You are the avalanche
One world away
My make believing
While I'm wide awake
The wounds and bruises are superficial. I've spend so much time in Middle-Earth, the pain is something I've accustomed to. I still hiss, when his hands come in touch with my broken rips. Arching my back, I try to get away, but strong arms hold me back until my head rests against Ada's shoulder. He is the same height as me, so it's not overly comfortable. But in my memory Ada has always been taller.
Father knows that it's the gesture that counts. He wants me to lean back and put all my weight on him. I'm trembling violently. I'm half expecting for father to turn into a ghost, not being able to support me anymore. In my dreams it has happened so often.
“I'm here,” father whispers, dispersing the past. “Let my back in, Macalaurë.”
In this moment the wind turns and I grasp behind me, I catch enough of his hair to bury my fingers in it. Ancient images of my childhood days return, when I was innocent enough to munch on Ada's hair, because mother's looked spicy.
“You make me crazy,” father hashed out, pulling his mouth away from my neck. “I've spend centuries worrying about you, not knowing whether you hath lived or died.”
With a low sound, I push back against him. Ada's foot kicked my legs further apart and I started to dig deeper into his hair, when his hands spread over my hips.
“It's been so long,” Ada panted and his pelvis rocked against my ass. “I couldn't sense you, while you hid on Ulmo's shorelines. Every image was worn and foggy.”
I turned to look at Ada, I needed some kind of visual connection other than the ocean in front of me. Finding lips right next to mine, I initiated a kiss. Sloppy and chaste, but it send little burst of pleasure through my body. I felt life returning to me, freeing me from the indecisive state I had lingered in after I threw the Silmaril into the sea.
It was impossible to say for me how much time had passed since then, only Ada's touch could pull me back from the timeless never changing place of my grief.
“Please now,” I begged. “Please.”
It was no longer satisfying, pressed naked chest to back. I yearned for more. More warmth, more fire, less of my past pulling me into apathy and depression.
A finger started circling my rectum. Not as teasing as I feared, but confident. Fingers started stretching me, tender and carefully while Ada place his other hand over me heart. The fingers worked itself inside, but when they curled the pleasure caught me by surprise.
“Yes,” I whined with adding enough letters to lose the end of the word to the wind.
“Easy”, Ada said, when I sobbed under the clever workings of his fingers. The touch is still to soft and I twist my hips in search for more.
It took him finally entering me to shed the desperation I had allowed far too long to feed from my soul. The thickness steals every thought and the sensation of kisses sent hotness through my body. The lips also distract my from my pain until Ada's idleness threatened the stability of my knees.
A quiet moan falls from our lips, when Ada starts to move. It counts as something that he doesn't have to ask anymore, if I'm ready. I had male lovers before and unlike men I have learned to utilize and regulate my healing, when I need it. Ages in Middle-Earth taught me enough self-control to prioritize some wounds over others.
Not that I would need it now. Ada's hips drive hard against me and I feel unbelievably sensitive inside. Friction builds up between us and when Ada pulls me nearly impossibly close, I shut my eyes.
I feel him floating at the edges of my consciousness.
“Say my name”, Ada demands, panting while pushing deeper and losing any rhythm.
“Father,” I answer. “Father.”
I'm falling apart.
It last so long, because I relish in the contact between us and try to delay the end. It takes Ada's hand joining mine, him stroking my cock to trip over the edge into my release.
“Say it,” he says again. He is whimpering, begging and burying his face in my neck. “Say it, Macalaurë. Tell me, who I am.”
It's the desperation, the severity that I can't refuse.
“Fëanor,” I cry.
I wish I could cling to him, watch his face while I come. But a sensation tells me that I will have to time to do this again. With him.
I say his name again and this time it's a summon, making him undeniable veritable.
Written for the Silmarillion Kinkmeme on DW.
Chapter end notes:
I would have never though I would write father/son incest one day, but as it seems ... it happened. Perhaps because I believe elves seperate sex into "reproducing children", "familiarity/intimacy" and "social behavior". A fic about Celeborn in Middle-Earth after Galadriel sailed, shaped my view on this topic considerably.
Still managed to make the porn angsty.
Still managed to make the porn angsty.