On a Night of Snow by Elleth

Prompts: Shampoo, conditioner, hot tub

Read Prompts: Shampoo, conditioner, hot tub

Snow was dusting up around Pilin's hooves as Fingon rode into the inner courtyards of Barad Eithel, the rest of his hunting troupe following behind him with deer and hares, pheasants, cranes and grouse, even a boar that they had managed to bring down - but all the same, his father would be disappointed with the meagre success. Game was becoming sparse since the feral wolves out of Angband harassed their land more and more frequently and drove the herds and flocks further south than even the winter did. Some wolf pelts they also brought, but once again, too few to make a marked difference. They would have to go out once again when the snows lay thicker, so that tracking Morgoth's beasts might be made easier.

He shivered at the thought of winter. Already, the waning days of autumn had not been kind to the expedition, leaving the valleys around Eithel Sirion full of a thick, freezing mist that swallowed the sun during the day and sent darkness falling early. Then, during the final two days of the hunt, a light snow had started falling, at last adding a little light and beauty to the land. Still, he felt frozen almost to the core, as if the icy numbness of Helcaraxë had once again crept out of his bones, where it lived perpetually, into the rest of his body. He did not look forward to winter.

As he was rubbing down Pilin with fistfuls of dry hay, a stablehand passed, and Fingon's eyebrow rose. He was already anticipating his wife's promise to help warm him up when he returned, but it seemed that Alphangil had more than kept it: The stablehand was wearing Fëanorian livery, her tabard in the russet of Maedhros' people.

His heart beat a little faster. How his wife had arranged for Maedhros to be present at Barad Eithel at this particular time was a mystery, but he decided to take the surprise and perhaps learn more over the course of the evening. At any rate, he would have to repay her thoughtful gesture with some very specific attention. In fact he was touched - he knew that Alphangil and Maedhros were jealous of one another, less of an impetus to get along and more to consider each other rivals vying for his attention. Maedhros had stubbornly refused to attend the wedding, then showed up unexpectedly and only took the missing accommodation as further insult, there had been harsh words and sadness on either side, and Fingon in the middle of a double heartbreak, loving them both.

Perhaps they meant, he hoped, to turn over a new leaf. He would find out.

With Pilin settled and contentedly munching his oats, Fingon made his way up into the keep, breathing easier inside where the walls kept out the chill and the heating pipes running under the floor did aught to make it a more hospitable place. He passed several servants who greeted him with smiles and curtseys, climbed the stairs to his and Alphangil's private wing after finding his father's great hall empty, and realised that his feet and hands still hadn't warmed. A cold lingered in his core as well - the one that would be hardest to drive out.

In their own reception hall a fire was roaring in the hearth as he entered; the air was warm enough to prickle on the skin of his face. As he came in, he spotted Alphangil rising from her chaise longue by the fire, putting her embroidery aside and crossing the room in quick strides to meet him. He swung her up and nuzzled into her hair, kissing it, her forehead, her eyes, nose and finally her lips.

"It is good to see you, beloved," he said, smiling in return to the way her face was lighting up. "I hope you missed me."

"Very much - although I had someone here to stave off some of the loneliness." She kept her voice low, he noticed, and made a motion to the other chaise that he usually occupied. There, sagged sideways into the pillows as he slept, was Maedhros. His mouth hung half-open as he breathed, his eyelids fluttered in a dream, but against Fingon's initial second of alarm at a nightmare, Maedhros seemed relaxed and calm, his hand lying open and splayed on his thigh and his wrist tucked under his cheek, a book beside him.

After a moment - or perhaps several - that he spent regarding Maedhros, the way the firelight made his freckles dance and left new highlights and shadows on his spectacular hair, he turned to Alphangil, fondly saying, "What is this? Are you going to tell me that the two of you finally managed to get along?"

Alphangil shook her head, her black braid swinging over her shoulder. As always when she was nervous, she ran her hands over it and twisted the end around her palm. "Not quite," she said. "But we are both willing to try. He accepts that you married me for more than just alliance with my people, or to imitate and mock Maglor and Lasbaneth and all the folk of Mithrim. I accept that you have known and loved him since you were young in Balannor. It is what it is. And I would rather share you with him than lose you to him, or have him lose you. He agrees. He answered my summons and came because he missed you."

Just like that, a flicker of incorporeal warmth rose in Fingon. He wrapped his arm around Alphangil's hip and pulled her close against him, once again kissing her hair, lingering. "I love both of you so much more than words can do justice," he said softly, smiling. "And I almost feel like I do not deserve to be so spoiled."

"Maybe if you were Maglor you could attempt to come close to doing your emotions justice, but he has said the same about Lasbaneth," a new voice interjected: Maedhros was awake and rose to step up to the two of them, still standing arm in arm. His strides were somewhat hesitant, and he stopped short of joining them in the embrace, his eyes questioning.

It was Alphangil who reached out, caught him by the hand and pulled him in before either of the men had the courage to say or do anything more. "Kiss him already, you fool."

In short order, Fingon found that kissing Maedhros had not changed at all since the last time they had done so. They fit together comfortably in spite of their difference in height, but when the kiss ended and Maedhros buried his nose in Fingon's hair, he pulled away with an expression of mild disgust.

"I hate to say so, given how much I longed for you, but I can smell that you have been out hunting for a fortnight."

Fingon laughed. "Well, I was distracted by your presence before I was able to request a bath, but - "

" - but your dearest wife is not a fool, knows her husband and indeed promised to warm you up once you returned. She has everything ready. What would you do without her?" Alphangil, smirking, finished the sentence before he had the chance. Maedhros laughed, unrestrained, and Fingon's heart jumped when Alphangil joined in.

"I feel that we should retire to the baths, then. I am cold, and fooling around with the two of you might help warm me up eventually, but some hot water would be the quickest way to go about it."

"I say that 'both' is the way to go, then," Alphangil objected. "Hot water and fooling around with the two of us."

"I like that even better," Fingon agreed, giving Maedhros a lingering look. Maedhros nodded.

*

Fingon shed the layers that had failed to protect him from the cold on the way to the baths. His cloak was joined by his boots and leather hunting armour on short notice, then by the leggings and shirt underneath, followed by the gold bands in his hair as his braids came undone, and finally by his underclothes. He walked the rest of the way in the nude, acutely aware of the two sets of eyes following him and strangely thrilled by it. But the cold hadn't left him yet, and when the blast of warm steam hit him entering the bath, he left Alphangil and Maedhros dressed as they were and hurried down the steps into the large hot tub waiting there for him, kept warm by the same technology that heated the keep.

Fingon sighed luxuriously at the burn of the water on his skin as the heat of it soaked into his flesh and bone. Tipping his head back against the rim of the tub, he slowly sank deeper and let himself be weightless for a moment.

"You are so lucky - he is beautiful," he heard Maedhros say to Alphangil. "Would that I could always see him like this."

"We must simply find more reasons to travel to see one another, however long this peace lasts," Alphangil said. "While we have it, let us make the most of it."

"He praised your sensible head before, in letters, and I see that he was not exaggerating."

"My sensible head?!" Fingon could hear the laughter in Alphangil's voice; he was not so sure that Maedhros also could, amid all the mock-indignation.

"He also praised your beauty, but…" Maedhros sounded sheepish and a little awkward now. "But I have never found any woman anything more than objectively beautiful. Men, certainly, though no one even came close to him."

Alphangil huffed, though she seemed at least a little mollified. "At least we agree that he is stunning - or that he can be when he is not just returning from a hunting trip smelling like horse and wild boar."

A smile. "Let us get him clean, then." Maedhros made his way over to a shelf set into the wall, where an assortment of bottles, jars and bars of hair soap were stored, and in short order returned with a bar that smelled like frankincense and smoke. He knelt by the tub, gathered up Fingon's wet hair in his hand - and looked to Alphangil for help. Fingon's heart clenched a little to see the soap slip away from his stump, old guilt coming to life, but he pushed it down decisively: he had saved Maedhros' life then, and Maedhros bore him no more ill will over it, else he would not be there.

Alphangil took Fingon's hair from Maedhros and handed the soap back to him. "I think this will suit him well for tonight. Well chosen." 

Maedhros began lathering up the soap into Fingon's hair, and as he breathed in the scent of it, Fingon had to admit to himself that they were right - he did smell rather unpleasant, of week-old sweat with distinct undertones of game, and of course of Pilin, whom he had slept next to for warmth most of the freezing nights out. He hadn't noticed then, but it was for this that he enjoyed all the more how Alphangil was beginning to move the lather through his hair, and then Maedhros' hand joined hers, carding spread fingers from his scalp down to the ends of his hair.

Fingon hummed low in his throat as relaxation and warmth finally began to course through his body. He tipped his head back and smiled to see Alphangil and Maedhros working together, seemingly now without awkwardness or animosity. It was a beautiful sight and one he felt blessed to be able to see at all. As he watched, he saw Alphangil brush her hand over Maedhros', receiving a look of confusion swiftly followed by dawning understanding. She was making an effort. Maedhros did not pull his hand away, but in turn leaned closer, brushing his nose against her cheek in a caress, perhaps an aborted kiss that he was still unsure to attempt. Alphangil's eyes crinkled at the corners with a hidden, private smile meant only for Fingon when she caught him looking. They continued working quietly.

"There," Alphangil said at last. "Rinse, so we can go on. Maedhros brought a special treat from Himring for you, knowing how you love to be pampered."

Fingon's heartbeat picked up, joyful. "Have I said yet that I love you, Russandol?" he asked, inadvertently slipping into the use of the old epithet as he washed the soap out of his hair and sat back up.

"You do not need to say it in words. I know. I have always known."

Maedhros finally produced a small, stoppered bottle from the pocket of his tunic, slipped the cork out with his thumb, and Alphangil gathered up Fingon's hair from the now-cloudy, sweet-smelling water, twisting it to squeeze out the water. Maedhros upended the bottle over the lengths and ends of his hair to let a viscous liquid flow out. With clawed fingers he worked it in, this time unaided by Alphangil, who was content to watch.

"With regards from the Master Healer," Maedhros said. "There is so little for her to do but tend to her herb gardens and stitch up training injuries that she has started dabbling in improving our cosmetics."

Fingon snorted out a laugh into the water. It wasn't hard to imagine Mistress Estelindë, who had been with the family since their grandfather had married Míriel, being bored in a time of peace. She'd always been restless. At least in Aman there had been many mothers and their children who needed help being brought into the world, and ample time to further her craft in all aspects of medicine under the tutelage of Estë, whom she had been named for. In Beleriand, on Himring as elsewhere, there were fewer of either, no Valiër to tutor her, and during this long time of peace, not enough battles or skirmishes to keep her occupied.

"In that case, thank her for me - and thank you for being so diligent in your guard that she has this leisure time. I can already tell that whatever this is, my hair is going to be smoother than silk," he all but found himself purring. While Maedhros still worked his fingers through his hair, Alphangil had started massaging his shoulders and the back of his neck, kneading his sore muscles until the knots in them softened and disappeared. It was almost too good to be true, leaving Fingon boneless and relaxed as the water sloshed and stilled around him, with only one urgent need arising. He was only waiting for Maedhros to tell him to rinse out the creamy substance from his hair, then he'd ask them both to join him.

Alphangil eventually relinquished his muscles; he briefly chuckled at the thought of being tenderised like a piece of meat. Hopefully a prime cut. As if she had caught his thoughts - and likely she had; Alphangil was skilled at osanwë and often open to it, and Fingon hadn't been guarding his thoughts - his wife joined in the chuckle and swatted at him playfully.

"There is a certain prime cut of meat," she leaned in to whisper, "that I have been missing quite sorely these last two weeks. I hope it returned from the hunt ready and willing for action? There are two of us who will want a piece of you this night."

Fingon nearly choked. His eyes darted to Maedhros half behind him, who, with a too-innocent smile, untangled his hand from Fingon's hair and gave an almost imperceptible nod. He was already stirring from Alphangil's words alone, but to see Maedhros' grey eyes laugh as they did, was not helping matters. Not that he wanted matters to be helped.

"Are you quite done now?" Fingon breathed. "If you want my attention, then come take it." That said, he reached for Alphangil and pulled her bodily into the tub, clothes and all. She resurfaced yelping, soap suds spluttering from her mouth, and pounced. Fingon felt himself pushed underwater, blinded by his billowing hair, and was gratified that the entire rinsing process had been cut short for him. At least they could proceed more quickly now.

As he broke the surface and wiped the water and hair from his face, he smiled to see Maedhros undressing at his leisure, and Alphangil, still in the tub, peeling herself out of her sodden skirt and overtunic, baring herself to his sight - and to that of Maedhros, who had paused to watch, half-undressed, standing tall with his bare, pale chest already spotted with flushed patches. His attention on Alphangil was rapt, and Fingon's was rapt on him, the half-parted lips, the wide eyes.

He did not say anything, not wanting to spoil the moment and wanting to leave Maedhros time to come to terms with this new development. Instead he reached out a hand to help Maedhros into the tub when he was done undressing, while Alphangil dropped the last of her sodden clothes onto the tiles.

Space was a little less generous with three people in the tub, and in short order he felt himself switching places with Maedhros who was now leaning back against the rim of the tub, and Alphangil's warm weight on top of him so that he was helplessly, wonderfully sandwiched between the two of them. He could feel Maedhros' lips trailing along the back of his throat to the side of it and down, leaving goosebumps in their wake, while Alphangil pressed against him from the front with a demanding kiss. He couldn't help but moan, loud and unashamed and more than a little overwhelmed with the contrasting sensations.

Maedhros, behind him, reached out to touch Alphangil's cheek for attention, a soft gesture. "Will you allow me to have him?" Indeed, Fingon could feel Maedhros' arousal press against the cleft of his ass - he would only have to position himself and thrust in, if he truly meant to. When, not if, Fingon hoped.

"You already have him," Alphangil replied. "But as for this - yes. Take him." The beatific smile his wife gave him was at odds with the breathy, confident voice. "Both you and I know how much he enjoys it."

Fingon found that he did not mind in the slightest that they were talking about him, not with him; it filled him with a warmth that surpassed even that of the hot tub. He trusted them both with his life, and Alphangil was right - he had all but pushed her to commission, from a discrete craftsman, a beautiful wooden phallus and matching a harness for her to wear it.

"Do you, now?" Maedhros murmured into his ear, biting down gently on his earlobe and chuckling, while his left was busy in a pocket of his discarded clothes, to finally pull free a little tub of smooth, slick salve and coated his fingers in it. Fingon recognized the scent from times long ago, and his stomach clenched involuntarily, a mixture of nostalgia for Treelight-dappled shadows and the feeling of Maitimo against him, inside of him, and the expectation of what was to come.

He turned to kiss Maedhros. "It's been too long. Don't make me wait any longer yet," he said against Maedhros' lips, mapping their familiar, beloved shape, the bow of his upper lip, their softness and how they parted for his tongue just as two of Maedhros' fingers pushed into him underwater and Fingon shouted wordlessly, bucking against them as Maedhros was teasing and massaging and opening him.

At the same time, Alphangil climbed on top of him, spreading her legs and slipping against his hardness in a motion that drove him mad at the best of times, and now outright chased stars across his vision before she sheathed him inside herself, tipping her head back and gasping as she wrapped her arms around him and began moving to her own rhythm. The movement pushed him down further on Maedhros' fingers and Fingon, breaking the kiss, pressed his forehead into her shoulder and muffled the noises he was making into her skin.

Then Alphangil stilled, panting. Sweat was blending with the bathwater droplets still on her skin, her eyes were wide and even darker than usual. Behind and underneath him, Maedhros shifted, finally withdrawing his fingers. As much as Fingon wanted to protest the emptiness, when Maedhros said in his ear, "Look at me. I want to see your face as I enter you," no power in the world could have kept him from obeying.

Maedhros claimed him slowly, carefully, his eyes half-shut but still on Fingon's face with a glint of sharp grey, his nostrils flaring, his pale cheeks red with a deep flush that was not only the heat of the water. Maedhros took him fully with a sigh falling from his lips, contentment to be so close visible in every line on his face. A shudder ran through his beloved body, and Fingon pressed himself further down, seeking the most contact he could have, wishing he could melt into both his wife and his lover at once.

Before long, though, they broke the intense almost-stillness they'd settled into. Maedhros began moving in him, rocking rather than outright thrusting, but angling himself in such a way that he brushed across Fingon's most sensitive spot with every move, and Alphangil's enveloping warmth became Maedhros' perfect counterpoint. Fingon wasn't sure when breathing had become a chore, only that it was, and that the places where their bodies joined, brushed, moved against each other, were on fire, that he was a bird on the wings of two storms at once, pushed and pulled and entirely lost, and that he never wanted to be found again.

Alphangil rose off of him almost entirely, sinking back down onto him in one smooth motion, gasping as though she herself could not breathe, and then he could feel the telltale tightening around himself, the great shudder that ran through her, and almost at the same time, Maedhros bit down onto his shoulder, a bright spot of delicious pain as, nearly simultaneously, all three of them found their release.

Once he trusted that he could breathe again and see anything but light bursting behind his eyelids, Fingon reluctantly opened them, finding he had sagged against Maedhros, who was laughing in a low, incredulous tone, his nose in Fingon's wet hair. Alphangil remained on top of his softening cock, pressed against him as close as their positions allowed him, happily boneless and smiling. Her arms were around his hips, holding him, but at the same time reaching out for Maedhros, one on his wrist and the fingers of their other hand tangled.

Fingon's heart pounded, near-painful with joy to see them this way. It was a beginning, if nothing else, and it promised, perhaps - hopefully - an even fairer future. For the moment, though, against his overheated skin, the water felt nearly tepid, and he leaned forward to nuzzle Alphangil. "Do you think we could move to the bed before the tub is entirely cold? Not that I mind needing yet more warming-up…"

"Still as insatiable as you always were, and however much I welcome some changes, I am glad other things have stayed the same," Maedhros murmured, teasingly, just as Alphangil said, "I would not mind if we retired together… the night is long yet, and the bed is warm and large enough for three."

Tired though he was, Fingon smiled, joining his hand to theirs just before they moved apart to rise.