"Are you going away again?" Fingolfin's mouth was set in an endearing pout as he frowned down at Fëanor, who was sitting on one of Indis' fancy sofas to put on his boots. Not yet at his full height, Fingolfin was just beginning to mature, filling out beautifully, all the child's warm curves and baby fat melting away into a leaner, stronger body. Alongside his mother, Fingolfin could often be seen running through the streets of Tirion, looking as though he thoroughly enjoyed it.
Fëanor sneered a little. "What's it to you, brat?" he said, continuing to draw on his boots.
"Can you not take me with you?" Fingolfin put his head to one side, glancing up at Fëanor out of down-dropped lashes. The boy did learn seduction early, Fëanor thought, shaking his head. But Fingolfin was not to be quelled. "Or give me something to remember you by?" His lashes fluttered again. "I might forget you, you know."
"Is your memory so poor that you would forget one you claimed to love?" Fëanor said, but he was already surrendering to his (half) brother's charms, already drawing him down onto the sofa next to him, boots still unfastened. Fingolfin went willingly, allowing himself to fall into Fëanor's arms with such perfect trust that for a moment Fëanor was almost tempted to drop him, just as a warning that no one should be trusted so deeply.
But then Fingolfin was staring up at him, biting his lower lip, eyes rising to meet his, and he forgot himself entirely. Bending down, he caressed Fingolfin's lips with his own, briefly, just beyond what could have been a brotherly kiss. Fingolfin's mouth was slightly open, and he could not resist brushing his tongue along Fingolfin's bruised lower lip.
Fingolfin moaned, low and unabashed, a wave of scarlet sweeping over his face. The look was so attractive on him - and he was so guileless and innocent in his passion - that Fëanor could not resist kissing him again. This time, the kiss was deeper, more rewarding for the fact that Fingolfin eagerly responded, pressing close, throwing his arms around Fëanor's neck, and letting his mouth fall open for Fëanor to plunder.
After a moment of this, Fingolfin was breathless, and Fëanor not far behind. How was it that this little impertinent creature could have such a profound effect on him? Limpid eyes, seductive glances - the pleas of a brother but the longing of a lover?
He broke off their kiss and glanced up, to be sure they were alone, then snuck a hand up Fingolfin's loose shirt to tease at one of his nipples. Fingolfin fell back at the touch, and his hand went to his crotch, rubbing himself over his pants. At least he knew how to do that, Fëanor noted with no little pleasure.
"Do you want me to kiss you again?" he whispered, not quite able to keep his own breathlessness out of his voice, and Fingolfin nodded eagerly, lifting his face up to be kissed. Fëanor took the opportunity to tug at Fingolfin's pants until his hard cock - surprisingly large for his age - popped out. Fingolfin breathed a sigh of grateful relief and continued to fondle himself, rubbing up and down his shaft, gathering moisture from the leaking head with his thumb for lubrication.
Fëanor was almost caught staring down at Fingolfin's cock, his own body stirring. It would be going too far to fuck him, though Fëanor was conscious of the fact that he desperately wanted to. Also, he did have an appointment to keep at Aulë's halls that day. Some other time, he told his cock firmly, and bent to kiss Fingolfin again.
This kiss was warm and lingering. Fëanor let his hands run all over Fingolfin's chest and head, playing with his ears, petting his hair, tweaking his nipples. Fingolfin moaned into his mouth, small bitten-off noises that drove Fëanor's arousal ever higher. And all the while Fingolfin continued to touch himself, eyes closed, shameless and desperately needy. Fëanor's erection throbbed in his trousers, and he knew riding a horse later on was going to be a trial.
But he wanted to see Fingolfin come, wanted to watch his face be transported into ecstasy knowing that it was his kisses, his touch, that had caused it. This first, best pleasure for Fingolfin would always be entangled with memories of him. Something to remember him by? Fingolfin would never forget this.
He drew back from Fingolfin, who whined softly at the loss of his mouth, and dropped kisses along his throat, then moved to his ear, licking along the curve of it in a way that made Fingolfin thrash against him, speeding up the motions of his hand.
"Someday," he breathed very softly into Fingolfin's ear, "I'll take you to my bed. I'll strip you of all your clothes, leaving you adorned only in the jewellery I will make for you - fine silver bracelets and earrings, necklaces of opals and sapphires - and I'll kiss you all over, every single part of you." His hand swept down Fingolfin's chest and belly, coming to a stop just at the base of his cock, not quite touching it. "I'll take you in my mouth, get you good and slick for me, then I'll kneel over you, lower myself down onto you, and ride you, let you fuck me."
Fingolfin's eyes flew open, meeting Fëanor's in disbelief and shocked arousal. "Imagine that," Feanor continued. "Imagine you're fucking me now."
Fingolfin's breathless gasp was loud in the quiet room, and Fëanor could pinpoint the moment when pleasure hit him hard, Fingolfin's body straining upward for a long, impossible second, then collapsing back as he shot jet after jet of seed onto his own chest and Fëanor's hand. Fëanor ached to follow him into bliss then and there.
For a long moment nothing could be heard but the sound of Fingolfin's ragged breathing. He was limp on the sofa, looking utterly worn-out, hands fallen to either side of himself. Fëanor, beside him, looked calm and composed, licking the long fingers of his hand off, if one hadn't happened to observe the erection in his trousers. He kissed Fingolfin's brow, then moved away slightly to do up his boots.
"You really should get cleaned up, little brother," he said, as casually as he could, before standing up and walking out of the room. Fingolfin's eyes followed him as he left, noting that his steps were a little shakier than usual, and his trousers most certainly more tented than was normal.
Fingolfin, still unable to move, slowly, blissfully, smiled.
In response to a prompt for Merry Is Maytime: Fëanor kisses and teases a young Fingolfin until he can't help touching himself and coming right in front of Fëanor.
Chapter end notes:
This fic was also somewhat inspired by Memories of Fire by linndechir.