Like a Moth to a Flame by oshun

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Consummation

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In the street, I gasped huge swallows of fresh air. The soothsayer’s incense had much earlier become cloying for me. I felt I could barely breathe. Most of the stalls had vanished or been shuttered for the night, the lanterns and torches extinguished. We could still hear sounds of celebration but at a distance, probably in the main plaza. The narrowness of the crooked lane with the second stories nearly touching meant we walked in near total darkness. Findaráto grasped my arm and held it to his chest. As he grounded me, our footsteps slowed. Something had shifted between us.

Feeling far less self-conscious, I said, “Thanks for staying with me. That promised to be weird. But it was not as bad as I had feared . . . well, not so much feared as expected. . . ” I would have continued to grope for words for a good while longer if he hadn’t interrupted me.

“I knew you were nervous, but I was afraid that you wouldn’t want me there. I’m glad I guessed right and stayed.” I looked up into his face, unabashedly enjoying the view. His warm blue eyes caught the light of a single candle flickering behind a flimsy curtain and held onto mine.

“I’m glad you were with me. I think I made her angry.”

“No. I think you frustrated her,” he insisted. Not much difference, I thought. I was accustomed to causing people frustration and well aware that it usually made them angry. I remember thinking that Findaráto was one of the most patient people I had yet encountered. Fortunate for me, I thought.

“In there, when we connected mind-to-mind . . .” I started.

“Oh, I am sorry. I didn’t mean to push. I forgot and, when I reached out, you felt wide open.”

“Don’t be sorry. I should not be so stiff-necked. Now that I know you better, I’ve changed my mind. I think I’m ready to communicate with you that way. Just don’t go poking around behind walls or into dark corners where monsters might be hiding.” Then I remembered some of the things the fortune-telling lady had told me and my emotional reaction to those and quickly shoved them into a little closet and slammed the door shut and latched it. It was nothing like the big rooms filled with horrors, but more than large enough for any embarrassing little secrets. I released a sigh of relief, just as I felt a tickle in my mind. He had a light, quick touch; mindspeak came easily to him. I had evaded him by only a second or two.

Findaráto laughed, the corners of his mouth turning up in one of those disarming grins of his. “That was smooth. How did you do that?”

“Hid a few things? It’s not that I don’t trust you . . . I don’t know exactly how. It comes naturally. It’s not a strong barrier. You could easily break through it if you wanted,” I explained with an excess of seriousness. He was smiling at me again. I wanted badly to kiss him. Instead, I shrugged. “I doubt it would be worth the cost to try to stop you. But I trust that you won’t try.”

“I’ll not pry.” His voice was husky and seductive. “A promise is a promise. So what did you think of what she told you?”

“I think she is good at reading people and we both know my face is an open book. Still not sure about the cards or the details she proclaims as fact.” I could feel the blood rising to my cheeks again and turned away from him. I kept almost succeeding in beating down my defensive introversion and before turning bashful again. It felt like a dangerous game, but I was desperate and not going to give up without some serious effort to overcome my habitual reserve.

“You’re blushing!” he said. “I can tell from the back of your neck!”

“This is not a contest,” I answered with a haughty sniff, which elicited a fond laugh.

“No, but you are a challenge, Carnistir, although wrapped in a stunning package, which, in itself, doesn’t make the struggle worth it, but does add to the stakes.”

“What are you prattling about?”

“Part of your magnetism, dark eyes, is that you are unaware of how splendid you are. You are that and so much more—hot-blooded, determined to master yourself, and dying to get laid. It’s not simply the Fëanorian charisma you share with your father and brothers, strong as that may be, but one distinctly your own.”

“Now I’m self-conscious again. I think I know how a mouse feels when a cat has cornered it and decided to play. Don’t tease me if you don’t mean to do anything about this . . . this mutual attraction or whatever one should call it!”

“I need to know. Surely you must realize that if you understood that much, you should have at least told me you were in love with someone. Who is she? Does everyone know but me?” He sounded almost bereft, or as hurt and confused as I was feeling at that moment.

“What?” I asked. “I’m not in love with anyone else. I did not understand half of what she was yammering about and I disagreed with the other half.” That was not entirely a lie. I simply needed time to think. She had given me too much unexpected information too quickly. Findaráto and I had spoken too little about this curious and compelling desire for one another to be able to easily analyze that. There was no one else I might have fallen in love with or felt drawn to in that way.

I looked into his eyes and raised my hand to touch his cheek. “Did you honestly believe that I might have a secret lover somewhere?” I asked him incredulous. “In Tirion? Or in Formenos perhaps? Does that fit with anything you know about me?”

“What was I to think? Your reaction was instant and strong, when she mentioned the idea. Your face turned as red as an overripe tomato.”

My laugh was harsh. “Since when is that remarkable for me?”

He smiled at me his eyes softening. I love your face. I love how you look when you blush. I love how your emotions are so close to the surface. It was the most he had ever said to me through mindspeak and I loved his interior voice, so warm, so intimate that it made me harden instantly. I resisted the impulse to adjust the seam of my trousers that pressed against my prick. “The room at the inn . . .” he said aloud, hesitant but determined. “The wonderful bed . . . You seemed so pleased. I thought we had an understanding.”

“I believe we did . . . do have.” I opened my heart and mind to him, flooding him with affection, desire, and my desperate hope. Don’t pull away from me now. I want you so. Kiss me.

My halting demand won me Findaráto’s most dazzling smile, and he has an arsenal of those to choose from, along with a soul-searing manner of holding eye contact. With the greatest of enthusiasm, he responded.

Alone on a shabby back street, in a shoddy little village, within earshot of the voices of other merrymakers he pushed me up against a stucco wall. The relentless primitive drumming and the ragged notes of a single lonely flute reminded me of tales of the heathenism and unbridled sexuality practiced across the great sea that the Valar warned us against. The setting felt perfect for my defiant heart. Although I had furtively glanced up and down the darkened alleyway to make sure we were alone, I loved that he didn’t even bother. He kissed me—my first kiss. I am sure Findaráto, although younger than me, with his allure, his beauty, and his self-assurance, had received dozens by then. But I am still quite sure, despite all that has happened between us since then, he had never wanted a kiss so much, or taken greater pains to secure one.

Our minds touched and we maintained the connection though we did not try to form language. We each could feel what the other was feeling which more than doubly magnified the intensity of the kiss. He took the initiative and held on to it with a firm but gentle rein. He at last sensed all the hunger I had held at bay over the last two days and did not trust me not to rush. He wanted us to enjoy and remember every moment of that first kiss.

Starting slowly before he began to lick my mouth open, he demonstrated that he knew how to kiss. After a while of enjoying the play of tongues with deeper and deeper open-mouthed kisses, I found myself floating free, lost in him, gaining confidence in my own technique. One could not have had a better teacher. I was not conscious of any filters at all, hypnotized by the physical and the waves of his increasing pleasure and fondness I felt reaching out to me through our mind touch. I entertained the thought that what I really, really wanted was to fuck him senseless, face to face, clutching his cock, while kissing his beautiful mouth until he came all over my hand and his belly.

“Oh, please stop,” he said, pushing me away with a breathless chuckle. “If you continue to conjure up images like that, you will make me spend in my pants like a callow youth indulging in his first serious kiss.”

I was still so inebriated from the taste of him, the touch of his lips to mine, the wet heat of his mouth and his clever use of his tongue that, even as bashful and awkward as I was in those days, I could not be bothered to be mortified by his gentle scolding. Reluctantly I released him. “Wow. Thank you. That was my first kiss. What a way to begin! Serious or not I could not say, but it felt epic.”

He brushed my hair away from my face and held my burning cheeks in his soft, long-fingered hands. “Carnistir,” he whispered. “Beautiful, beautiful dark eyes, I never could have guessed. Suddenly, you seem very sure of yourself.”

“Sure of what I want from you,” I answered.

“That’s our inn at the next corner. Shall we try that excellent bed?”

An interminable delay met us when we arrived at the inn. The owner had waited up for us, his royal guests. We had not expected that. He had a dozen questions and unwanted offers and explanations: would we like tea, or wine, or ale brought up to the room, perhaps the bath we had rejected earlier, or a light meal before we retired? Etc., etc. The inadvertent torture of his courteous solicitations bordered on the hilarious for us before he finally allowed us to escape. We vaulted up the stairs at last trying not to break down laughing. Our previous mood had been broken for a moment, but we were young and randy. As soon as we shut the door behind us and Findaráto slid the bolt into place, our desperation returned.

The walls that separated my thoughts from his collapsed without me consciously willing it. I was flooded with his sensations and impressions. It surprised me to discover how good-looking he found me. In his eyes, I was muscular and strong, mysterious, and magnetic. Surprising as it still seems to me, clumsy, defensive Carnistir, the least attractive of my brothers, was seen through his eyes as handsome, compellingly so even. While I had thought it transparent, obvious, why I found him so appealing—he was famed for his blond beauty— I had not appreciated the extent of his attraction to me. I was pleased and yet a little self-conscious. Seeing myself through his eyes made me feel exposed. I barely recognized myself, but was in no mood to question his appraisal, ready to accept it with gratitude.

I pushed him up against the door and pressed my body against his. He arched his groin against me, increasing the delicious pressure. The sensation overwhelmed me. He was somewhat shorter than me, more slender, yet muscular, athletic, lithe rather than bulky. Holding his broad shoulders taut against the door, the momentary sensation of control felt like I had imbibed a heady wine. Findarato demonstrated, if I had not suspected as much already, that he would be no passive lover, neither needing to be wooed nor willing to be plundered, willingly offering himself, but demanding as much as he gave. He pressed his tender mouth against my own, opening his soft, sweet lips against mine, commanding a response and receiving it. His tongue tasted sweet and fresh, intoxicating. The warmth of his thigh moving against my crotch electrified me. I could hear my frantic groans as though they belonged to someone else, plaintive, yet animalistic and insistent.

“You are really, really something else,” he said. Findarato could perhaps never be at a loss for words but—and I smiled smugly against his mouth at the thought—with the right stimulus, he could be rendered nearly as inarticulate as me. I only managed graceless grunts in response, trying to grind my erection harder against his slim, muscular thigh.

“Yes. Yes,” he said, his voice filled with joy and a need equal to my own. We kissed as though we would never stop. “Wait! Wait!” he moaned. “We need to get undressed.”

“You’ve seen me naked before—at the beach in Alqualondë and only a while ago in the baths.”

“Ah,” he whispered, “but I never truly allowed myself a good look at you either. I didn’t trust how I might respond.”

I laughed, joyful and relieved. “The same for me! I was mortified at the thought of sporting an erection while the attendants walked back and forth with their stacks of towels and you were only interested in bathing.”

“You could not have thought I was only interested in my bath, with you, gorgeous and naked right next to me. You already knew I wanted you, Carnistir!”

“I watched you out of the corner of my eye,” I said. “What I did see was unbearably lovely.” He pushed me gently away from him, looking as pleased as I felt at what we were about to do, and more than a little endearingly vulnerable. He toed off his low boots without any difficulty and started unlacing his shirt, never taking his eyes off me. Unfortunately I wore almost new riding boots, higher than his and still stiff, not yet broken in at all. I hopped around on one foot, struggling and failing to get even one foot free of its boot. I finally hobbled to the bed and plopped down on it.

“Let me,” he insisted, kneeling before me and pulling them off easily. “Nice boots,” he said grinning.

I sighed, blushing to the roots of my hair. “I got them from Atar’s favorite cobbler in Tirion the day before we left,” I stammered. How outrageous I sounded—as though he were interested in my footgear. Strange the things one remembers of such moments. I think I babbled about those details because I was beginning to become conscious of how he was only a little less overwhelmed and shy at that moment that I was.

“Very nice boots actually,” he ventured, looking up at me, his pupils dilated and his breath coming in short gasps. “I want you so much.” We both laughed. I bent down and took his face in my hands and kissed him again, but did not linger, so intent was I to unlace and remove his tunic.

He pinched one of my nipples between his fingertips, grinning as me as I panted uncouthly and whimpered. “Hmm. Like that do you?” he asked, with a wicked smile. “Such a body you have. You are one impressive specimen of Eldarin young manhood. And you are all mine now.”

“Fool! Don’t tease me,” I insisted. “You’re the beautiful one. You know you are.”

“I have wanted this so much. Stop denying what you are doing to me, Carnistir!”

I responded to him by pushing him down onto his back and scooting up between his legs. At that moment, we connected mind-to-mind again and stayed linked for might have been hours. The last thing I recall sensing independently of him was the openness he projected in that moment and his smile when he said, “Yes! Like that!”

Much, much later sated from lovemaking, we lay in bed intertwined, exhausted and happy. I could hear the distant sounds of the same plangent flute I had heard earlier and faraway voices lifted in an unfamiliar song. “Are you happy now?” Findaráto whispered and my traitorous cheeks burned. But I was growing accustomed to how he affected me and could not be arsed to feel seriously embarrassed. I only chuckled and pulled him into a near-smothering bear hug. I was happy at that instant, but still anxious. If I could only hold onto him, I thought, then I could be happy. But if he slipped away, as I was certain he would, would I not be even more bereft than I had been before?

Findaráto had found a giddy release in our loving making, even while my melancholy threatened to wash over him. He recognized my motley emotions and tempered my tenacious sadness with his equally determined joy. I tortured myself by thinking that coming together like this had been not the careless sexual romp that he might have assumed it promised to be. The golden aura of my most beautiful cousin flowed through me with wave after wave of tenderness and reassurance. Even at that age, there was a unique kindness in Findaráto, a deep well of empathy. Nevertheless, youthful selfishness and a desire to learn from one another outweighed any true altruism on either of our parts. Certainly there was no meanness in either of us but a surfeit of tenderness tempered by self-doubt. Of course, I thought the insecurity belonged to me alone. The curse of youth is to believe one’s suffering is unique.

I suspected that his desire for me had been physical in large part. Or, more precisely, that it had been but lighthearted play for him, until my own nervy pain altered it. For me, the solace of the physical still strained against my wounded spirit, not entirely able yet to find a balance which would allow it to overtake the mental anguish that had been my constant companion since earliest childhood.

He touched my mind at one point, “Let go, sweet, tortured cousin. I am sorry if I’ve been insensitive in pushing past your barriers. Let me hold you and then we will try other ways of pleasuring one another later. For now, just rest. I have you. I’m holding you. You are safe here. I know I can do better. ”

“No. No,” I responded. “It was perfect. You are perfect. ” I moaned aloud, hoping he could tell how desperate I was for this not to end, to feel him, to share this exclusive experience, intensified by our particular talent. But I was afraid that I had walls as thick as solid rock and knew not how to lower them.

“Oh, Carnistir, please relax. You cannot fool me.” Gentle irony threaded his voice. “I knew you were dying to be in bed naked with me. You think I was not aware of all of your elaborate prevarication, mixed with your planning and plotting?”

And it was painful to think about the warring want and fear I had projected, at that moment still held onto. What if it made him change his mind and turn away from me and my anxious broodiness? It was painful to gaze upon his outrageous, unconscionable golden beauty and underneath it all touch his untapped power.

He showed strength in his sometimes disturbing but awesome gift of mind-touch. Suddenly I knew why he was drawn to me. I didn’t have much else in the way of natural talents besides our one shared skill. Well-favored as I was as a youth, I had nothing of the heartbreaking perfection of feature and form of my brother Nelyo, or Findaráto’s lithesome grace and incomparable face, or the iron nerves, bold vigor, and joy in life which made our cousin Findekáno so irresistibly appealing rather than simply another handsome cousin amongst a fine-looking family.

But I had a superfluity of the power which informs and enables mindspeak. And added to that I had the ability—albeit uncontrollable—to see fragments of others’ past, present, and, sadly, their future as well. Divinatory cards indeed, I scoffed to myself with the all of the heightened indignation of the offended vanity of youth.

“Where have you gone, Carnistir? It’s unnerving when you float off like that.” He chuckled softly, a nervous, hopeful laugh, tightening his arms around me. “I did tell you before that I knew you would be a challenge, but one I am determined to meet!”