catch your breath by queerofthedagger

They are rare moments, sacrosanct. Stolen away only ever in the deep of night, between an exhale and its inevitable conclusion, sheltered between heavy sheets and brittle secrecy.

All the more, Finrod cherishes them for it—Curufin soft and pliant, half-asleep. His sharp, merciless tongue for once idle, his body sated. Fingers tangling into Finrod’s hair, not a warning or a reminder but something else, something almost gentle. Something honest.

It is only ever in sleep or that hazy space between that Curufin curls into him like a closing bracket, a tantalising promise that dissolves come morning. Like he is something real, something that Finrod could hold onto if only he dared, if he found the right words, the right cypher, the right moment.

Finrod knows better. The firelight splays golden across them, and he listens to Curufin's breathing. Curufin sleeps and Finrod keeps himself awake—counts the breaths, traces scars, mouth to the clever head of his; holds onto the moment as if it will let him do so any more than the calamity he shares his bed with.

The firelight gleams like Laurelin, and Finrod ignores the dark shadows gathering in the corners of the room, already waiting.

Chapter End Notes

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