
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/12572628.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage, Rape/Non-Con
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      The_Silmarillion_and_other_histories_of_Middle-Earth_-_J._R._R._Tolkien
  Relationship:
      Fingolfin/Anaire, Fëanor/Fingolfin
  Character:
      Fingolfin_|_Ñolofinwë, Fëanor_|_Curufinwë, Anairë_(Tolkien)
  Stats:
      Published: 2017-10-31 Words: 13938
****** Silver Light ******
by Lumeriel
Summary
     It is easier to give in when his brother is angry. Maybe, pain would
     be less this time
Notes
     I used names in Quenya here... I do it almost always. So...
     - Nolofinwë "Nolvo", Arakáno -- Fingolfin (also i named him Great
     Prince while Fëanáro is the Crown Prince)
     - Kurufinwë Fëanáro -- Fëanor
     - Kurufinwë "Kurvo" -- Curufin
     - Nelyo -- Maedhros (I think i mention him in some part)
     - Kanafinwë "Káno" -- Maglor
     - Findekáno: Fingon; Turvo: Turgon; Irissë: Aredhel and Arvo: Arakáno
     (yes, i made Arakáno the youngest, probably because i often forget
     him)
     And, again, if you don't understand my English, blame the translator
     and my poor patience. Also, this is my first attempt of writing
     something such explicit, so... comments are welcomed. And thanked.
See the end of the work for more notes
“The split of the Metalworkers Guild cannot be decided lightly. The founding of
a new guild will mean changes in the structure of our society. New schools, new
workshops ... and new channels of exchange between artisan sectors will be
necessary.”
“The creation of the Guild of Goldsmiths and Silversmiths will favor the
economy of our city. In addition, it will favor the development and
specialization of artisans. At present, apprentices must first learn all the
metallurgical processes before being able to specialize in an artisan branch
...”
“I think many will be against the fact that the artisan's study program varies.
It has always been done in this way: apprentices must understand that gold and
silver do not fall into their hands like the fruits of trees”
“You are not the best person to make that observation.”
Silence reigned in the room after the sharp rejoinder of the Crown Prince. The
second son of the monarch straightened imperceptibly, squaring his shoulders as
if he were in the training arena. The noble on his left made a move to
approach; but Prince Nolofinwë hardly shook his head in his direction, in a
silent order.
“On the contrary, brother Kurufinwë”, began with a soft voice, almost ...
velvety, “I think I am one of the most suitable to make that observation. It is
true that I was not endowed with your ability to create memorable works ... or
with your exalted intelligence; but precisely for that reason I understand
better the need for those who possess such talents to know that there is a long
way behind the jewel that adorns the neck of a noble or embellishes the face of
our wives. Understanding how metal becomes ... usable, moldable into something
of such exquisite beauty, is indispensable to work it. Only then will an
artisan be able to find the true form that sleeps in a piece of gold or silver.
Regarding the request to found a Guild of Goldsmiths and Silversmiths, I
propose that the applicants present their case, detailing in a report the
advantages that this brotherhood would bring to our society”. A murmur of
approval rose from those present. “In the same way, the Masters of the
Metalworkers' Guild who are against it will present a report with the
disadvantages.”
“That will be a cockfight”, Fëanáro crossed his arms, mockingly. Several laughs
erupted around him. Nolofinwë did not look away from his half-brother.
“Both reports will present facts and proposals with solid bases, or they will
be rejected by this Council. At the head of the commission in favor will be
Master Angamir, and the Commission against will be chaired by tar-Aldarion. We
will receive the reports on the fourth day of Laurelin starting today, and
seven days later, the request will be put to a vote.” He looked around the
presents to finish fixing his eyes again in Fëanáro. “If you all agree.”
The general assent was raised in the Board Room. Only Fëanáro remained silent,
lightly pressing his lips and when Nolofinwë proposed that they move on to the
next item on the agenda, the weight of those obsidian eyes on him was so great
that he almost wished his half-brother would attack him in front of everyone.
It would be better. Much better.
……………………….
Anairë looked at her husband when he entered the studio. A smile curved her
rosy lips as she left the brush and palette before rising to offer her half-
open mouth to the soft kiss that sought her. Immediately, the weight of
Nolofinwë's tension hit her physically, causing her to go back one step. Then
she reached out and put a hand on his forearm.
“Arakáno, love”, she said sweetly, “What happens?”
“Why would something happen, dear?” the prince smiled with his usual distant
expression. “Just one more day in the Council.”
“Arakáno!” she retorted, pulling his sleeve to keep him from slipping. “You're
tense, honey. Your tension is hitting the walls and it's rumbling my stomach.”
A grimace of shame and regret curled Nolofinwë's sensual mouth.
“I'm sorry, beauty. I just ... I just had a disagreement with Fëanáro in the
Council.
Anairë stopped the exclamation that came to her lips in time. Fëanáro. A
disagreement with Fëanáro. Of course it was enough for an elf as even-tempered
as Nolofinwë to lose his aplomb. With an effort, the elf took a few steps to
fix her supplies before asking, in a casual tone:
“Will he stay in the palace today?”
“We-we'll eat together.” admitted Nolofinwë, insecure.
Anairë turned again in front of him. She watched him for a few seconds and
again was surprised by the vulnerability of those blue silver eyes as he
referred to his relationship with his half-brother.
Tenderly, she approached her husband and raised a hand to caress the curve of
his tense jaw.
……………………………
Years ago, when her parents explained that she would marry the second prince,
Anairë had been disappointed at the idea of joining her life to a man who
showed the same passion as an iceberg. Nolofinwë Arakáno was a beautiful young
man - too beautiful, in fact - and intelligent; but their social skills were
limited to those required in the field of diplomacy. He had never known a
romance and had few friends. During the first months of courtship, Anairë
confirmed her fears: Nolofinwë never touched her and barely spoke when they
were alone. But what most desperate the young elf-maid was the state of
impotence in which the prince fell when he was in the same room as his half-
brother. Every time Fëanáro addressed him, it was with sharp, almost offensive
words and Anairë could not understand why, in Varda's name, that tall, muscular
elf tolerated such treatment. For her, the Crown Prince only had disdain and
derogatory comments. Finally, a week before the wedding celebration, Nolofinwë
took her out of the city and, in a trembling voice, confessed her his secret.
"I am ... I-I am my b-bro-brother's lover."
At first, Anairë did not understand. For long minutes, she stared at him,
trying to discover where the joke was; however, the flush in the prince's
cheeks and the despair in his clear eyes convinced her that he was telling the
truth.
"That's not ... How is that possible?" She asked at last.
"It's ... it's been like that for years. He does not ... he's not happy with
our engagement. "
“Is he jealous?"
"N-no," he emphatically denied, shaking his head. "He's just against sharing me
with someone. You do not have to be scared: I will not let him hurt you. In any
case, his anger will only be directed at me. "
"Does he know you're telling me this?" she hesitated, coming up with something
crooked in that story - more crooked, she wanted to say.
"He'll know." He sighed, defeated. "He will not like anything that I brought
you here. Alone.” He watched her for a moment and in a calm tone, added: “I
will understand perfectly if you decide to break our engagement. I like you,
Anairë; I like you seriously. That's why I decided to be honest with you. You
have the right to know that I ... I do not enjoy sex like ... I'm not going to
be a passionate husband; but I will love you and respect you. And the children
you give me will be my most valuable treasure. "
"Do you not like females?"
"What?"
"Do you prefer men?"
"No!" He exclaimed, appalled. "It’s not that. I just do not ... "
Anairë looked at him with a frown, beginning to suspect.
"Nolofinwë, do you love Fëanáro? As a lover, I want to say. Do you love him
physically? "
The whiteness that spread through his beautiful features was all the answer she
needed. At that moment, she decided that - no matter what Fëanáro thought about
it - she would marry him.
"Do your parents know?"
"My father has an idea. He does not know the whole truth, of course; but he ...
Once he almost surprised us ... My mother can never know. "
"She will not know," she promised and, perceiving the uncertainty in those
precious eyes, she extended a hand to rest it on his, gently.”Could we go on a
wedding trip to Alqualondë? It will be much easier if at least those first days
we are alone. "
……………………………
Even today, so many years later and with three teenage children and a fourth
learning to walk, Anairë felt her heart twist as she looked back on the hopeful
look her husband gave her that afternoon. Their married life had not been easy:
as he warned her, Nolofinwë was not a passionate husband. At all times, he was
generous and gentle, and he cared that she was always satisfied – and she did,
by Yavanna's skirts! - but it was evident that sex was not part of the
interests of the second prince. At times, Anairë had wondered if he was also so
balanced and controlled with his half-brother; but when - as now - she saw
apprehension in her husband's features, she regretted her jealousy for no
reason: Nolofinwë did not love his half-brother.
“Surely Findekáno will go to that party with Nelyo” she said after a moment.
“And Turvo is studying some new thinker that he found in the library. Irissë
will sleep with me and Arvo. I'll be waiting for you when you're ready.”
“Thank you” murmured Nolofinwë, closing his eyes for a second. “I'm going to
take a bath and change. I do not want to make him wait too long: there is no
reason to add impatience to his displeasure.”
In other circumstances, Anairë would have laughed at the caustic humor of her
husband; but this time, she pushed herself on the tips of her feet to kiss his
lips.
……………………………
Nolofinwë went through the gallery that led to his half-brother's quarters in
the palace. Luckily, Finwë had allowed his eldest son to keep the west wing,
the most isolated wing of the royal palace. In addition, Fëanáro pretended to
be a revolutionary, so he counted on nothing more than the indispensable
servitude, so Nolofinwë was certain that he would not run into anyone on his
way there. After the bath, the eldest son of Indis had changed his usual
clothes to the latest Noldorin fashion for a simple outfit, easy to discard
when the time came.
When he arrived at the door, he stopped for a few seconds to massage his
temples and frown: his headache had not left him since he left the Council. He
knew it was the insistent call of Fëanáro, but sometimes he pretended he had
the ability to refuse. He knocked on the door and waited. He repeated the call
by not receiving a response and a voice rose from the inside. He turned the
handle and entered.
His gaze passed over the table set for dinner and he went to the bed surrounded
by red silk curtains. He felt movement in the bed and the murmur of voices
reached him. With an effort, he forced himself to remain motionless: evidently,
Fëanáro had lost his patience.
“Kurvo, get out of here.”
Nolofinwë stood up when he heard the voice of his older brother from the
cabinet. Turning, he saw him at the door, resting one hand on the jamb while
holding a wine glass in the other.
Fëanáro was a difficult sight to ignore. He had the typical Noldorin physique,
accentuated by work in the forge and his love of travel and outdoor physical
practices. His skin had an olive tone that highlighted the bluish black of his
long straight hair. With his tunic open at the front and his hair down to the
mid-back, he looked powerful and sensual like a panther that settled in ambush.
The obsidian eyes slowly traced the minor's appearance.
“Kurufinwë!”, Fëanáro called again when a moan resounded behind the curtains of
the bed. “Get out of here, kid! I have matters to deal with ... my half-
brother.”
Nolofinwë looked away when his nephew jumped out of bed, quickly followed by a
young girl with silver hair and flushed cheeks. Kurufinwë went to the door,
greeting his uncle with a mocking smile; the girl, on the other hand, made a
curt bow and almost ran after the king's grandson.
“Come.”
The second prince looked back at his brother once the door closed, leaving them
alone. Fëanáro drank slowly and held out the glass in his direction.
“Serve me.”
Nolofinwë took a deep breath and prepared himself for a long journey: worse
than a furious Fëanáro was a drunk Fëanáro. With lightness, he approached him
and took the empty glass to fill it with the telerin wine that the eldest
preferred.
Fëanáro did not move, waiting for the drink to come. When Nolofinwë was in
front of him, he took the glass and drank the contents in one gulp. He dropped
the chalice to the floor and, extending a hand, wrapped his fingers in the hair
gathered in his brother's ponytail to pull it until it stuck to his body.
The youngest forced himself to remain motionless to feel the erection that was
pressed into his side. Fëanáro's mouth touched his chin, down his throat to the
edge of his clothes and rose again to assail his lips. Obediently, Nolofinwë
opened his mouth and allowed the passage to the tongue that invaded wildly. For
years he had learned that not resisting was much simpler: Fëanáro was enough to
hurt him enough, he did not need to be stirred up.
Fëanáro kissed his younger brother fiercely, using teeth and tongue to
establish his dominion. It was one of the best parts, with which he dreamed
while pretending in front of everyone that they were civilized elves. He stuck
the fingers of one hand on Nolofinwë's butt, pushing it against himself to show
him how much, how he wanted him. This was the only good thing that came out of
his father's second marriage
.……………………….
Nolofinwë was less than thirty years old when he first really knew the anger of
his half-brother. Until then, Fëanáro had ignored him, pushed aside, dismissed
him as a useless bale; but that day was different. He did not even remember
what he had done to make his older brother angry to the point of hitting him.
Fëanáro's fists had been like rocks crashing into his chest and belly. When the
pain forced him to bend over on himself, Fëanáro slapped him with the back of
his hand. He repeated the blow with an almost hieratic monotony. Nolofinwë
collapsed, stunned by pain, blood running from the corner of his mouth.
Fëanáro watched him for a few seconds and suddenly dropped to his knees beside
him to take his face with both hands. The boy had stiffened with fear; but
instead of hitting him again, Fëanáro moved his face closer until their breaths
mixed and, very slowly, licked the blood that escaped from the child's mouth.
Nolofinwë had frozen in his hands, feeling the strange sensation of Fëanáro's
tongue running down his face, lingering on his swollen lips, sliding between
them. Choking gasps escaped the elder's lips and Nolofinwë had no idea what the
hell was happening. Fëanáro forced him to lie on the floor and opened his
clothes to caress the same body that had previously attacked with rage. In
spite of himself, the adolescent body of Nolofinwë reacted to the experienced
exploration and the world became a carousel of colors when Fëanáro grabbed his
sex unexpectedly hard with one hand and caressed him roughly while insulting
him. Not knowing what was happening, Nolofinwë felt that the world was breaking
in his head and fluids sprang from him to soak his brother's fingers. When he
was able to breathe again, he found Fëanáro watching him with a strange fire in
his eyes. The boy was certain that something special had happened between them,
but the moment he opened his mouth to ask his brother, Fëanáro again slapped
him. Tears veiled his eyes and a guttural moan erupted from the older elf's
throat.
With fevered hands, the Crown Prince opened his trousers and released his erect
phallus. He took Nolofinwë's hand and took it to his sex, forcing the boy to
caress him harshly. It did not take long for Fëanáro to let out a hoarse moan
and his cock would shake in the boy's hand, emitting liquid shots. Nolofinwë
contemplated bewildered the fluids that spilled in his half-brother’s pelvis
and his own fingers. Fëanáro grabbed him by the hair with strength and forced
him to lower his head until his face was at the level of the member still half
hard. At first, he did not understand what his older brother demanded; but one
look was enough for submissive Nolofinwë to open his mouth and cleanse with his
tongue all traces of the elder’s pleasure.
Then, Fëanáro sat up, arranged his clothes without looking at him and left. The
teenager did not tell anyone what had happened ... because he was not even sure
what the hell had happened. It was weeks before Fëanáro returned to visit the
palace with his children and when they met in the library, Nolofinwë blushed
intensely, evoking what had happened before. The older one just smiled,
malicious and went up to him to grab him by the arm and force him to kneel at
his feet. When he untied the ties of his breeches, Nolofinwë found that Fëanáro
was totally excited. On this occasion, the older elf forced Nolofinwë to take
him in his mouth and give him pleasure like that. Nolofinwë hated the
experience - the feeling of suffocation each time the other bumped into his
throat, the hands that pulled his hair as if it were reins, the penetrating
smell of his brother's skin, the strong and slightly salty taste that flooded
his mouth… He backed away, frightened when Fëanáro's fluids filled his mouth,
choking him and one shot hit his clothes while the other elf finished
ejaculating. Disgusted, he made a spitting motion; but a hand rested on his
mouth, forcing him to swallow. As soon as he did, Fëanáro freed him and he
could breathe again. Nausea came to his throat as he understood what was
happening; however, a violent slap hit him to the ground. Immediately,
Fëanáro's hand grasped his hair, bending his head back.
“Let it be the last time you get away, bastard” he hissed against his skin.
“The next, you'll stay still while I fuck your mouth and when I cum, you'll
swallow everything like a good boy, is that clear?”
“Brother, I do not think ...”
The protest died in a moan when Fëanáro slapped him again.
“I asked if it's clear, kid.”
Nolofinwë barely nodded and a sound of pain escaped his lips once his brother
released him, pushing him back to the floor.
“You need more practice” declared the Crown Prince, in a calm voice. “You are
very clumsy with your teeth and you do not know how to use your tongue. We will
have to correct that.” He looked at him from his tall stature, disgusted. “Go
and change your clothes, for Manwë’s sake: you have the whole tunic stained.
Later, while changing clothes to attend the dinner, Nolofinwë let the tears of
shame slip down his cheeks.
……………………..
Fëanáro took his time while invading the other elf's mouth. As always,
Nolofinwë remained frozen in his arms, as if he were dead; but that did not
matter to him: that same indifference aroused the prince until his blood
burned. Finally, he moved away enough to let his tongue run down the curve of
his jaw to the lobe of his ear. He felt the shudder of the muscular body
against his.
“You challenged me today” he recalled as he moved his tongue along the jeweled
ear. “You dared to contradict me in front of everyone.”
“It was not my intention…”
"Ssshhh," he ordered, sliding his hands across Nolofinwë’s shoulders to his
chest to open the sleeveless vest and push it down his arms. “Silence, boy. How
dare you contradict me? To take the opposite to me in front of my vassals? I'm
going to have to punish you, boy."
Nolofinwë closed his eyes firmly, struggling to overcome the cramping in his
stomach that such words provoked.
“Kurufinwë ... brother ... I was just trying to be fair. I never wanted…”
“Do not be shy, precious.” mocked the major while grabbing the silk shirt and
pulling it, tearing. For a second, he stared ecstatically at the younger's
white skin, the soft blue and red strokes that marked his flat belly, the
silver rings that pierced his nipples ... his work, his brand. He lowered his
head. “You like to be punished. You do nothing but provoke me to punish you.
You've always done it”, and his mouth closed over a nipple, as he tangled his
tongue in the silver ring.
The youngest wanted to reply, to refute his statement; but the only thing that
he modulated was a moan of pain when Fëanáro's teeth pulled the jewel.
………………………..
Finwë had shown his enthusiasm when his eldest son announced that he would take
Nolofinwë as an apprentice. The boy tried to protest, claiming that he did not
like the blacksmith's trade; but it was in vain and a week after the
announcement, he found himself in his brother's forge, ready to learn things he
did not want to learn. At first it did not seem that Fëanáro wanted anything
other than to teach him the principles of blacksmithing; but when Nolofinwë
failed to make his first piece perfect, the master announced that he would be
punished.
“Undress yourself” ordered Fëanáro.
The boy began to tremble, scared; but a stern look warned him that it was sane
to obey promptly. With movements that the fear became more awkward, he shed his
clothes until he was totally naked in the middle of the forge. He had not yet
fully developed, and in his limbs was joined the delicacy of childhood with the
incipient strength of the adult. Fëanáro ran it with an appreciative look, the
bulge in his pants easily visible.
“There”, the craftsman ordered again, indicating the anvil. “Support your hands
and open your legs.”
Nolofinwë hesitated, trying to imagine what his brother was up to. After his
experiences, the boy had searched the library to find books that referred to
the sexual practice between males and the images had upset his stomach thinking
that Fëanáro wanted to do those things to him ... or that he expected him to do
them.
“Nolofinwë!” warned the major and the boy hurried to comply with the
instructions. Maybe, if he obeyed, everything would end faster.
He shuddered to feel the wide, calloused hands covering his buttocks, caressing
them gently for a few moments before squeezing and pinching. The rough caresses
continued, opening his rear. Nolofinwë gasped when he felt a wet touch at his
rear entrance. Fëanáro's tongue ran through his opening up and down, reaching
the base of his testicles, where the teeth nibbled. Nolofinwë closed his eyes
and clung to the anvil, experiencing a shiver of pleasure. He felt the blood
flow from his body to his genitals and he barely noticed that his cock stood
rigid, betraying his arousal. He did not notice that the delicious exploration
was over and for that reason, the furious slap that found his buttock threw him
forward.
Baffled, he opened his eyes and tried to turn around.
“Quiet, bastard.” Fëanáro growled, coldly and again hit his backside.
The thrashing continued for a while, Nolofinwë's erection deflated by pain and
violence. At last, Fëanáro seemed satisfied and without transition, he devoted
his attention to the sex of the adolescent, licking and caressing until he was
again hard of desire. Nolofinwë felt the climax tighten in his testicles and
from his half-open mouth a moan arose ... and in that moment, his brother
walked away and recommenced the punishment on his backside still aching.
The session continued for hours. Fëanáro excited the boy until he was about to
ejaculate and then, proceeded to whip his buttocks conscientiously. Tears ran
down the red cheeks of Nolofinwë: if at first he had removed himself and tried
to protest, he only worried about standing up, his white fingers against the
anvil. Finally, Fëanáro seemed to reach his own limit and released his sex. The
precum sprang from the hole in the head of his imposing cock, reddened by the
long restraint, and Nolofinwë looked over his shoulder, fearing the moment when
that monstrosity entered him. But the elf was content to slide his phallus
between his reddened buttocks, taking advantage of the heat and humidity that
his continuous explorations left behind. He rested his whole body against the
boy's taut back and his mouth was at the height of his ear.
“You have a beautiful rear, little boy” he whispered as he began to move. “I'm
going to really enjoy taking your ass. But first I'm going to prepare you like
today: I'm going to put these beautiful buttocks red and hot ... that way
you'll feel more when I put my cock inside you.
“Kurufinwë ... please ...” the boy sobbed; but his plea was silenced by the
deep moan with which Fëanáro ejaculated over him.
The older elf collapsed on top of him with all his weight, causing him to let
go and both fell to the ground, Nolofinwë’s knees violently hitting the stone.
Fëanáro turned away from him and straightened his clothes as he made his way
inside the forge. When he reached the pile formed by the boy's clothes, he
kicked them towards him.
- Get dressed and leave - he said -. We're done for today. Tomorrow try to be
here early. You know I do not like to wait.
………………………….
The drowned sounds of pain that escaped from Nolofinwë's throat only excited
Fëanáro more. His cock tensed his breeches and before he could control himself,
he pressed a hand to the fabric, stroking himself roughly. With a snarl, he
pulled away from the other and turned on himself, sinking his hands into his
loose hair.
“Damn, Nolofinwë,” he roared hoarsely. “Why are you doing this to me?”
“I do not ...” the youngest began to say, wondering how the hell it always
ended up being his fault that the other did the things he did to him.
“You do, damn bastard!” Fëanáro exploded, turning again to grab him by the hair
and push him on his knees while the other hand undressed his own sex -. Look
what you do to me. You drive me crazy. You've had me like this all damn day.”
he hissed between teeth, taking his cock to draw with the wet tip the tight
mouth of Nolofinwë. “Fix it up, little boy. Calm me as you know to do.”
Nolofinwë lowered his eyelids and opened his mouth. Immediately, Fëanáro's
member slid against his tongue, propelling himself to his throat. Nolofinwë
made an arcade; but with an effort, he restrained the instinct to move away and
proceeded to suck and lick.
Fëanáro moaned, throwing his head back with narrowed eyes. Gods, he loved
feeling that mouth in his sex. Nolofinwë knew how to give him pleasure like no
one else. The vanyarin nuisance’s tongue was the glory itself. The only
comparable pleasure was when he dug into that tight ass and listened to his
moans. His fingers tangled in Nolofinwë’s disheveled hair, using them as reins
to guide him as he fought against the urge to ram ... ramming uncontrollably.
But that would only make it end sooner, and he did not want it to end. Never.
Despite Fëanáro's intentions of making the blowjob last as long as possible,
Nolofinwë had not wasted those years of practice: he knew every reaction of his
brother and how to take him to the point of no return with his mouth. After a
moment, Fëanáro was fucking his mouth, uncontrolled, cursing and roaring when
shortly after he exploded in powerful shots in the minor's throat. Nolofinwë
forced himself not to move, swallowing everything he could at the first moment.
When Fëanáro stepped back to lean against the wall with low eyelids and ragged
breathing, the younger elf wiped his lips and chin with the sleeve of his shirt
and swallowed again to empty his mouth.
Finally, the Crown Prince regained control over himself and stepped away from
the wall to approach the table.
“Come”, he ordered, expressionless. “You must eat something before we move on
to other matters.”
Nolofinwë sat up, gritting his teeth when his knees resented the awkward
position. He approached the table and patiently waited for his host to tell him
he could sit down. He had performed this ritual too many times in his life to
not know what was expected of him. Finally, the oldest pointed to the chair at
the head of the table and, although he frowned, Nolofinwë took the seat,
arranging his torn clothes as best he could. Fëanáro pulled a chair to his side
and with a half-smile, poured a glass of wine. When the second prince reached
out to take the glass, his brother gave a warning grunt and held the golden cup
against Nolofinwë's lips.
The son of Indis stared at the other, bewildered; but finally, he opened his
lips and sipped the wine, allowing Fëanáro to give him the drink. The liquor
eased his dry throat and helped him get rid of the powerful taste of Fëanáro's
release. Unconsciously, he closed his eyes and savored the drink, absorbing
himself in identifying the harvest, the vineyard, the spices with which its
flavor was accentuated. He gasped when Fëanáro's mouth found his in a light,
sinuous kiss, too sensual not to react.
He opened his eyes when Fëanáro withdrew and for a second they stared at each
other.
“I hate you” murmured Nolofinwë, choking with rage. Fëanáro seemed to be
embarrassed; but it lasted only a thousandth of a second and he smiled before
bending again to breathe on his brother’s breath.
“You lie, my love.”
The younger brother dismissed the idea of insisting. Fëanáro saw only what he
wanted to see: in his head, in his fantasy world, Nolofinwë came to him because
he loved what he did to him, because he loved him ... no matter how much
Nolofinwë denied it.
At that moment, Fëanáro turned to him again, holding a plate with meat and
fruit on it. Nolofinwë felt the tears fill his eyes as he recognized his
favorite dishes: this was worse than Fëanáro’s violence. With the patience that
a mother would show her favorite son, Fëanáro combined the meats with the
fruits, dipping them in the different sauces to bring them to his lover's
mouth. On one occasion, when the sauce dripped from the corner of the
youngest's mouth, he came over to clean it with his tongue, delicately.
“You're a very careless child” he whispered against his skin, his voice husky.
“I'll have to teach you manners, Nolvo.”
Nolofinwë could not reply, silenced by the tongue that slid between his lips
and moved wildly. After a moment, Fëanáro had lost all control of himself and
pushing the other, sat astride his hips, moving insistently until he perceived
the hardness of the other's sex. A moan of approval escaped his lips.
“There it is again” he declared, triumphantly, still rocking his hips against
the erection of his brother. “You're a little pervert, Nolvo.”
…………………………….
The hours in the forge became endless and after each lesson, Nolofinwë returned
to the palace in pain and embarrassment, hiding the marks he kept in his body.
However, Fëanáro had not taken him yet and the adolescent gave thanks for
whatever that stopped him.
Then, his father announced that he would accompany his brother on a trip to
Alqualondë. Nolofinwë tried to find excuses, to defend himself with the tests
of the Academy, to claim that he would only make a fool of himself in Olwë's
court for his stuttering ... But Finwë dismissed all his apologies and ordered
him laughing to prepare his luggage.
Three days later, Fëanáro came to pick him up to take him to Alqualondë. Nelyo
and Cáno would join them two days later. Nolofinwë almost breathed a sigh of
relief; but his hopes were cut short when Fëanáro ordered him to put the horse
at a gallop, claiming that he wanted to advance as much as possible on first
day.
They were well away from Tirion when Fëanáro finally ordered to dismount and
told him to set up the camp while he was looking for branches for the fire. The
forests were dense in that area and the light of the Trees scarcely crossed the
leafy vegetation.
When Fëanáro returned, Nolofinwë had raised the camp as his brother himself had
taught him when he was a little boy of just over eight years old. The boy had
also served dinner, consisting of bread of lembas and cheese, and a carafe of
wine sweetened with honey. Fëanáro watched him without speaking while he handed
him the food and the boy barely managed to eat, aware of the burning gaze fixed
on him. Uncomfortable, and alert, he settled himself at one end of the tent,
paying attention to the sounds his brother made outside. Finally, Fëanáro
slipped into the tent and Nolofinwë expected him to fall on him in one of his
sexual attacks. After a while he heard only the calm breathing of the elder and
let out the breath he retained. Perhaps Fëanáro feared that his children would
arrive earlier than expected and surprise him.
“Father said you did not want to come with me.”
Fëanáro's hard voice shook him, taking him out of his bubble of hope.
“I-I did not ... I did not say that ... Ku-Kurufinwë” he stammered, squeezing
his eyes.
“Are you accusing my father of being a liar?” hissed Fëanáro and Nolofinwë felt
the thrust of his anger, filling the small tent.
“ I do not!” he screamed. “I just…! I just said that I had ... exams ... I-I've
got e-exams and I do not ... I have not st-t-tudied ... I have not studied
much.”
Fëanáro's hand closed fiercely on his shoulder and forced him to turn around to
face him. The older's obsidian eyes glittered in the semidarkness of the tent,
like wild stars and his sensual mouth curled into a grimace of rage.
“You're lying, bastard” he declared at the end. “You did not want to come with
me, right? You did not want to be alone with me. Why? Why do not you want to be
with me? Here alone? Away from everyone? Where nobody will hear your screams
and your moans when I take you?
Fëanáro's voice had become hoarse as he spoke and now his eyes shone
differently, his pupils dilated as his lungs filled with the boy's perfume of
fear. Nolofinwë gasped as the eldest lunged at him, pinning him to the ground
to straddle his hips.
Fëanáro's mouth was rough and punishing against his, his tongue looting, his
teeth hurting. With an agile movement, Fëanáro turned around, changing his
positions; but grasping the thin body between his thighs. Resting his hands on
Nolofinwë's butt, he pushed him against his erection as he continued to kiss
and bite the boy's neck and ear.
“Are you feeling that, kid?” He asked before running his tongue in the turns of
the naked ear. “Do you feel what you do to me? How do you put me? You are a
damned seducer. You know it drives me crazy when you play with me, when you run
away to be chased.”
Nolofinwë froze on top of him, suddenly realizing that Fëanáro had
misinterpreted his attitude throughout all those years. The older elf's elegant
long fingers ran through his body, struggling with clothes. The boy reacted
when Fëanáro finally managed to open his shirt and pushed his leggings around
his thin legs: with an instinctive leap, he pulled off his brother's top and
threw himself into the entrance to the tent.
“No, beauty” laughed Fëanáro, catching him by the ankle and pulling him until
he did fall under his body again. “The games are over. You will be mine today.”
Later - when his body stopped hurting - Nolofinwë would remember having lived
that moment as if it happened to someone else. He would remember that Fëanáro
destroyed his clothes until he undressed him completely. Then, he hovered over
him like an eagle on its prey and explored his entire body with mouth and
hands, leaving the marks of his teeth everywhere. He spent a few minutes
licking the boy's sleeping cock, awakening it, before descending between his
thighs and seeking his entrance. Nolofinwë screamed and kicked as if life were
in it, trying to reject the certainty that his brother's actions entailed and
the pleasure they provoked in him. At last, Fëanáro sat up and grabbed both
wrists with one hand against boy’s chest to get rid of his own clothes. He
cursed when he had to pull the loops of his pants to push him by his hips and
then kicked him away. When he stretched out on Nolofinwë, the boy sobbed
helplessly, trapped by the weight of his body that surpassed his in height and
muscles. Fëanáro kissed him passionately, silencing his pleas and protests, and
with both hands, raised his thighs to position himself at his entrance.
Nolofinwë shouted into his older brother's mouth, sure that the pain would
break his body forever. For a second, he thought he would leave his hroa and
wanted it. He wished he could cease to exist at that moment, while Fëanáro
pushed inside him, whimpering, retreating to almost abandon him only to dig
deeper into the next attack.
Fëanáro kept moving on him, breathing heavily, crashing their bodies to feel
the burning skin against his. He dropped the boy's legs and grabbed with both
hands the beautiful face, riddled with tears. He kissed his mouth fiercely,
forcing him to wake up.
“Tell me you like it, Nolvo”, he ordered hoarsely. “Tell me this is what you
want.”
“I do not!” the teenager howled. “Please, brother ... it hurts, it hurts a lot!
P-please ... please, stop ...”
“No, my love.” Fëanáro gasped, losing what little control he had left with his
entreaties. “I cannot ... You're so delicious ... ah, Nolvo ... you make me
crazy, beautiful ... Yes, love, feel me inside you! Feel how I fill you ... you
want this, boy ... your eyes ... your body is telling me since ...” A deep moan
arched him over the child and his thrusts became erratic as his eyes were
closed.
He collapsed on top of the boy, only moving his hips in a circular cadence to
press his cock into the narrow interior as he ejaculated. Finally, he pulled
away to roll on his back, breathing hard. Nolofinwë remained motionless,
feeling the breaches in his insides, sure that his blood mingled with his
brother's fluids as they slipped between his trembling buttocks. He bit his
lower lip to stop crying: he was not going to cry; not in front of him. With
the help of Eru, now, Fëanáro would fall asleep and he could go out to wash
himself.
But Fëanáro sat up on one elbow and looked at him with a calm expression. He
reached out and slid his finger from his younger brother's chin to his navel
and then back up to his lower lip. He leaned down and kissed him almost
tenderly. Nolofinwë forced himself not to react. Finally, Fëanáro smiled
against his mouth.
“I know you're disappointed, honey” he mused, with a playful tone. “I promised
you that I was going to prepare you for me before, but, ah Nolvo, you are such
a delicious thing that I could not contain myself anymore. But do not worry, my
treasure, I'll please you now.”
Nolofinwë observed him with wide eyes of fright and fear closed his throat when
he saw him stand to look for his belt.
…………………………….
Nolofinwë clenched his fists in Fëanáro's clothes, in a vain attempt to control
the desire that arose in him. He would never confess it - not even Anairë - but
what he most hated about all this was his inability to control the reactions of
his body. He hated his body, his blood, his sex ... everything that burned, and
hurt, and went mad when his older brother touched him. He hated himself for not
being able to feel on other side, with another person ... just with this damn
elf. At first it had been fear, only fear; a scary fear of not satisfying the
adult's demands, of annoying him, of disappointing him; however, when the fear
passed, Nolofinwë remembered the avidity of Fëanáro's hands, the brutal
strength of his kisses, the desperate hunger of his possession ... and his
stomach twisted at the thought that it was he who inspired such emotions in the
most powerful of the Noldor. He had never touched himself. He never gave
himself pleasure despite the fog of ecstasy that memories unleashed in his
brain. Nolofinwë felt disgust for the sexual act itself and for any of its
variants; but in the stillness of Telperion's hours, he let his mind get lost
in memories and pleasure flowed only to free itself in his clothes. Later, the
prince would lock himself in his private bathroom and wash him as if he wanted
to tear off his skin, and with it, the memories of his half-brother’s contact,
of his own weakness, of his own filthiness.
Fëanáro kept moving over him, pressing his hard sex against Nolofinwë's tense
belly, sliding roughly along the erection against his scrotum. Meanwhile, he
kissed and nibbled lips, chin, and jeweled ears. Suddenly, he threw back his
head, breathing loudly while cursing.
“Ah Nolvo!” he exclaimed, almost a moan. “You're trying to make me forget your
punishment, aren’t you, kid?
Nolofinwë felt the breath clog in his throat, anticipating what awaited him.
“You ... you have not eaten anything”, he pointed, gingerly, indicating the
table with a gesture.
Fëanáro did not stop observing him through the curved eyelashes, his mouth
slightly ajar.
“I'm not hungry” he replied in a thick voice. “You are the only delicacy I
want.” He sat up to get away from him, as if he were afraid he would give in to
temptation too soon and went to the bed with insecure steps, adjusting the
erection in his tight pants. “And I'm going to savor you like I have not done
for a long time, little brother.”
Nolofinwë remained seated, trying to reconcile the need that recent caresses
left in him. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched his brother move around
the bed with agile and almost feline gestures. Fëanáro took from the table next
to the bed some strings of woven silk and secured them to the poles at end of
the bed. He pulled them several times to test the resistance and then turned to
the younger one.
“Stand up, Nolofinwë”, he ordered. “I want you to undress in front of me.”
For a moment, the younger elf's blue-gray eyes observed him coldly, as if he
valued the option of refusing; but at last he got up slowly and advanced until
he was a few steps away from him. Then, he dropped his vest and his torn shirt
to the floor. As the evening progressed, Nolofinwë was armed with indifference,
willing to endure anything in order to get a few days of peace. He took off his
boots without laces and slid his pants down his narrow hips. He wore no
underwear and Fëanáro gasped, excited, when his half-brother’s cock was half
rigid between his muscular legs.
“Here” he indicated with a gesture, moistening his lips.
Nolofinwë approached and waited, obediently, for the next order. Fëanáro took
his left wrist and tied it with one of the cords in a way that kept his arm
straight without tightening it; he proceeded the same with the other arm.
Nolofinwë did not move even to try to disengage: an image that he saw when he
was a boy came to his mind.
……………………..
He had gone with master Rúmil to observe the birds on the shore of the lake and
suddenly they saw a magnificent steed tied to a flimsy rod embedded in the damp
earth. Nolofinwë looked at the huge horse, surprised that he did not try to
flee despite his owner was not seen nearby. When he told his tutor, Master
Rúmil smiled softly and stroked his hair.
“He’s tame, little prince. Since he was a foal, his owner tied him to that post
and he tried to free himself. At that time, I did not have the strength to pull
the stick from the ground and only managed to get tired.”
“But now he could tear it out” protested the boy, frowning.
“He might; but the steed remembers that when he tried before he never got it
and has given up. He is tame.”
.................................
Tame. Surely, that same precept could apply to him. From his adulthood, he had
surpassed Fëanáro by several inches in height and width. His arms and legs were
much more muscular, and although he did not work metals neither had much time
for outdoor exercises, he possessed agility and strength superior to most
Noldorin elves. His beauty was even a little coarser than that of Fëanáro, who
inherited the soft and attractive features of Míriel Þerindë, as long as he was
behind the hawk-like features of Finwë Noldóran. From his mother Indis,
Nolofinwë only inherited the slightly more pointed ears and the dimple in the
left cheek when he smiled. However, with all that energy contained in his hroa,
the Grand Prince of Tirion simply resisted the fact that his older brother tied
him and used him as a sexual object. A grimace twitched his sensual mouth and
his eyes darkened with bitterness.
Behind him, Fëanáro finished the arrangements to proceed with the announced
punishment. Quickly, he stripped off the red tunic that he had worn open over
dark leather pants: the light of the lamps bathed his olive skin, highlighting
the star-shaped marks that adorned his abdomen and his back above his hips. He
approached Nolofinwë and combed his straight hair into a thick braid that he
pulled forward over his left shoulder. Finwë's second son used his hair too
long, brushing his hard buttocks, and it was that Fëanáro loved it so, seeing
him veil his nakedness with that black silk mantle that highlighted the ivory
tone of his skin. After having resolved the matter of the hair, Fëanáro let
fingertips run through the marks that remained on the skin of the back of their
previous encounter: the traces of Fëanáro's teeth drew roses of passion on
shoulders and sides, grooves of his nails were still slightly differentiated in
his flesh and, above all, the eight-pointed star was drawn under the nape of
his neck, carved in the flesh with a sharp blade, still in process of healing.
Nolofinwë would never go to Írien or Findis to heal those wounds, evidence of
his incestuous relationship with king's eldest son, and Fëanáro knew that the
pains and the stinging must have disturbed his hours of rest, reminding him ...
remembering him.
He slid his palms down the sides, directing them to the front to press against
the striated abdomen, until he encircled the sex between his fingers. Even in a
state of rest, Nolofinwe's cock was long and thick, a heavy column of flesh and
tendons that trembled in the grip of the other. Fëanáro pressed his own
erection on the younger's bottom as his right hand worked Nolofinwë's cock and
with the other hand massaged the testicles. When Nolofinwë growled barely
audibly, he pressed his lips to his neck, and kissed and licked almost
desperately. As soon as he felt Nolofinwë's member standing proudly, he pressed
a kiss to the base of his neck to quickly bite and suck until he scored a dark
rosette, and then he pulled away, breathing heavily.
Nolofinwë bit his tongue to stifle the moan of frustration that rose in his
throat. Through his clouded senses of excitement, he sensed Fëanáro's movements
and how he stood at a distance. He heard the whistle in the air and then, the
pain cut the flesh on his shoulder. Instinctively, he arched, throwing his head
back and an imperceptible gasp escaping his lips.
……………………………..
Two months left until his majority, Fëanáro had appeared in his bedroom the day
before, shortly after the First Minglings of Lights, climbing his window to
surprise the boy while assembling the model he was to present at the Academy.
Nolofinwë had looked at his half-brother perplexedly: it was not the first time
that Fëanáro invaded his room clandestinely; but just that morning Finwë had
said that his firstborn was hunting in Oromë’s Woods. However, here was
Fëanáro, grinning mischievously and naughty as if he had avoided Mandos's
surveillance. Before Nolofinwë could protest the imprudence of this visit when
all his brothers and three older nephews - the two sons of Fëanáro himself and
the only son of Findis - were at home and everyone felt they had the right to
break into the future adult’s bedroom with one or another justification,
Fëanáro informed triumphantly that he was coming to give him his begetting day
gift. Nolofinwë hesitated: his older brother always gave him banal gifts,
things that he could give him in front of everyone without arousing suspicion,
and then, in the darkness of the unused rooms of the palace, he "gifted" him
with his peculiar affection.
Then Fëanáro took from his pocket a carved wooden box and held it before the
boy, with shining eyes. The boy took the chest and opened it, unsure: on black
velvet pillow lay two rings of white gold. Earrings. Fëanáro was giving him a
pair of earrings. What he could not understand was why he did not give them to
him during the party, as always.
“They are not for your precious ears, little boy” the elder murmured against
one of his "precious ears".
“But…”
“Lay down.” He ordered, looking for one of the perfume bottles on the dresser.
“And take off your shirt.”
Nolofinwë obeyed, confused by the arrangements; but in recent years he had
learned not to contradict his brother ... and lover. Everything was much easier
when he only did what he said.
When he was lying on his back, bare-chested, Fëanáro knelt beside him and
moistened a piece of cloth in the perfume to clean his chest, around the
nipples. Nolofinwë swallowed hard, cursing himself when the sensitive area
reacted to the rough caress. Fëanáro smiled mockingly and left the cloth to
take one of the rings. He opened the jewel and crossed one leg over the boy's
hip, making sure he did not move.
The boy observed curious how the artisan approached the pointed end of the
garment to his skin and before he understood what was happening, the pain
elicited him a scream. Fëanáro sank down on him, covering his mouth with his as
his fingers closed the rim on his left nipple. For a few endless minutes,
Nolofinwë struggled to escape the pain, realizing that the operation had to be
repeated on the other side. Finally, the discomfort subsided enough to be able
to remain silent and Fëanáro straightened up, leaning on one arm above his head
to observe him with dilated pupils of desire. He looked down and hissed
impatiently at the trickle of blood running down his white skin. He descended
to lick it and Nolofinwë protested when streaks of pain shook his nerves.
After a moment, when pain and excitement were confused in boy's head, the older
got up and grabbed the other pendant to repeat the process in the right nipple.
Pain arched the youth’s back, pressing his sex against Fëanáro's body astride
his hips. Again, the elder cleaned the blood with his mouth and once he had
completed the ritual, he released his sex and took it with his hand to press it
against the tense belly of the child. Nolofinwë's body was cold from the pain
that drained his blood, and Fëanáro's phallus was like a red-hot iron on his
sensitive skin. Immediately he experienced the precum leaking into his abdomen,
sliding to fill his belly button obscenely. Somehow, Fëanáro managed to get rid
of the sleeping shorts without losing contact between them and moved the boy's
leg to pass over his own: that way, he was mounted on one leg, his cock
pressing on the entrance of the boy at a strange angle, Nolofinwë’s legs
catching Fëanáro’s thigh in the form of scissors, the torso of the boy half
twisted so that his head rested on the pillows with the black hair scattered
like a flag in the wind. A slight push was enough for Fëanáro's cock to
penetrate the narrow passage, ignoring any preparation. Nolofinwë arched and
gasped breathlessly, clenching his fists on the sheets. A few years ago, being
more naive, Nolofinwë would have protested and sobbed, begging him to leave;
but at this point, he already knew how much Fëanáro enjoyed listening to him
beg. Penetrating him dry was also one of his hobbies: then, when he had
ejaculated in him and semen mingled with his blood, he would use his fingers to
caress him inside, causing the sting and pain until the boy lost consciousness
and vanished in his arms. On more than one occasion, Nolofinwë had already
awakened impaled on the older elf's cock, being possessed even in his sleep or
in his unconsciousness. Now, simply, he let himself be carried away by the
swaying of Fëanáro's hips as he withdrew almost to the edge to sink deeper each
time. Nolofinwë closed his eyes: his experience told him that this could last
for hours. He tried to focus on the pain in his nipples. That, at least, would
pass on at some point.
……………………….
The tips of the red silk braids were adorned with small gems cut into a star
shape. Each time the whip touched his skin, the tips of the stars tore apart
almost imperceptibly; but after several impacts, the cuts began to sting and
the discomfort was accumulated. At this point, blood trickled in thin threads
through the tense muscles of the Great Prince, drawing lattices over the
previous scars.
The lashes ceased for a moment and Nolofinwë could hear the labored breathing
of Fëanáro. In his mind, he drew the image of his half-brother roughly
masturbating to ease tension before continuing; but in that instant, the rope
snapped in the air and the gems embedded themselves in his buttocks.
Fëanáro savored the surprised moan that escaped his little brother's lips. It
was common opinion in Tirion that Kanafinwë possessed the most beautiful voice
among the Noldor: those who thought so, never had the privilege of hearing the
Great Prince moaning. With a firm pulse, he flogged his tight buttocks and
thighs again. Nolofinwë had the most delicious butt in the world, a rounded
mass of muscles, as pale as the rest of his body, barely decorated by two spots
just outside the right buttock.
Nolofinwë arched backward, clinging to the ropes to hold himself up as a thrill
of pleasure ran through him. Hells! After so many weeks, he really needed to
release all the tension in his body and head ... and the lashes were not enough
for that. As if he could read his mind, Fëanáro turned around and climbed to
the bed on his knees to be at the same height as his younger brother. With one
hand, he grabbed a lock of hair behind Nolofinwë's ear and forced him to twist
his head to kiss him roughly. He slipped the other hand - still holding the
braided rope - down his torso, pulling the ring on the nipple so that Nolofinwë
growled into his avid mouth, down to the pelvis to support the rope at the base
of the erect cock.
Nolofinwë clenched his teeth as he felt the slight pressure against his
sensitized flesh. His skin electrified when Fëanáro moved the handle of the
whip to his hip, surrounding his body to slide slowly between buttocks. A
shiver of fear shook his shoulders and his thighs. Fëanáro purred, approving
and changed the grip to push into the tight hole. Nolofinwë’s cock shuddered
against his crotch. Nolofinwë's shout of protest was lost in his half-brother’s
tongue and teeth, and he twisted his hands to hold on to the bonds as Fëanáro
got in and took out the turning gold roller.
The Crown Prince settled on his brother's rigid phallus and pressed between his
thighs. He began to move along the erection, in the same cadence that he
established in the penetration; his mouth looting in youngest’s. He felt the
tremors of impotence against his body and pleasure ignited his blood. He was
going to possess his lover until he was able to move, until he could not even
moan and finally - finally! - fell asleep in his arms, confident ... like the
precious child he was.
The Great Prince gasped, the pressure in his sphincter filling him to close his
throat, the exquisite heat around his cock ... the certainty that his body was
bowed to the dominion of his half-brother ... the certainty that a part of him
longed to be subdued like this, now. The orgasm tensed the muscles of his back
and his anus tightened around the golden cylinder as his testicles tensed to
start the ecstasy shots ... and the next second, everything was gone: the
pressure on his cock, the tension in his passage, the teeth that hurt lips and
tongue. He opened his eyes, fighting to contain the sob of frustration and saw
Fëanáro's satisfied smile. Rage clenched his chest and he barely made a hiss
between his teeth.
Fëanáro ran his eyes over other’s flushed cheeks, lips parted, eyes sparkling,
clenched muscles... and he was about to cum at that very moment. With a brusque
gesture, he left bed and returned to Nolofinwë's back. He grabbed him by the
hips and pulled until he was in the right position to penetrate with a single
blow.
Nolofinwë leaned forward, his shoulders twisting uncomfortably at the bonds.
With an effort, he grabbed harder and tried to relax to avoid permanent damage.
It would not be the first time that Fëanáro wounded him more than planned.
………………………………
Indis scowled at his favorite son's arm in a sling. In spite of everything that
others could think, Arakáno was his favorite, so similar to his father that he
could have gone through his twin if his eyes were less clear. Although he was
already an adult, for the queen he was still the child who stuttered poems for
her.
“Again, how did this happen?”
“I tripped on the stairs and tried to catch myself wrongly.”
“You dislocated your shoulder.” His mother pointed, lips drawing a stern line.
“Are you sure you were not fighting with ... your half-brother?”
Nolofinwë paled; but with an effort, he repeated:
“I stumbled. Ask Findis: it was she who returned my shoulder to its place.”
“Findis did not see you having that accident. He knows what you told her, same
as me.”
“It's true.” He insisted, with the calm learned in the Court and in years of
hiding true nature of his relationship with Fëanáro.
“Well,” the queen sighed, yielding with narrowed eyes, “I hope you will be well
for the dance. Eärwen will come with his brothers.”
“The swan-maiden of Alqualondë.” He half-smiled. “Are you trying to get me
married, Mamil?”
“It's time. Your brother is going for his fourth child.”
“Kurufinwë is quite older than me.” He pointed with a pout.
About two hours after the Mingling of Lights, when Telperion meekly lit the
Noldorin city, Nolofinwë tried to sleep without leaning on his damaged arm,
which was quite difficult because it was his favorite position to fall asleep.
The noise of the window opening forced him to sit on the bed, sure who invaded
his bedroom.
Fëanáro went to the bed and let himself fall through it as if it belonged to
him.
“What did you talk to your mother, Nolofinwë?” He demanded while taking off his
shoes.
“About the ball.”
“How did you tell her that you had dislocated his shoulder?” He spun on the bed
as he reached under the covers and caught the boy's ankle.
“I tripped on the stairs and tried to grab the balustrade. The weight of my
body dislocated the limb.”
“Seriously?”, he pushed aside the blanket impatiently and placed himself on his
knees between Nolofinwë's legs. “So, why does she think we're fighting?”
“Because it is what usually happens when we are in front of everyone,” answered
the youngest, leaning back to avoid as long as possible the wild caresses. «And
when we are alone», he replied in his mind. “How do you know what she really
thinks has happened?”
“Atto went to look for me at the forge to talk to me about our relationship”.
He descended on him, leaning on the hands on both sides of the head of
Nolofinwë to press his hard sex against the crotch of the youth. He moved
rhythmically, pressing and rubbing, his breath warming the other's lips.
“And?”
“I told him I loved you too much to hurt you like that”, he half smiled and
moved his arm to grab one of the youngest's legs and forcing him to cinch his
waist.
«Really?» Nolofinwë almost laughed hysterically.
“He believed you, I suppose” he said instead, trying to protect his aching arm.
“I just said the truth. You are my treasure, Nolvo: why would I hurt you?”
For the first time in his life, Nolofinwë saw clearly, realizing that Fëanáro
certainly believed that he liked everything he did to him, that he wanted to be
fucked, tortured, raped, used, beaten, pierced, tattooed ... The surprise
prevented him from reacting when Fëanáro moved on the bed to fall on his back
with him on top. With his hands on his hips, he forced him to move back and
forth on his erection, causing the precum to moisten his clothes.
Fëanáro arched, hissing with pleasure. Immediately, he manipulated his brother
until he could push the sleeping pants down his long legs and then opened his
fly to release the hard cock.
“Take it” he ordered, hoarsely. "Put it all on you and move on top of me.”
Nolofinwë cleared his throat, considering taking advantage of the momentary
bargaining power he had received.
“I need ... I need to prepare myself before. I ... I cannot take you without
... without the ... the proper lubrication...”
Fëanáro moaned impatiently and writhed beneath his weight, making the moisture
spread across his shaft against the scrotum.
“I'm wet enough, damn kid” he barked, digging his fingers into the buttocks.
"Take my whole cock now ... or I'll throw you to the ground and I'll fuck you
until I break your ass, Nolofinwë.”
«Why should I hurt you?»
Words danced in Nolofinwë's ears, almost as painful as the punishment his half-
brother promised. He rose on his knees and grabbed Fëanáro's member with his
left hand to place it in his entrance. His sphincter closed instinctively; but
he forced himself to breathe deeply and relax. After all, this time he had some
control.
He lowered himself little by little, alternating breaths, concentrating on
relaxing the muscles and expanding his anus around possession. Drowned moans
pulsed in his throat. Fëanáro did not move, delighting in the progress of the
penetration and in the increasing strength with which Nolofinwë bit his lower
lip. When the youngest stopped, struggling with the pain, he turned his hips,
digging a little more.
“Wait, Kurufinwë!” the minor pleaded. “I cannot ... it hurts ... it hurts a
lot, really...”
“Do not be silly.” He gasped in a thick voice. “You have only gotten half and
you always have much more inside. You can take it all, Nolvo. I want you to
take it all. And you want too, precious.”
“N-no ... I cannot...”
Fëanáro tried to move; but Nolofinwë pressed with his healthy hand into his
pelvis, keeping him under control. It was as if fire was unleashed in his
veins. With a sudden movement, he sat down while squeezing the fingers of the
youngest in one of his hands. His cock completely entered the body of
Nolofinwë, who avoided his mouth turning his face to the side, hissing in pain.
He grabbed him by the hips and moved him up and down, muttering against his
skin all he would do later for having resisted. Nolofinwë wanted to break free,
he wanted to resist and end this once and for all. What could happen? That
Fëanáro hit him? He already did that without him offering resistance. But while
his brain roared and sobbed with rage, his cock throbbed, alive in the heat
between their bodies. How was it possible that he could still respond in that
way? Humiliation only increased with the reality of the reactions of his
libido. He tightened his jaws, silencing the moan with which the release
erupted. He stirred in his brother's erection, tears of helplessness and shame
running down his cheeks.
“By Manwë’s balls! Yes, beauty” the eldest roared. “That’s it, love! Come for
me. Ah ... you drive me crazy when you come like that, so tight around my cock
... "He massaged and pinched Nolofinwë's buttocks, causing ejaculation to
continue a little longer. “There I go, darling ... I'm going to throw it all in
... ah yes, Nolvo!”
A few more thrusts in the beating channel of his rectum and Nolofinwe felt the
hot moisture fill him. Fëanáro collapsed between the pillows, dragging him
along. Nolofinwë settled down in time to protect his injured arm and turned his
back to him, pressing his legs almost against his chest, humiliated. Fëanáro
curved behind him, fitting him into his body and pressed his sated member - for
the moment - between his buttocks.
“Atar spoke of a dance,” he murmured in his ear, in a thick voice. “Are you
looking for a wife, Nolvo?”
“King Olwë's daughter is invited.”
“Would you marry her?”
“I don’t remember her”, he went off on a tangent, refusing to admit that he had
never considered intimacy with anyone, that he could not even think of
celebrating the physical ceremony by which a marriage established ties.
“I would not leave you. You have to marry a female from Tirion, to stay in the
city.” Fëanáro squeezed, possessive. “That, if I decide to let you marry. You
cannot marry without my permission. You know it, do not you? You know you
belong to me. Answer me.”
“Y-yes.” He almost sobbed. His answer was enough to appease the possessiveness
of the Crown Prince, who sniffed a little more in his hair and fell asleep.
..............................
In a first impulse, Nolofinwë closed to the invasion, contracting his
sphincter; but, almost immediately swallowed and mentally recited the genitive
variations in vanyarin language. His breathing relaxed and his muscles released
part of the tension.
Fëanáro groaned through parted lips, pushing deeper, his hands sliding on the
skin dampened with blood and sweat. He curled his fingers around the bones of
the hips, keeping the other in position and began to move slowly, inside and
out, soft and deep, a slow ritual that would dilate the moment of liberation.
For years he had not fucked his lover in this way: since the beginning of their
contradictions in the Council, their meetings had been only an extension of
public rivalry, Nolvo resisting and denying him even his kisses, he submitting
him and marking that delicious body by each caress that denied him. Nolofinwë
was not a passionate male; at times, Fëanáro had come to believe that sex
disgusted him. If it were not for those delicious moans and for the way his fëa
lit up when he climaxed, he would have resigned himself long ago to not getting
anything from him. However, even if Nolofinwë were to lie frozen in his arms,
he could not have denied this pleasure, the pleasure of being united with the
only elf who really satisfied his need. Nolofinwë was strong; he was a powerful
and hard male who could stand the fire unleashed by his older brother, who
could remain impassive where others just collapsed or fled. Nerdanel herself
had not resisted the ravages of his power long. As the years of marriage
passed, he needed more, he demanded more ... and she barely managed to finish
the intercourse without breaking. Fëanáro had restrained himself for years,
fearing that Nerdanel would follow Míriel's path, consumed by the fire he would
put in her belly. Then, Nolofinwë grew up. Not much really. Nolofinwë was
barely a child fresh from infancy when Fëanáro went after him. Unlike the older
daughter of Indis, the boy had always had the facility to get him mad. While he
was too young, Nolofinwë only disliked him because everyone said he looked more
like Finwë than himself; but when the child learned to respond to his sharp
comments, Fëanáro noticed that he also had his mother's quick tongue and his
own poisonous wit. He was a little demon. And the little valarauko developed
quickly, gaining in muscle and height, to the point that he had the body of a
boy ten years older joined to a face too naive not to excite an adult to the
fullest of his strengths. Fëanáro had beaten his half-brother before - on one
occasion he had slapped him so hard for breaking into his forge that the boy
had fallen to the ground, dazed and he had left in a hurry, not to leave; but
because of the growing need to jump on him and fuck him right there - and that
day, as always, the rage led to a voracious sexual desire that clouded his
senses, and Nolvo had responded so beautifully! He knew it was his little
brother's first experience and at that moment he decided that Nolvo would be
his. His half-brother had not disappointed him: he grew up to be strong and
beautiful, an imposing male who made heads turn toward him and burned lust, and
Fëanáro swelled with pride at the thought that only he could wrench that mask
of cold indifference. Only then, while his cock possessed and burned in his
half-brother’s body, Nolofinwë was himself without restrictions, and when Nolvo
moaned and for a moment allowed his disguise to fall, the Embroiderer's son was
complete.
The sensations accumulated in Nolofinwë's body, pain and shame twisting his
soul, closing his throat. The ropes seared his wrists and for a second, he
wondered what excuse he would invent for Lalwen to heal them. It was his last
rational thought before an arm of his half-brother surrounded his waist while
the other hand sank into the base of the braid almost loose. Fëanáro's fingers
wrapped around his member and caressed in the same enervating cadence that he
penetrated him. Nolofinwë squeezed his eyelids, refusing to admit that he was
craving more strength, more rudeness, more ... domination by Fëanáro. Tension
accumulated in his testicles and the need to ejaculate made blood hum in his
ears. He dropped his head back, against the shoulder of his older brother and
with a strangled voice, he pleaded:
“More ... harder ... please ... faster ...”
Fëanáro almost stopped, confused. It was the first time that his lover asked
for more. He had to clench his teeth to keep from running and, on the contrary,
he slowed the frequency of the attacks, delaying to retreat until only the head
of his cock was inside his brother.
Nolofinwë sobbed, helpless. This was a new torture. Only he could have made the
mistake of supplicate. He wanted more, and that had been enough for his brother
to decide that he wanted to delay the act in an interminable way. Fëanáro
always fucked him for hours; but after Nolofinwe had come, he merely lay lulled
in his arms, as if broken. Sated his dirty lust, it was much easier to yield to
Fëanáro’s demands.
Fëanáro took his hand away from his lover's cock once he felt the urge to
ejaculate dissipate. It was the fourth time that he prevented the other's
orgasm and once again a defeated moan came from the parched throat of
Nolofinwe, who was already resting all the weight against him, tired and
overexcited in one. Fëanáro sniffed the skin under his ear and wiped the fine
drops of sweat with the tip of his tongue. Hissing in disgust, Nolofinwë
twisted in the bonds to turn his face.
The Crown Prince gasped in bewilderment when his brother's lips found his in an
uncomfortable and strange kiss. Nolofinwë separated just enough to put his
tongue into the older elf's mouth and touch the tip of his. At the same time,
he pressed his butt on the surprised Fëanáro, which made his cock pulse.
“Please...” he asked in a hoarse voice for the moans and the desire.
Fëanáro's eyes dilated and before he could avoid it, ecstasy shook him like an
earthquake. A deep roar escaped his chest and instinctively, his hips waving as
he ran wildly. He cursed under his breath, collapsing against Nolofinwë’s back
once the spasms were over. Furious with himself for not having endured, he
straightened and freed Nolofinwë's wrists.
The Great Prince fell to the bed, his arms and legs numbed by the position. He
crept up to fit between the pillows and lay on his back for a few minutes,
trying to concentrate on regaining sensibility in his limbs. The sound of
breaking glass made him open his eyes and move to see Fëanáro walk furiously
through the room.
The Crown Prince stopped in front of the table and grabbed the second bottle of
liquor to drink directly from it. He emptied it halfway and threw it against
the wall.
“Do not do that”. The remaining voice of Nolofinwë came from the bed, forcing
him to turn on the spot. “Please. Someone could ... listen and come see ...”
“And?” he demanded, breathing agitated. “Do you not want them to know you're
with me? That you are with me «like this»?”
“I do not think it's convenient for it to be known that you ... that we ...
that we are ...”
Fëanáro held his breath when the other male hesitated to use a word to define
them.
“Lovers" he hissed, going to the bed to see him up close. “We are lovers,
Nolofinwë, why can you not say it?"
Nolofinwë blushed intensely and fell back on himself. Fëanáro's gaze descended
to his still gloriously hard sex between his marked thighs. Saliva accumulated
in his mouth.
“It's ... is it what we are, Kurufinwë?” Nolofinwë inquired, narrowing his eyes
when he perceived the hungry expression of the older.
“What did you think we had been doing all these years?” Fëanáro scoffed as he
climbed onto the bed and leaned over him.
Nolofinwë remained motionless while Fëanáro's lips brushed his and descended.
Fëanáro nibbled and sucked his chin, and continued down the neck, followed a
straight line down the abdomen and finally closed his mouth around the
beautiful cock.
A cry of amazement and delight escaped Nolofinwë's lips, his back arching to
ram into the damp warmth. For a second, it occurred to him that being his
brother so angry, it was not a good idea to have his genitals in his mouth; but
the voice that hooted hoarsely in his head and thanked for the sweet attention
drowned out any logic. Nolofinwë plunged his fingers into Fëanáro's loose hair
and lost himself in the rhythm, for the first time taking the pleasure that
only he gave him. After ... after Fëanáro would surely make him pay for the
freedoms he was taking; but, right now, the son of Indis only thought that they
were lovers, Fëanáro had said that they were lovers. He came with a prolonged
moan, his seed filling the mouth of his half-brother, his cock vibrating
against the tongue that so many times insulted and provoked him.
Fëanáro raised his head, swallowing the remains of liquid in his mouth. It has
been too long for him not to savor Nolofinwë and the strength of his taste, of
his essence, left him yearning for more. His brother had never let go so
completely and Fëanáro also wanted more of "that".
“Happy, little boy?” He asked, resting a hand on the boy's belly. For the first
time, Nolofinwë did not jump like a cornered fox. Instead, his eyes flashed
behind thick lashes.
“Are you angry with me?”, he asked instead of answering.
“No. Not anymore, my love.”
“Why are you angry with me when I just try to please you?” questioned again
Nolofinwë, the lost child of so many years ago surfacing in his pained
expression. Fëanáro passed saliva, stunned.
“You never seem happy when we're together. It's as if ... as if I was forcing
you to be my lover. However, outside, in front of others, you are the male I
love: firm, confident, capable of replicating and confronting me, capable of
defeating me.” He smiled, fascinated. “That's what I liked about you.”
“I thought you wanted obedience, submission ...” the younger elf stammered,
confused.
“I want to dominate you, yes; but only if you present me with a challenge. Is
that why you let yourself be done without reacting?” He frowned. “ Because you
think it's how I like to have you?”
“In... in part. You always attack me and ... and you hit me, and I believed ...
I thought it made you happy that I ... that I submitted without ... without
protest.”
“I was looking for you to answer” he opened his obsidian eyes a lot, now almost
silvery with bewilderment. “You react so wonderfully in the Council, in the
arena of training, in the Court, during dinner ... you are the only worthy
opponent I have found. When you were an infant you put me in a hurry to be able
to answer; however, when it comes to sex, you become an iceberg.”
“Oh”, Nolofinwë exclaimed and a shiver bristled his skin. “I did not know ... I
can ... I can try it better ... I can try to defend myself when you ... Exactly
what would you like me to do? How would you want me to act in ... here?
Fëanáro studied him, intrigued. Something was not right. Although they were
talking for the first time and Nolofinwë seemed to understand his motives to
treat him as he did ... something he was not saying. Yet.
“I want you to be simply yourself. I want you to take your pleasure and demand
it ... as you did today. You never prayed to me. You never kissed me without my
order.”
“Bu-but that bothered you” he pointed, stunned.
“I was not angry with you, Nolvo.” Fëanáro smiled. “I was furious with myself:
for the first time you give me what I want ... and I come as a teenager! I
could not even enjoy it!”
“If that's what you want, I ... I'll try, Kurufinwë; but I ... I do not ... I
do not like it.”
“What do not you like?” The older one was surprised. “Do not you like to kiss
me?”
“Sex.” confessed with barely audible voice. “I do not like sex.”
If he had said he had wings, Fëanáro would not have looked at him more
surprised.
“It's a joke, right?”
“It’s not! I do not like doing it. It disgusts me. I've never ... I do not like
to be touched. Or the way my body reacts without being able to control it or
...”
“Your body reacts because you like it, Nolvo!” He interrupted. “Why did you
never tell me that? Why did not you tell me how you felt?”
“Because I did not think you cared!”
“Of course I care, you idiot kid!” He exploded, not quite sure against whom
direct his anger. “You are the love of my life! How can I not care about
something like that?”
Nolofinwë looked at him with wide eyes. Fëanáro cursed under his breath,
mumbling something that this day he could not do anything right. Nolofinwë
smiled and extended a hand to rest it lightly on his brother's cheek.
“I think ...”, he began to say, unsure. “I think I could get to love you ... as
much as I'm capable of love, of course. Although I do not ... like sex, I do
like you, Kurufinwë. I like to please you and...
“Do not say more nonsense, Nolvo. Yes, you do like sex. If you did not like it,
you would not come like you do when you're with me. And your fëa would not
pulse so exquisitely when you reach orgasm.”
“How…?” he blushed. “How do you know?”
“Because I love you, idiot. It's what happens when you love someone: you can
feel his emotions and see his thoughts.”
“Oh,” Nolofinwë muttered again, suddenly realizing how much he was unaware of
such a basic aspect of Elven life.
“It's my fault”, admitted Fëanáro. “You were too young when ... and I was not
patient. I'm not yet. I thought you saw my heart as I saw yours and I thought
... that you liked it that way. After all, you always reached climax and when
you fell asleep, you were ... satiated, satisfied. I felt your fear and your
pain; but also your pleasure and your hunger. There are those who need that:
pleasure and pain together. I thought you ... "He shook his head. Nolofinwë
listened to him, stunned. His brother was right: despite his fear and disgust,
he always reached the climax. And he never rested as well as when Fëanáro
finished with him. Maybe he liked all that part of the marks, and the pierced
nipples, and the whips ... and the punishments ... and the fierce kisses of
Fëanáro ... and his orders ... his insults ... his demands ... his cock ... A
shudder ran down his spine, making him move to stick to the tense body of the
elderly. Fëanáro watched him, questioning. Nolofinwë lowered his eyelids, in a
shy attitude.
“We could ... find out.” He suggested. “If you want to. Find out if I need both
to satisfy myself: pain and pleasure, I mean.”
“And, how do you propose that we do that?” Fëanáro licked his lips, feeling his
sex hardening with the sight of that innocent and playful face.
“We-We could try wi-withouth pain ... once.” He managed to say, with effort.
“You'll have to tell me how ... how you want me to touch you and when ... when
I do something wrong too ...” A moan erupted from Fëanáro's mouth just before
he leaned over him and kissed him passionately. Nolofinwë hesitated; but after
a second, he ventured his tongue and answered the kiss as surely as he dared.
His lover's moan of pleasure rumbled in his bones. As he let himself be dragged
by Fëanáro to straddle his hips, Nolofinwë realized that he had always known -
throughout all those years - how to satisfy his older brother: he had known in
advance the exact moment when he would ejaculate, the caress or movement that
would take him to the point of no return, the exact reason for his anger...
every emotion that Fëanáro denied to the world. A sense of rejoicing unknown
until then danced behind his navel; but he forced himself to concentrate on the
kisses and hands that explored his skin. At least for the moment he could delay
a while to communicate his discovery to his lover.
End Notes
     1- I tried to write something dark and anguishing, with more pain for
     my beautiful Nolvo and less love for my favorite Dom Fëanáro; but i
     lost my way in some place. Sorry!
     2- The story about the horse been tame actually is a tale that I
     heard about how the elephants are domesticated in India, but it seem
     a little rare for me to put elephants in Aman (They seem so "Lord of
     the Rings" those oliphants...!)
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