of the evening to traverse with grace, even enjoyment. Cook -- all the kitchen staff -- had something special planned for supper; small and special now, since it was so late, and the household-feast tomorrow. There were people moving around them -- the hall was big enough they were not hindering the unloading of the personal gear, or any of the other myriad tasks of such an arrival. They were better placed where everyone knew where they were, and not trying to help. Nearly every person in the household had been in Beleriand with one or another of them, fiercely loyal and very good at their jobs. Best to stay out of their way. It was nice to just be together.

Ilinis stepped lightly through the slowing bustle with a freshly diapered Erien. The three of them pulled apart enough to let her in. She grinned at Fingon, and almost before he could reach out, Erien was expertly snuggled in his arms. A feather-light touch, and one side of the breast-band was tucked to support rather than (barely) cover.

"Just a sip now," Ilinis said as Fingon guided his daughter's mouth to his waiting nipple, "She had a very good supper, and is wanting her bed, but both of you need the moment."

Fingon's knees went weak as Erien took hold and sucked, and his breasts responded. Maedhros and Ilverien had their arms around his waist, guiding him the few steps backward to one of the padded benches against the wall. He was wholly engaged with the small, solid person in his arms, suckling, her blue-green-copper-bright spirit reaching out to his with sleepy certainty and trust. He folded her in his love, his astonishment, his hope for her, and the reaching tendrils twined firmly around the blue-silver of him, seamless and solid, just as if the connections made at her birth had not been pulled thin and transparent by their separation before they were so interwoven mere distance would have no effect.

Perhaps they should have taken the joking suggestion that he and Ilinis pretend to be a couple, dry-nurse and wet-nurse to the infant princess, merely part of the retinue of Prince Maedhros. Dressed in the feminine version of the Household livery, plain-braided hair under a cap, they might well have gotten away with it, especially if Tirion herself had chosen to help. But the consequences of being discovered directly flouting the suggestion-that-was-not-a-suggestion that he stay at the Cottage, on Tol Eressëa, would not have been worth it.

He bent to kiss the top of Erien's head. she left off sucking, and turned to look up at him and smile. Very gently he kissed her forehead. He hardly noticed Ilinis rearranging the breast-band for him, tucking a soft pad over the tender nipple. They were very good at what they did, and he, they, were extremely fortunate to have her. Her previous household had not appreciated her properly at all. (Not to mention saying she must be a changeling or a creature of Faery or even worse. Because she was shorter than most Elves, with hair like a dandelion puff, near-colorless skin, and rumored to have been a captive of one or another of the black foe's minions. The truth was much more complicated. And irrelevant.)

She -- they -- were part of the Cottage household now, for as long as they chose to be. And much, much happier. And who would not be, with an Erien in their life? Erien was asleep now, still smiling. Almost reluctantly Fingon gave her back to Ilinis. She was home now, perceptibly present again in his mind. And none of them were going anywhere for a good long while.

"Thank you, Ilinis, for everything you do. I hope you have a quiet, restful night."

Ilinis dipped her head, eyes twinkling, "It is my pleasure. I hope you "-- her gaze encompassed all three of them sitting close on the bench -- "have an enjoyable and restorative night yourselves. Do try to get some sleep." And she was away down the hall to the nursery.

"Supper first," said Maedhros, holding out a hand to both husband and wife, "Shall we?"

*** *** ***

At last the doors are closed, the candles lit
No duty stern or interruption nigh,
Here only joyful work, where love doth sit
Preparing to make love, no touch deny
No law or custom come between we three
Plumb depths within ourselves, scale heights of need
These sheets anoint again with ecstasy
Nor laundry fail to honor love in deed
Confirmed in carnal vigor, give, receive
Such pleasure of the body, mind and fëa
As only Vaire knows within her weave
Bind self to self to self in promise free
Oh Eru witness: love and honor true
Doth shield and hold these three conjoined anew

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Ravishment

Here only joyful work, three rejoining with delight

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Prompts - L:O4 Magical Realism, A:O3 Victorian Palette, P:B5 Alexandrine, F:I2 Lemon

The final line of the poem is not a usual part of an Alexandrine. The characters (Maedhros) insisted.

Read Ravishment

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O spread your legs for us, your weeping cock display
Your sinewed thighs do tremble as I touch your entrance red
Stretched around the phallus making ready for our bed,
All your assets roused and exposed in proud array
No part will be neglected, your pleasure we assay
And thoroughly debauch you: all shame and sorrow fled
Yes, cry out as we take you, fill and pound you like new bread
Let sensation overwhelm you, come apart in the affray
We will not let you perish — only little deaths today
We will swaddle you with comfort, no need to Namo dread
Let pleasure ring right through you from toes to arse to head
Know we want and love you in all and every way
(Never doubt we love you, in all and every way)

*** *** ***

Fingon lay in the welter of twilight blue sheets, rose and gold and silver pillows, limp, loved, wonderfully, thoroughly used, deliciously wrung, comprehensively fucked. He was dazed with how hard he had come, how many times they had brought him off. Given him the pleasure of bringing them to climax with mouth and hand, breast and cock and arse. Worth the wait. The constraint. The bed curtains moved in the flower-scented air encouraged in by the open doors and windows, muted silver and gold in the candlelight on one side of the room, glimmering starlight on the other. His skin tingled in the faint breeze, still flushed and sensitive from lovemaking and the way Maedhros had bathed him, as thoroughly and intimately as he had fucked him, coaxing a final, bright orgasm from him with oiled fingers and kisses -- a softer pleasure. Ilverien watching them together with delight.

Fingon could feel them in his mind, richly present, far more than the distant awareness that had glowed faintly while they were on the mainland. Neither was far now. Ilverien was bathing, Maedhros fetching Erien for a midnight meal. As much for Fingon's sake as their daughter's; his breasts were almost painfully full now. He shifted until he was sitting nearly upright, pillows arranged for support.

From this vantage, he could see out the eastern window, the horizon where the faintest hint of deep rose lay. Not midnight, approaching dawn. Erien would most certainly be hungry for what he could well and happily provide.

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Domesticity

A picnic on the lawn, a day or so later. A quintuple drabble and a poem.

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Prompts
-- Tolkien Short Fanworks, June challenge: Thematic prompt Cattle or other domestic animal, Form prompt Bredlik
-- L:N3 FRSP-Slice-of-Life , A:B2 Pop Art, P:N4 Bredlik, F:G2 Curtainfic

Read Domesticity

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Pop!

A blue iridescent bubble floated over the low wall and popped against Bluebell's shining white side, leaving a faint blue ring. A little flurry of smaller bubbles came after the larger, and likewise popped, leaving more blue rings. Bluebell did not notice the bubbles, but she did notice her people gathered on the other side of her pasture wall. She lowed inquiringly, just as several more bubbles in different colors floated up to her face and popped on her nose, leaving overlapping rings. Maglor laughed. He had been making the bubbles with shallow dishes of colored soap-water and wire implements twisted in various shapes, for Erien's entertainment -- the rest of them too, sitting, laying, dozing on the lawn between the door to the library in the Cottage, and the wall that marked the milking-pasture. None of them were wearing much in the way of clothing, except Ilinis, who was both well-covered and sitting in the shade under the noble and ancient beech tree. They burned badly in the sun, and no-one in this household minded if she were covered, and they were not.

"Are you making art of our cow, brother?" Maedhros asked lazily from where he lay, head in Fingon's lap. "I thought you were going to aim for the wall to test your rainbow bubbles."

"She makes a very fine canvas," Maglor laughed, "I could make art of you instead! If you chose to sit up, that is."

Maedhros's pale, freckled skin would indeed show the bubble-rings nicely, but he was quite comfortable where he was: watching Erien wiggle and burble on his chest. She reached for a pebbled nipple, red and very tender from her enthusiastic efforts earlier. He caught her small hand before she could tug on it. "Nothing there sweetling, you drank it all, like your amma's before." Ilverien would have no more milk for at least half a day, and it would be several hours before he enough to be useful again. Fingon now...

Tucking Erien firmly between ribs and elbow, Maedhros turned over like an otter, cupping one of Fingon's milk-full breasts in one hand, tonguing and mouthing at the other. Fingon yelped, then moaned as he arched into Maedhros' ministrations. Ilverien laughed. Erien was making starfish hands and giggling. Maedhros gentled his touch on the one, pulled his mouth off the other with a wet pop! Fingon had pulled the pillow into place, and between them had Erien quickly settled. As she latched on, Fingon leaned forward to catch Maedhros's lips with his own. *Don't think I won't take you up on that invitation.*

*Oh, I am counting on it.* Maedhros deepened their kiss, careful not to squash daughter or husband.*You, me, Ilverien watching,* a sense-image accompanied the words, playful, loving, arousing, and Fingon made a noise in his throat that never failed to spike heat in Maedhros's groin.

Between his shoulder blades, he felt several faint, wet tickles -- Maglor making good on his promise. The air shimmered with laughter.

*** *** ***

I am a nis
a child smol
I lyk to sit
On Atya tol
I lye on Ada
Fowr my rest

At evry meel
I suk the Brest

---

My Ama's brests
Ar smol and swete
She kisses me
Upon my fete
They ticcle lyke
A pese of sylk

She ownley has
A lytl mylke

---

My Atya's brests
Are hard to see
Under sum skars
They fyll for me
I kneed them hard
They are robust

His freccels tayst
Like faere dust

---

Bluwbel the Cow
Maykes mylke a lot
Her baybe cows
Each have a spot
Now evry dae
She chus her cud

Her mylk comes out
I watch the flud

--

My ada's brests
Are big and round
And when I feed
He makes a sound
A happy hum
Inside his cheste

He likes it when
I suk the brest

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