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Shimmer and Sing by amyfortuna

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Story notes:
B2MeM 2015 Challenge: General Prompts: glitter PWP.

This is what happens when I think waaaaay too hard about what glitter would be in Middle-earth and who would invent it (Fëanor, obviously).

Nolofinwë = Fingolfin
Fëanáro = Fëanor

This was my very first Fëanor/Fingolfin fic!
Nolofinwë stood with his back to the wall, looking around at the party going on all around him. There was nothing to be gained from being here, tonight. It was just a celebration, like a thousand others. He should go home, get some rest, prepare for the next Mingling, when he would have to take a seat next to his father in the council once more, in Fëanáro’s absence. The guilt of it ate at him, and only the fact that Fëanáro himself never bothered to turn up, contenting himself with a home on the outskirts of Tirion with all those sons and - one could only imagine - a very patient wife, assuaged the worries he felt.

Fëanáro cared more for creation than for politics, everyone knew this. His Tengwar was universally used in schools now, his forging techniques the very latest way to do things, his crafts considered works of supreme artistry. He would never bother to show up at a council meeting.

A party, however, was clearly a different matter. For there Fëanáro was, smoothly moving across the floor, parting the crowd effortlessly with a glance from those burning eyes. Fëanáro looked up and over their heads, directly at Nolofinwë.

He was coming over here? What could Fëanáro want with him? His heart pounded too hard and hands suddenly went sweaty and cold. Fëanáro was smiling, too, and that was almost worse than if he had been frowning. What could he want?

Dark desires that always drifted beneath the surface of Nolofinwë's thoughts made themselves known now, at Fëanáro's keen and biting smile. For as long as he could remember, he had desired that smile, those lips, that mouth, that body. It was wrong in so many ways, but it was there nonetheless, singing under his skin always, shimmering in every fantasy and dream he had ever had.

“Hail, brother,” Fëanáro said, coming to a graceful stop a few feet in front of him. There was a definite sarcastic tinge to that ‘brother’ but that was completely normal, for Fëanáro.

“Fëanáro,” Nolofinwë acknowledged, bending his head. Some small part of him ached to drop to his knees in front of all these people, and swear loyalty and love only to Fëanáro, until the world should end. He resisted it, and met Fëanáro's eyes.

“You’re not enjoying this lovely celebration,” Fëanáro said, a glimmer of mischief - oh no, not a good sign! - in his eyes. “You really should. I have something that might help.”

He took out a small pouch, and picked up some glowing stuff from inside it. It looked like tiny grains of dust, but glittering silver and gold in the pale light. “This is some of the pollen of the Trees,” Fëanáro went on to explain. “I have been working with it - never fear, it is greatly diluted - and now produced this.”

“What do you call it?” Nolofinwë couldn’t help being curious, and leaned forward to look more closely.

“I will call it ‘shimmer’, I think,” Fëanáro said, and raised the hand with the 'shimmer' in it, palm flat, long fingers extended toward Nolofinwë. Then, graceful and sensual, he blew the pollen at Nolofinwë.

Nolofinwë staggered back as the substance hit him, covering his robes. Some of it landed in his hair and on his face, clinging to him wherever it touched. A little of the glittering substance found its way into his mouth and was swallowed before he could think.

“ Fëanáro!” he exclaimed. Heat rushed over him where the shimmer touched him, spreading outward. He gasped aloud, feeling a wave of sensation sweep over him. “ Fëanáro, I...” then everything started to go black around him, and Fëanáro’s face, uncharacteristically for him, looked concerned. The last thing he felt was his half-brother steadying him against his own body, arms around him.

——

He came back to himself in a darkened room, lying on top of a large bed, still in his clothing. Some of the glowing substance still clung to his clothes and hair, although there had been a clear effort to remove as much as possible.

Fëanáro sat next to the bed in a large chair, head bowed. When Nolofinwë turned to look at him, though, he looked up.

“Ah, you’re awake,” he said. “I must have made some mistake with the dilution - I thought it was much weaker. I have been trying to figure it out, but I can’t account for it.” He paused, looking at the bits of shimmer that still clung to Nolofinwe’s clothes, then seemed to remember that there was someone in those clothes. “Ah, Nolofinwë, are you well? Can you -?”

Nolofinwë felt very well indeed. A sweet languor filled his limbs, and an arousal unlike he had ever known swept through him. He smiled adoringly at Feanaro, not wanting to speak.

Fëanáro stood up, moving to the side of the bed, within a hand’s easy reach for Nolofinwë. “Brother, are you well?” he said again, and the sarcastic tone was entirely missing. Indeed, it seemed as if Fëanáro was affected almost in the same way he was, a warmth passing through him too. Nolofinwë was just at the right height to turn his head and see his brother’s cock swell against his clothes, to distend the tight leggings he affected.

“ Fëanáro,” he breathed at last, soft but no less urgent for it, a whispered command. His brother’s hand was just within reach, and he grabbed it, pulling Fëanáro down onto him.

The breath went out of them both and for a moment Fëanáro could only stare, eyes wide, until he recovered.

“What are you doing?” he said at last, still slightly breathless.

“What I should have done a very long time ago,” Nolofinwë answered, moving his hips, bringing their clothed erections against each other. Some small part of his mind protested that this was madness and folly, that Fëanáro’s next deed would be to roll away from him and laugh him to scorn. Another small part of his mind whispered that he should at least have checked that the door was locked. He ignored both, and focused on the part of his brain that was overwhelmed with long-secret desire suddenly revealed.

Fëanáro, contrary to expectations, did not move away from him. His hands came up to Nolofinwë’s face, cupping it almost gently, as though Nolofinwe was almost something precious in his eyes, for the very first time.

“No one can ever know of this,” he said.

“Do you think me that much of a fool?” Nolofinwë answered. Fëanáro raised an eyebrow, looked as though he was about to say ‘yes’, but then clearly thought better of it, and brought his head down, his mouth meeting Nolofinwë’s.

The taste of Fëanáro’s mouth was like no other, and was the subject of many of Nolofinwë’s earliest fantasies: that mouth, pursed in disapproval, slightly open in sleep, wide with smiles, full of passion in oratory. Kissing him was like kissing lightning, and Nolofinwë burned happily in the bright shock of it.

When at last Fëanáro drew back a little, there was a wet trail of spittle between their mouths, and it slightly glowed. Fëanáro’s attention was caught by it.

“Did you….?” he paused, looking hard at Nolofinwë’s mouth, taking a finger, and pressing his mouth open to look inside, “did you swallow some of the shimmer?” Nolofinwë let his mouth fall open, let himself be searched by that probing finger. In a strange way, even that sparked desire within him. After a moment, Fëanáro drew back, removing the finger, which itself now very faintly glowed.

“I might have,” Nolofinwë said. “You did blow it into my face, after all.”

“That explains why you passed out,” Fëanáro said, pondering. “You’re not meant to swallow it, Nolofinwë.”

“You might have explained that to me before you blew it in my face, Fëanáro,” Nolofinwë said, annoyed, trying to regain some sense of control. “You should probably explain to me, right now, what this substance is meant to do, and what the consequences of this are likely to be.”

“It has both visual and sensual properties,” Fëanáro said, sliding a hand into Nolofinwë’s hair, playing with it idly. “The one who wears it will look prettier, ’tis true, but it will also lower their inhibitions. So for instance, if you put some on your stick-in-the-mud brother at a party, he should look more beautiful and have a nicer time, because he’ll be less uptight.” He looked at Nolofinwë with a quirk of his lips that said, see, my intentions were good all along, even if the execution was faulty.

“And the incest?” Nolofinwë could not help pointing out. “Was that one of your ‘properties’?”

Fëanáro laughed. “The shimmer lowers inhibitions, yes, but it does not make you do anything you do not already desire to do.”

Nolofinwë took a breath. “Well, that answers for both of us, then. I assume you are as affected by it as I am.”

“Perhaps slightly less so,” Fëanáro said, “but then, I have somewhat fewer inhibitions to lose. I would have kissed you long ago if I thought for a moment you would have welcomed it.”

A spark of fire scorched through Nolofinwë at those words, and he recalled a dozen different incidents from years previous in a whole new light. He gasped, pressing against Fëanáro, who bent once more to kiss him. This kiss was long and slow, and before it was done, they were moving against each other restlessly, Fëanáro’s hips thrusting against Nolofinwë’s, seeking purchase and sensation through their clothing.

“Not enough,” Fëanáro gasped out when their mouths broke apart, leaning their foreheads together. “I need to invent some way to remove clothing that does not involve us moving even an inch from our due places; my body on top of yours, where we always should have been.”

“Yes,” Nolofinwë breathed, and the breath was like a sob of longing. “Ah, Fëanáro, I want -,” the thought stabbed through him, what he wanted more than anything in all Ea, “- please, I want you to take me, to be inside me - but more than that. Work me like one of your crafts, form me like a new-cut gem, shape me into whatever you wish.”

Fëanáro drew back a little, looking at Nolofinwë with new eyes. “My brother, the poet?” he said. “What pretty words you weave.”

Nolofinwë raised his head, capturing Fëanáro’s mouth in a searing kiss. “It is more than words,” he said after a moment. “It is my deepest desire, from as far back as I can remember, to please you and be whatever you would have me be. I would submit to you completely, I would do whatever you ask of me.” Even as he said the words, he shivered inwardly, a dark fear overcoming him. To play with Fëanáro was to play with fire itself. Short or swift, inevitably he would be burned.

But Fëanáro laughed delightedly. “So it is true,” he said in a tone of wonder. “My icicle of a brother keeps a hidden flame burning for me, and what I can I do but respond?” He moved his hips again, drawing a gasp from them both. “Oh, this will never do,” he said, frustrated.

Getting their clothes off was sheer torture in the state they were in, agonising moments of separation while they tugged at cloth, relieved only by frantic kisses in between. Nolofinwë could hardly move at all, so languorous was he from the effects of the shimmer, and Fëanáro was the one to pull off his clothes, turning and twisting him. Cloth ripped more than once before they were done, but neither cared, throwing the offending pieces of clothing to the ground. Fëanáro had the foresight to reach into the drawer next to the bed and come away with a small bottle. He set it down within easy reach, and pulled Nolofinwë hard against him, rolling back on top of him.

“Thy due place, brother,” he whispered, nuzzling along the skin of Nolofinwë’s shoulder, “underneath me, pressed fully against me, nothing between our bodies. Is it as pleasant as you always dreamed?”

Nolofinwë tipped his head back, silently begging Fëanáro to bite his throat. “Oh, more than, more than, Fëanáro!” he gasped out, and Fëanáro rewarded him with a long bite at the side of his neck, sucking the skin there until a bruise formed, a mark that would show to all who cared to see.

Fëanáro’s body was like fire against him, almost too much to bear. The shimmer on their skin covered him in what looked like tiny stars in the dimness: a whole universe of wonder in one body. Nolofinwë found himself whispering incoherent nonsense against Fëanáro’s skin, mad promises, desperate secrets and lusts.

They glowed together, everywhere they touched or kissed, faint light trailed in the wake of hands and mouths. Fëanáro bent down, licked Nolofinwe's nipples, bit carefully at them, one after the other like a scientist trying experiments. Nolofinwë moaned each time, arching against him, tangling his hands in the long dark fall of Fëanáro's hair, leaving trails of stars in it. They were covered in a faint dusting of shimmer. Nolofinwë tried to wonder why there seemed to be more now on their skin than Fëanáro had ever blown at him, but simply could not be bothered caring, in the face of the staggering beauty above him and around him.

Fëanáro reached for the small bottle of oil, and bent down between Nolofinwë's thighs, taking his erection into his mouth, and sucking it hard for a long moment, so hard it nearly hurt. Even while Nolofinwë, abandoning himself to bliss, lay moaning at Fëanáro's mouth on him, Fëanáro's fingers slipped inside him, slick with oil, sliding over a place within that made him cry out with pleasure.

Fëanáro did not spend much time on preparation; within a moment he dropped Nolofinwe's erection from his mouth, bringing his hand to it instead, even as he pressed inside Nolofinwë. A sensation of fullness and rightness filled Nolofinwë, a need fulfilled that was almost unknown before. He pushed down on Fëanáro's prick, finally able to move properly, squirming underneath him, staring up at him with eyes wide.

Fëanáro moved slowly at first but steadily, head back and neck exposed, eyes shut in bliss, the long dark fall of his hair spilling over his shoulders and down his back, all aglow in the light of the shimmer.

"Brother," Fëanáro whispered, and this was not sarcastic or lustful or any other way that Nolofinwë had even heard him say that word before. It was full of guilty need and desire now fulfilled, delight in defiance, sensuality and sensation overwhelming. Nolofinwë fought the urge to close his eyes and let the sensation of Fëanáro's hand on his prick and Fëanáro inside him just end him entirely, kept his eyes open, looked at his brother's face.

Their eyes met and then their minds came together, a rush of power unlike any Nolofinwë had ever felt before. This was not the gentle mindtouch he had practiced with his wife or with friends and family. This was twisting, overwhelming collision of minds, red and blue entwined, soaring up between them in an eternal kiss. They were made of light together, wrapped around each other, embracing in their minds as hard and as hot as they embraced in reality.

Fëanáro bent over Nolofinwë now, losing all control, pounding into him like the waves of a stormy sea pound a ship, and Nolofinwë could but gasp, lie back, and take it, lost to sensation, holding their minds together. His arms came around Fëanáro now, hands sliding through his hair, and brought his mouth up to Fëanáro for a long, breathless kiss.

At last he could bear no more and tore his mouth away. Fëanáro's hand came back to his prick now, rubbing it hard in time with their rhythm. It was far too good to last long, and Nolofinwë stole one last glance at Fëanáro's glowing face and body before he was utterly overcome. Fëanáro groaned deeply as he too began to finish, and they pulsed together, around each other, overwhelmed and overwhelming, the connection between their minds winking out as they faded into darkness. Dimly, Nolofinwë felt Fëanáro withdraw and tumble down next to him on the bed, and barely had the sense of mind to reach out an arm and gather him in. Then all faded and there was nothing but darkness for a long while once more.

He woke much later to a room still nearly dark. The light had begun to fade from silver into faint gold, though, and he knew the hour at which he would be expected at the council meeting could not be long away.

Fëanáro slept peacefully next to him; lips parted like a child, a look of pure sweetness and innocence on his face. For a moment Nolofinwë was tempted to let him lie there, to let him wake alone after the night they had shared. It would be fairness, since Fëanáro had got them into this situation in the first place.

But it would not accord with what he had said last night - what he had meant with all his heart. So instead he brought his lips to meet Fëanáro's, pressing a soft kiss to his mouth. Fëanáro stirred at the movement and came awake, looking at Nolofinwë unguarded, sincere.

"Brother," he said. And once again this was in a tone that Nolofinwë had never heard come from Fëanáro's lips, when that word was being used. It was not sarcastic, not lustful, not desperate. It was thoughtful and calm, accepting.

"Brother," Nolofinwë responded in the same tone, putting his arms around him. "What would you have me do? For our father desires that one of us should be at his side in council. By right it should be you, and yet it has been me. And after what has passed between us, and the words I have said, I would not take your due place from you, if you wished it."

Fëanáro looked at him in amazement for a moment, and then began to laugh. "Strange rumours had I heard," he said, still laughing, "of a son of Indis by his father's side in the council chambers. But I say this is not so, rather that a brother of Fëanáro sits there, and understands the part he is to play. Mine you are by word and deed, and so mine you will always be."

Nolofinwë's heart lifted, soaring. He leaned in and kissed Fëanáro for a long moment. "I am and always will be yours," he said, the words a promise. "You will lead, and I will follow, and may we not be divided ever again."

Fëanáro drew back a little. "Then, that-which-is-mine, go, for do you not have a meeting to attend?" His eyes sparkled with delight. "And when the Lights mingle once more, come to me, and once more I will make you shimmer, I will make your whole body sing with joy."

Nolofinwë stole a last quick kiss and slipped down from the bed. He felt alive and invigorated, full of energy and passion. Fëanáro watched him calmly, proudly, as one looks upon a craft new-made and is pleased.

"Our due places," he said to himself at last, once Nolofinwë had gone. "My crafts, his words, and together we shall do such deeds that they will be matters of song until the end of Arda itself." He paused, looking out the window at the golden light and the crowded streets below. Nolofinwë could just be seen in the distance, hurrying toward the council chambers. The golden light of Laurelin gleamed from his dark head and the last remnants of shimmer that still clung to him, and to Fëanáro's eyes he outshone all.