Joy as Sharp as a Sword by oshun

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In the Baths

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Finrod stood unseen at the main entrance into the baths, watching Fingon and Maedhros shed their weighty outer leathers until finally they stood barefooted and bare-chested. Before exchanging a brief embrace followed by a more lingering kiss, they paused to look appreciatively at one another, as though neither of them had seen the other’s slender but muscular body countless times.

They were more attractive to him together than either was alone—that was his security. If he kept both of them together, he would never fall too much in love with either of them. He could not decide which of the two might be considered the more attractive. Fingon’s ebullient charm masked the courage and heart of a lion and an enduring loyalty. It brought tears to one’s eyes to think what he had dared for his beloved. Finrod blinked, swallowed, and involuntarily sniffed in his attempt to rid himself of how deeply his cousin’s bravery affected him.

Then there was Maedhros. Finrod had always called him Russo, the handsomest among all of Finwë’s grandsons. But even in Tirion there had been a vulnerability about that brilliant young man. All of Fëanáro’s sons were arrogant, sure of their own worth, and Maedhros was no exception. Yet they never took anything for granted. They believed in effort as an ethic and were always ready to fight for what they accepted as right, as well as what they thought they deserved. And Maedhros, beneath his calm exterior and elegant manners, was the most intense of all of that ardent brood. Some might have found his terrible maiming injury or the fine silvery net of scars on his back disturbing. When Finrod saw those marks of unimaginable endurance, he felt a stab of anger in his chest, followed by a swell of admiration.

No one else could compare to the charisma of those two, so nearly opposite and yet so well matched. To think of being with the two of them together, made his throat turn dry and his heart thump. But he was no coward, he thought, and not without beauty himself, with wit and charm of his own. He had dared to think of them before and would do so again. If this does not happen this time, it will not be for lack of effort on my part, he thought.

He entered the humid chamber and began to unlace his tunic. “Do you mind if I join you?”

“Please sit here with us,” Fingon said patting the space on the bench between them. “There is room for all. Then we won’t want to have to shout to have a conversation.”

There was precisely room enough, and not a hand’s breadth more, for Finrod to sit between them on the stone bench submerged in bath.

“Magnificent,” Maedhros said, his voice breaking in transparent appreciation. He looked into his eyes, as Finrod fitted himself into the empty space on the seat.

“He is, isn’t he?” Fingon smirked.

Maedhros smiled loosely back at Fingon, raising an eyebrow. “I meant the baths. Not our cousin. Although, yes. He is.”

Turning back to Finrod, he looked directly into his eyes again, his face mere inches away. Finrod noticed how thick and dark the eyelashes were around Maedhros’s pale grey eyes. The lightest sprinkling of freckles dusted his cheekbones and the bridge of his nose. “I recognize your hand in the work," Maedhros said. "Your particular style. Still, you were never nearly so good in Valinor.”

“He’s right,” Fingon said. “It’s amazing. You have come into your own here, Ingo. I am so happy for you. You can call yourself a true Noldo now. A master craftsman!”

Finrod glanced around him, seeing the bathing chamber through their eyes. Several but not all of the wall sconces had been lit, revealing a half-dozen graceful archways leading to the steam room, lavatories, showers, and other larger and smaller bathing rooms. Elegant support columns of cream-colored limestone framed the perimeter of the pool. Hanging lamps of amber colored glass suspended from the ceiling cast a golden glow upon the fog of steam rising from the water.

“I’ll accept that as a compliment. Thank you. You cannot begin to imagine how happy I am to share my obsession with you. I didn’t even realize until now how much I wanted you to come to me here.” Curses, Finrod thought, embarrassed; the timbre of his own voice in his ears sounded like a parody of seduction, and his choice of words like those of a callow youth determined to woo a reluctant maiden.

“You were always an artist at heart, but you have at last allowed yourself the luxury of truly giving into that passion.” Maedhros’ voice all but caressed him, husky and warm.

Scarcely breathing, Finrod could not release Maedhros’ gaze. He leaned in and covered Maedhros’ mouth with his own. He had not intended to kiss him. Finrod fumbled for his hand, forgetting for a moment it was the right arm he had grasped.

Over the drumming of his own heartbeat in his head, he could discern Fingon saying, “I told you Ingo is very impulsive.”

o0o0o0o

Without thinking, Maedhros kissed back. This was not the level of intimacy he had expected—at least not so soon—although, clearly he should have. They had been obvious enough, more so than they had discussed on their trip. He glanced down uneasily to where Finrod held his right forearm, running his thumb over whitened scar tissue. It tickled in a way that made him feel slightly queasy. The sensation did not have a physical basis. He never felt like that anymore when Fingon touched that arm. Finrod looked at him with a world of tenderness painted across his face, before the expression morphed into something that looked more like determination.

Fingon interrupted the moment, sounding a little a peeved. Perhaps jealous? "You're always too familiar too fast, Ingo."

"Oh, please, Finno. Admit that all of this was exactly what you came here wanting."

“It was! But don’t pressure him,” Fingon said. “You need to court Maitimo, not tackle him. You know he can be skittish.”

The entire set of circumstances suddenly felt ridiculous and funny to Maedhros. “I’ll skittish you, you little shit,” he said, turning on Fingon and grabbing him around the waist in a vise with his right arm. He started tickling him, attacking that sweet soft skin to the side of his rib cage. Fingon grabbed him by the shoulders and knocked him off balance, causing them both to fall off the bench with a huge splash, pulling Finrod with them, sputtering and choking.

Giggling and howling like a hyena, coughing and pretending to choke, Fingon yelled, “Who’s the pushy shit now? You tried to drown me!” The ludicrous accusation made them all laugh hysterically again.

“When I figured out what the two of you were up to. I foolishly got the idea it would somehow be more romantic,” Finrod drawled. With his cheeks glowing with exertion in the light of the sconces, he looked heart-breakingly perfect, years younger than he had when they first spotted him in front of the main gate an hour or so earlier.

“We can do romance if that is what you require,” Maedhros said, smiling with sudden rush of yearning that tightened his chest. He did not actually think he could handle a lot of discussion or romantic foreplay.

“Let’s get dried off and go to your bedroom.” Skittish, he thought, perhaps a little. As usual, Fingon was right. He could handle all the physical parts if he didn’t think too much. They both loved Finrod with the familiar affection of close friends tinged with more than a casual hint of physical attraction. But Finrod was the kind of man one could fall crazy in love with if one was not careful. This whole proposition was fraught with danger. Fingon was a risk taker. He himself had will and determination enough, but did not like to take chances with those he loved. And that had been exacerbated by the instance of so nearly losing Fingon once already.

“I have one question,” Finrod began, pulling himself up onto the edge of the pool and standing, extending a hand to Maedhros. “Why would you want me if the two of you have everything you need? I don’t want to be in the middle of some trouble that you are having.”

Maedhros turned to Fingon, who clambered out of the heated pool, shaking water off himself like a dog. “Do you want to try to explain it, Káno?”

A cocky smile lit up Fingon’s face. “What was the question again? Why you? The answer is a question. Why not?” He looked around him, and at the sight of the solemn faces, erased his smirk instantly.

“Fine. I can try. You see, Ingo, we have had a few years to think about the physical side of our feelings for you. It is more than pure lust, although that has always been strong.” He boldly winked at Finrod, before turning serious again. “You’re dear to us in many ways.

“Maitimo and I have talked about it a lot. I finally decided that I think it's more than fulfilling wants or needs that all of us share and have been aware of for a long while. Not acting on our desires has become distracting, a temptation that affects all of our encounters with you.”

“Káno is not one to turn down a challenge,” Maedhros said. Fingon’s face in unusual gravity was a beautiful thing indeed, if fleeting. Perhaps he was wrong to fear the consequences. Fingon’s instincts, despite appearing less considered, were usually better than his own.

Fingon wrinkled his nose at Maedhros and continued, “The question became for us whether it was more courageous to resist the temptation or to allow ourselves to give in to it. So, we decided to seduce you,” Fingon said, with a shrug and a snort. “Finally. Not that either of us thought it would take more than the quirk of a finger, of course.”

“Think you are that irresistible, do you, Nolofinwion?” Finrod said, laughing right back at him, with the sense of humor that always kept his philosophical bent from turning pious.

“To you I am. And, if I were not, one need only consider that I offer more than my own appealing charm and intelligence. The gorgeous, long-legged red-head is included in the deal.”

“It is a very strong offer indeed.” Finrod turned toward Maedhros, smiling when they locked gazes. Maedhros stroked the silky skin on the inside of Finrod’s arm, causing him to gasp and then release his breath. Fingon cleared his throat in a bid for their attention.

"So . . ." he said, looking from one to the other of them. "During this past period, after Thangorodrim and since the Mereth Aderthad, after Maedhros and I had reconciled, we gradually learned to accept our love like we had before our estrangement--only on even more solid ground perhaps. We will never let go of one another again. We think we can share our bodies with you and enjoy yours. It would be a kindness to one another and hopefully bring joy to you, as well. That is if you still want us the way you did before. I feel bad about Lake Mithrim--we simply weren't ready yet. It was too soon after everything . . .”

Fingon colored a little, but then continued without any fuss or excess of embarrassment. “We think we can make love with you without changing anything. I mean nothing between Maitimo and me. Does that make sense? I mean, obviously it would change things with you. Now I am meandering. All I am trying to say is that we're all right. We're great. Right, Maitimo?”

Maedhros leaned into Fingon and gave him a slow kiss, partially to reassure him and a little to tease Finrod. Fingon pulled away, seeming eager to finish what he saw as the responsibility of negotiating an agreement. Maedhros couldn't resist a silent chuckle and surreptitious eye roll at Finrod, who responded with that golden sunshine smile of his.

“I have one question for you, Ingo. And how did you manage during all of those years alone to remain chaste? Or did you?” Fingon asked.

This is rich, Maedhros thought. It took iron self-control not to laugh aloud at Fingon.

Finrod took a deep breath, tucking his chin into his chest, and looking up at Fingon through his heavy black and gold eyelashes. “There was no one for me except that one time with you, just coming off the ice. And my rejected overtures to the two of you at Lake Mithrim, of course,” Finrod said. "How do you manage, cousin, on your own so much, with Russo so far away?" He imperiously raised an elegant eyebrow, his merry eyes giving lie to his presumption of haughtiness. “You have never been known for patience.”

Fingon winked at him and pumped his hand up and down in an unmistakable gesture, which made both Finrod and Maedhros explode with laughter.

“Ah, I see. It's been a lot like that for me also,” said Finrod. “But with better technique. You appear to lack finesse.”

“Oh, you liked it well enough before as I recall," snorted Fingon with pretended umbrage. “I could argue with you about my finesse or lack thereof, but it seems pointless when I can demonstrate on you in a little while. After supper I think?”

"Ah, yes," sighed Finrod. "There probably is a hall full of hungry people gathering by now. We ought to dry off and dress. You must be starving too."