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The Wall of Shadow by Urloth Teen
The Silmaril had never been so stupid as to expect recovering Maglor would be easy. 

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The Feast of the Morning. by Urloth

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Warnings: Half cousin incest. Admissions of brother incest, and wife swapping. PWP.

Matimo arrived at his cousin and lover’s house just after the midday bell, when the golden light of Laurelin was at its strongest. Findekáno welcomed him with a knowing grin, kissing his mouth and lingering there for a moment, teeth scraping pleasurably over his lower lip.

Findekáno’s hand clasped his as he lead him through the rooms Matimo knew well, all the way to the peristyle where a light meal had been set up in shade so they could enjoy the view over the private courtyard garden.

They sat and Findekáno poured the wine; sweet rich red stuff usually reserved for after a heavy feast.

“What have you been eating today that has you indulging like this,” Matimo enjoyed it, eating a little of the bread and the crisp salads though he shunned the meat. Tyelkormo’s hunting had been plentiful lately and the larders of all his brothers were well supplied.

Matimo had, had quite enough of meat thanks to the excess.

Findekáno smiled knowingly over the edge of his silver cup, having devoured his own meal with relish. “I’ve hardly eaten all day,” he answered, “save some fruit this morning before I left to visit your brother.”

Excitement lit like an ember hidden amongst the ashes and quickly grew into a warmth.

“But which brother?” Matimo asked, voice coming out breathless as he set his own chalice down on the table, fingers playing along the crystal stem of it.

He could guess quite accurately, but it was more fun to titillate himself before coming to the obvious conclusion.

It couldn’t be Ambarussa or Ambarto with their skilled hands and bendable bodies, Findekáno would have used a plural for the twin’s reliance on one another meant they were never parted.

Nor could it be Curufinwë for Findekáno would have mentioned ‘and his wife’ immediately, for much like the twins, the pair were more one person than two individuals; hands entwined the entire time even as Matimo had taken his beautiful sister-in-law, and Findekáno had taken Curufinwë.

Carnistir then, Matimo teased himself, shying away from the actual answer, thinking of Carnistir’s cursing and brightly flushed cheeks. The sour turn of his lips until Matimo had given him a use for his mouth at which point his brother had melted, needy and greedy for what Matimo’s seed.

Tyelkormo? He licked his lips, watching Findekáno watch him, knowing his cousin was guessing his thoughts accurately. He felt the brush of osanwë and shared with him the titillating memory of their coming upon Tyelkormo in Oromë’s woods that one time. How his silver haired brother had gone from the hunter to the hunted,  racing ahead of them as sleek and swift as any buck.


Or was it Makalaurë?

He licked his lips again and watched Findekáno drink some more wine, pleased as he could be with himself.


Of course it was Makalaurë.


Findekáno nodded.

Matimo swallowed roughly, mouth gone dry from the memories of that golden voice lifted in pleasure; the lean and well-muscled body he and Fingon had trapped between them on their bed and worshipped with their mouths.

Makalaurë whom they had talked about frequently since that first time they had invited him to share their bed and bodies, reaching accidentally for him in the height of their lovemaking to both their surprise and dissatisfaction. Makalaurë who had begun to frequent in their dreams; whom both had decided needed to return to their bed or they would both go quite mad with need.

“Did he say yes?” Matimo asked, voice gone quite needy.

Findekáno smiled wider and stood, walking away into the garden.

Matimo followed, legs weak at the thought that Makalaurë had said yes, for Findekáno would not be smiling if he had said no.

Findekáno led him through a meandering path, inspecting the different pots of flowers and herbs and pausing to watch the fish. Indeed he led Matimo in near circles for fifteen minutes, lust as hot in his veins as the light around them, before Findekáno walked to the peristyle opposite to where they had lunched, and stepped into his office.

The coolness was a shock on Matimo’s overheated skin and he stood for a moment, the light at his back, blinking to adjust.

“Yes that’s just how he looked,” Findekáno murmured quite close to him, “startled at first at my entrance”.

“It was just past the morning bell, and there was still a hint of silver to the light. Your brother though, had clearly been up for some time. He was clean and dressed, adjusting the strings of that large harp of his when I entered.

“Oh,” Matimo could imagine it, the cool ice blue of Maglor’s harp room, formerly his office before his brother’s harps had migrated there permanently.

“He must have just bathed,” Findekáno’s fingers slid over the nape of Matimo’s neck, “for some of his hair was stuck the nape of his neck from the moisture.”

Matimo shivered and cast his eyes down, Findekáno’s fingers felt like they’d been made of glowing embers; near to burning him.

“Yes that’s how he looked to when he caught sight of me, so shy,” Findekáno laughed and stepped away, taking a formal position of a visitor in a house he was unfamiliar with.

“Hard to believe he was the same man really,” Findekáno bowed to him, “Cousin, do you have a moment this morning.”

Matimo thought of his brother and his mannerisms. “Cousin,” he replied, glancing up through his lashes, “of course I have time for you. How may I help this morning?”

Findekáno made an appreciative noise, letting Matimo his imitation was perfect.

“I would speak to you of the night we shared,” Findekáno’s passionate voice rolled through him, vibrant with its sincerity and appreciation of that night.

It had been such a night.

His cheeks coloured, he turned his head away, “I have spoken to no one of it,” he said, glancing at Findekáno from the side of his eye. Findekáno nodded. Yes that was similar to what Makalaurë had said then.

“A pity,” Findekáno teased him, raising his blood pressure and it was hard to stay standing still, demurely turned away when he wanted to kiss that smiling mouth, “for I enjoyed that night very much cousin, you were both beautiful; your brother and you.”

Matimo bit down his smile and instead glanced at Findekáno with his cheeks reddening easily. He simply needed to think of some of their more salubrious moments.

“Well cousin…” he said awkwardly, trailing off, and wondering what Makalaurë would say in response to that.

Modest Makalaurë would likely turn the praise on to the other party, “let it be said that I, ah, understand why Maitimo favours you so.”

Findekáno broke character for a moment to chuckle and murmur “perfect.”

Then he stepped forward and brushed his hand across Matimo’s face, picking away the strands of hair that had come loose from their braiding and straggled across Matimo’s cheeks. He turned the light, familiar touch into a caress, dragging the pads of his fingers across hot cheeks.

The touch sent a bolt to Matimo’s groin, made him all the harder and his stomach tighten. He clenched his hands to not grab Findekáno and wrestle him down.

“Well thank you.”

Matimo kept his gaze turned away, not just to imitate Makalaurë but to keep himself from being overly tempted, “Ah, er, yes, you're quite, er welcome Finno.”

The fingers slid to his chin, cup it and turn his gaze towards Findekáno. It was like lightening when their eyes met. He might rip his breeches at this point, Matimo thought faintly. Findekáno, given the respective height differences in brothers, must have lifted Makalaurë’s chin up as well.

How delightful.

“Cousin,” Findekáno’s voice deepened to a luscious purr, one that had made Matimo do indecent things to him just down the hallway from public gatherings a great many times, “Matimo and I were wondering if you would join us tonight”

“Oh?” Matimo managed weakly, about ready to take Findekáno against the nearest wall.

“We’d both very much enjoy it cousin,” Findekáno coaxed and he leant forward to press their mouths together. It was such a chaste kiss, a mere silky brush of lips but Findekáno ended it with a nip to Matimo’s lower lip, the same spot as before.

That was the upper limit and Matimo pressed against him in a far more forward kiss, tongue exploring and claiming familiar territory before him.

“Yes,” Findekáno murmured against his mouth, “that’s what he did.”

“No,” Matimo whispered in delight, “really?”

“He’s not nearly as shy and retiring as we both well know. If he wants something, he is quite happy to show it. I thought I’d have to coax him, but no” Findekáno grinned against his lips and then slid an arm around his waist, pulling him hip to hip.

A hand slid from the small of his back to the nape of his neck and fisted in the hair there. Findekáno kissed him with all his passion, deep and hot, before he pulled away, and nipped that damn spot again, this time sucking on the sore skin. Each draw of his flesh echoed Matimo’s pulse; the hammering of his heart, and the throbbing in his loins.

“Well?” Findekáno asked, leaving Matimo to flounder before he realised they were back to playing pretend. But what would Makalaurë do after being kissed like that?

“Yes,” he whispered, “oh gods yes.”

Findekáno’s smile was like dew from Laurelin, and Maitmo knew he was correct again in how he had replied. But how could he not guess Makalaurë’s reaction to temptation incarnate?

“Mmnn that is good Makalaurë,” a leg stepped between his, and he was walked backward until he was tumbled onto the chaise in Findekáno’s office.

There was a chaise in every office in Valinor likely. It was a piece of furniture all offices had, ostensibly so that the lady of the house could sit and do her needlework as she talked to her husband about the day.

Not so that your cousin could fuck you on it.

 “We’ve been dreaming of your return,” Findekáno continued while Matimo blinked at the sudden change of angle, then arched at the hands sliding up his tunic to pluck at his nipples. He arched again, feeling Findekáno ruck the material up in annoyance.

“Dreaming?” he asked, sighing as a hot tongue found a nipple and then teeth followed.

“Fantasising some might call it,” Findekáno laughed against his skin, grin wide, and he kissed Matimo’s chin, having to strain his neck to do so. Then he worked down Matimo’s throat to nip over his pulse.

Matimo moaned, hot sting winding the knot of need and pleasure in his gut all the tighter. He whined high in his throat as Findekáno sucked against the vital artery, gripping the back of his cousin’s tunic and shivering as fingers traced the waistline of his leggings to the lacings.

“Matimo has been quite creative,” Findekáno nipped over his pulse a final time, licking the hurt and blowing on the flesh before kissing it back to warmth all over again. How would Makalaurë have reacted to those words?

“Creative? H-how so?” Matimo’s spine bowed, trying to get some friction on his cock, but instead getting the teasing pressure of Findekáno’s fingers opening the laces, and letting him spring free without any contact at all.

 His collarbones were nipped and suckled till the bruises compete with the freckles, “oh with all the things he wants to do with you when you are back in our bed.” Findekáno suddenly disappeared from his chest and slid down, yanking off his leggings in a skilled manoeuvre he had perfected over the years.

“O-oh?” Matimo’s hands trembled as he tugged out Findekáno’s braids, running his fingers through the coal and gold.

“Oh yes,” his thighs were kissed.

“He wants to watch you take me,” the kisses migrated upwards, “and he wants …you to watch me take him.”

Nips marked his hipbones nicely, “and he wants me to watch him take you,” lips explored his public arch without coming anywhere close to his straining cock.

Matimo tried not to curse loudly or yank at Findekáno’s hair and try and guide his head.

“And at some point he wants you between us,” Findekáno’s mouth suddenly hovered  over him, almost there, and it was agony, “possibly… taking the both of us.”

 Yes Matimo had imagined all of these things about his little brother. Lips glanced over his erection, and he moaned at both the sweetness and the deliberate withholding of what he actually needed.

How had his sweet brother reacted? Had he been disgusted? Pleased? Bewildered?

“B-both,” Matimo slurred, his need rising. Oh to do that. To press Makalaurë between them, his body opened to them both. To thrust against Findekáno’s cock whilst the both of them were held in that hot, clenching grip…

And Makalaurë’s moans would be so beautiful…

“We would have to stretch you, we would have to be so careful” Findekáno whispered then dragged his tongue across the head “but would you like that Makalaure?”

Matimo gasped a breath, mind gone blank. He managed to nod, and felt Findekáno encourage his leg up over the side of the chaise it was pressing against, which opened him up, of course, to that tricky mouth.

Findekáno’s head slowly disappeared from his view given their angles but that did not matter, Matimo felt his lover’s mouth just fine. Hot, wet suction slowly engulfing him, wet tongue stroking and the clasp of Findekáno’s mouth and throat.

“Ooh, oh Finnooo,” Matimo couldn’t stop himself from sounding pathetically reedy, hands gripping Findekáno’s head and trying to force him down as far as he can go. And bless him he went, all the way down with his throat barely shuddering until Matimo felt the press of a nose against the hair at the base of his cock.

Then very slowly, and deliberately, Matimo felt Findekáno swallow around him.

His world went white with pleasure.

His hips twitched and writhed, moving around. Findekáno braced on either side of him, letting him fuck his mouth for a few blissful moments. It was too good, the pleasure without torment, and so of course it ended with Findekáno suddenly holding his hips down, immobilising him easily.

Slowly his lover rose off him, sucking so hard Matimo’s eyes rolled back and he could taste his orgasm rushing towards him. The head of his cock left his cousin’s mouth with an obscene pop and the rush of orgasm retreated, leaving him to shake and groan.

“Beautiful,” Findekáno said.

Did he mean Makalaurë or Matimo?

Matimo shivered, aching and needing, wanting his cousin to return to what he had been doing, to take him, to do anything.

“Sing for me cousin,” a kiss was placed against the crown of his cock, eru have mercy, and he was swallowed again, ERU HAVE MERCY.

Matimo did not hold back his moans, sobbing or pleading at all after that. Had Makalaurë sung?

“Did he sing for you?” he rasped.

“Yes,” Findekáno murmured, pulling back again in that horribly beautiful way, letting the head of Matimo’s cock rest against his lips to be tormented by vibrations. “He actually sung, a tune he kept half forgetting or stopping to moan or beg me. How he begged me.”

Findekáno moaned just from the memory.

“He was golden voiced indeed,” a finger pressed against Matimo’s lips.

“Suck,” his cousin ordered with all the authority of a prince of Finwë.

Feeling faint, Matimo sucked, and while he sucked Findekáno fucked his mouth with that finger, teasing and stroking his tongue and cheeks until it was slick.

Findekáno abruptly pulled the finger away, breathing heavily with his eyes shining bright quick silver and sky blue. He disappeared down between Matimo’s legs, his breath teasing him for a split second before Matimo was engulfed again and a finger thrust into him.

Matimo cried out, loud enough to startle the birds outside into taking flight. He cried out and then he yelled, gibberish falling from him incoherently as Findekáno found the spot inside him with ease and milked it.

Findekáno pulled back.

“Come for me Kanafinwë,” he ordered again in that tone of authority.

He swallowed.

Poor Makalaurë. Did he even stand a chance?

Matimo came and nearly blacked out from the force of it, spending himself down Findekáno’s throat and feeling his cousin drink it down, pulling back for the last spasms so he could taste it.

Then suddenly Findekáno was rolling up from the chaise and marching to his desk. A drawer slammed and he returned. Salve was slathered against Matimo’s thighs, his knees caught and pressed together up to his chest.

Between his thighs slid Findekáno’s hot erection, rutting there without hesitation. It was as though Findekáno was a youth again, too excitable to wait to prepare Matimo but still wanting to take his body; to show his dominance.

Oh but it was more than that, and Makalaurë’s thighs were so pale. Matimo’s memory supplied the image of them and then his imagination told him what it would have looked like, Findekáno fucking his limp, sated brother like his brother was a youth too tight to take a cock properly yet.

“Gods,” he hissed, and was kissed hard by his cousin. Heat coiled lazily in his gut but he was too close to his first orgasm to harden. Instead he enjoyed it.

“So beautiful Kanafinwë Makalaurë, “ Findekáno murmured, determined to play this out to the end,  “just as addicting as your brother.”

Matimo felt warm affection mix with the pleasure, stroking the strands of black and gold falling around his face as Findekáno finally arched and came, painting Matimo’s pale thighs with white seed.

Findekáno soothed their kiss to something more leisurely and explorative, pulling back to look down at the mess he’d made of them both.

“More beautiful than any silmaril,” Findekáno smiled his charming grin and dragged a thumb over Matimo’s thigh, pressing that thumb to his lips until Matimo sucked away Findekáno’s spend from it.

Matimo imagined Makalaurë all spread out like this over the chaise, sweat causing his raven hair to cling to his rose blushed cheeks and limbs.

“I bet there was no oil,” he murmured.

“No, I laved his thighs with kisses and licks, and then used my own spit to slick myself,” Findekáno admitted freely, cleaning them with his handkerchief and manoeuvring them about so they could lie side by side.

"You are...beyond words.." Matimo panted, licking the thumb with an obscene slide of his tongue that lingered. Findekáno closed his eyes, smiling in remembrance. 

"Yes he said that too," his lover opened his eyes again, eyes dark with his remembered delight, "as he lay there, still trembling from his orgasm"

They lay there a long while, gently kissing and caressing their cooling bodies tenderly. Findekáno’s hand found his nude hip and stroked it tenderly.

“Did you kiss him like this?” Matimo murmured against Findekáno’s lips after another soft, slow kiss that was light in touch, but not lacking in emotion.

“Yes, we lay like this for over an hour, just enjoying the company.”

“Findekáno,” Matimo censured with despair in his heart, “I did not suggest you go break my brother’s heart.”

For who could resist falling in love when Findekáno did this? Lay with them and held them like this? Making them feel so secure, cherished, and loved in return.

Makalaurë was dear to Matimo in ways that the others were not though they would not find Matimo’s love for them lacking. He simply could not bear the thought of Makalaurë’s heart broken. Not Kanafinwë who held a piece of Matimo’s heart like Findekáno did.

Like Findekáno did…

He looked up and saw tendresse in Findekáno’s eyes that matched the look Matimo often received.

Oh, he thought and the revelation sat well upon his shoulders.

Oh indeed.

He smiled and Findekáno kissed him, eloquent in more than just the ways of words.

Matimo hummed in delight.

“Over an hour…” he mused. Findekáno had spent over an hour lying like this with Makalaurë pressed against him, pleasure marked and smiling. He felt a surge of jealousy at the both of them.

“And then I had to get up, and I left him there with his hair falling about him like a maid and his tunic so modestly pulled down.”

“What colour was it?” Matimo asked, his own, now stained, tunic a vibrant green.

“Royal blue,” Findekáno stretched out and finally sat up. “We can expect him tonight, at the evening bell just before the mingling.”

“Ah,” Matimo stretched as well and sat up.

“You lied to me earlier,” he reached for his leggings.

“How so?” his lover asked, raising an eyebrow with the question.

“You said you had not eaten all day save some fruit in the morning,” Matimo thought of the wine they’d left behind, rich and heady, “when in fact you’d been feasting.”