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The party was loud and boisterous—dancers whirling, glasses clinking, shouts of good cheer for the newlyweds ringing through the halls. Even from across the room, Celebrimbor noticed the instant Maeglin decided he’d been polite long enough and slipped away. He gave him a few minutes before he followed. He found him sitting on the edge of Caragdûr, gazing bleakly down toward the rocks below. Wordlessly he sat beside him and offered his open arms.
Maeglin leaned against him but remained tense, as if at any moment Celebrimbor might prove to be a phantom and vanish from underneath his weight. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I don’t know why you put up with me. I’m such a fucking mess.”
Celebrimbor reached over and pinched him.
“Oww! What was that for?!”
“You’re doing it again. I know today sucked. It’s fine. You don’t have to be sorry for having feelings.”
“You deserve better than me. That’s just the truth.”
Celebrimbor glared, and Maeglin heaved a long sigh.
“I know what you need,” Celebrimbor said. “A distraction.”
“Did you have something particular in mind?”
Tipping his chin up gently, Celebrimbor leaned forward and kissed him. Maeglin’s eyes widened—he always seemed surprised by Celebrimbor’s affection, no matter how many times he showed it—but then he relaxed into the kiss and deepened it, one hand resting on Celebrimbor’s nape to push him closer. He parted his lips and let Celebrimbor in, their tongues sliding against each other. Maeglin still tasted of the bubbly strawberry wine they’d raised in toast to Idril and Tuor before he fled. He nipped at Celebrimbor’s lip before he broke it off, staring at him with dark eyes and flushed cheeks.
“Tyelpë…do you remember what we talked about? Experimenting with…well, with making me hurt?”
“I do.” The idea had unsettled him at first—what Maeglin wanted was more than a bit of roughhousing, and he couldn’t help picturing his uncle Maedhros’ scars. But they wouldn’t take it to the point of any real damage, and Maeglin had seemed so genuinely aroused by it that he hadn’t the heart to turn him down. If he were honest…the thought of Maeglin looking up at him with trust while Celebrimbor made him whimper and squirm was more than a little arousing to him, too. “Do you want to try it tonight?”
Biting his lip, Maeglin nodded. “I think…I think I need it. I think if you’re sweet and tender with me tonight, I’m going to spend the whole time with my mind on someone else, and that’s not fair to anyone.” He sighed and pressed his lips to Celebrimbor’s fingers, kissing them softly. “I’m sorry I’m like this. I’m sorry you—”
“Maeglin.”
He looked away. “Fine. Then…thank you for being so understanding.”
Celebrimbor smiled at him. “Better.”
Embarrassed, Maeglin slipped Celebrimbor’s fingertips into his mouth and sucked, his tongue tracing the callouses from long days in the forge. Celebrimbor gasped, and Maeglin glanced up with a wicked sparkle in his eyes. Bending his head, he took his fingers deeper. His lips closed around them like velvet, teasing and caressing.
Part of Celebrimbor wanted to push him down and ravish him on the spot. “Maeglin—! We can’t—not here!”
Maeglin released him, but his hands reached for Celebrimbor’s tunic. “Whyever not? Everyone in Gondolin is still at the wedding. It'll go all night. Who would see?”
“But—” Celebrimbor looked over the crag at the sickening drop. He couldn’t see the bottom through the swirling mists.
“Scared? I won’t let you fall.”
The subtle stress he put on ‘you’ sent a shiver down Celebrimbor’s spine. Abruptly he stood and pulled Maeglin to his feet, putting an arm around him to steady him just in case. “Come on. You can pick your bed or mine, but not here.”
“Mmm. Mine, then. It’s bigger.”
Celebrimbor kissed the smirk from his face and marched him through the empty streets to the House of the Mole. As soon as they were in the door, Celebrimbor started tugging at his clothes, but Maeglin swatted his hands away. “If I had to wait this long, you can survive without leaving my things strewn through the house.”
Celebrimbor sighed but obeyed. Maeglin’s bedroom was a dark refuge from the bright white towers of Gondolin. The walls were a green so deep it was almost black, painted with tree trunks that had strange flowers and moths peeking between them. The columns of his bed were more trees, and the curtains were gauzy black silk. Celebrimbor still found it a strange combination of restful and disconcerting. Uncle Celegorm would like it, he thought, and winced at the pang of homesickness.
“You're supposed to distract me, not yourself,” Maeglin said with a cheeky grin. His shirt hung open, and he slid his hands under Celebrimbor’s tunic, pulling him close. Celebrimbor grabbed a fistful of his hair and claimed his mouth fiercely and thoroughly, not stopping until Maeglin was panting and whimpering with need.
“So.” Celebrimbor spread his hand on Maeglin's chest, considering, then seized a nipple and twisted hard. Maeglin gasped and melted in his grasp. “You want me to hurt you.”
“Please,” Maeglin moaned.
That sound went straight to Celebrimbor’s cock. He sat on the edge of the bed, pulling Maeglin with him, and hauled him over his lap. Maeglin kicked his boots off as Celebrimbor shoved his breeches down and paused to admire his ass.
“What are you gonna do, spank me?” Whatever tone Maeglin was attempting, his breathless excitement ruined the effect. Smiling fondly, Celebrimbor smoothed his palm over Maeglin's bare skin and dipped his fingers between his cheeks to press gently at his entrance, rubbing soft circles against the puckered flesh. Maeglin endured only briefly before he started pushing back, trying to get Celebrimbor’s fingers deeper. Celebrimbor smacked him, then raised his hand and smacked him again harder. With a yelp that warped and became a moan, Maeglin went still.
“That,” Celebrimbor agreed, “and tease you until you’re begging to be fucked.” He traced the faint pink outline of his hand on Maeglin's hip, a little surprised at how much he liked it.
“Yes,” Maeglin growled. His hard cock was trapped against Celebrimbor’s thigh, and he shifted his hips until he could thrust shallowly.
“I don't think so.” Celebrimbor shoved him back down and held him there while he began to strike, softly at first but with increasing intensity. Maeglin's ass took on a warm glow.
“Come oooonnn, Tyelpë, hit me harder…”
Celebrimbor reached for the oil sitting in a small vial beside the bed and coated his fingers. “Ask me nicely,” he said as he pushed a finger into Maeglin. It took only a moment to find the spot that had Maeglin catching his breath. He stroked it maddeningly slowly while Maeglin bit back a needy wail.
“Please? Please hit me harder?”
Reaching over with his other hand, Celebrimbor slapped him so sharply his palm stung. Maeglin clenched around his finger and gave a little cry. The delicious thought of how it would feel to have him clenching like that around Celebrimbor’s cock sent heat coursing through him, but he wanted to see how much higher he could take him first. He unbuckled his belt and pulled it off, folding it in two.
“Are you…wait, not your belt!” There was an edge of genuine fear in his voice.
Celebrimbor tossed the offending leather onto the floor and rested his hand on Maeglin's back. “Hey, you all right?”
Maeglin was breathing very deliberately. “I'm fine. You can keep going. Just…not that. Ever.”
Celebrimbor wondered what could have brought on such a reaction, but then he remembered the bits and pieces he’d heard of Maeglin’s father, and thought he could guess. Not for the first time, he wished his own father had cut Eöl down when he had the chance. “Are you…sure you still want more?”
“Certain. I'm fine, I promise.”
Celebrimbor didn't have to see his face to know he was rolling his eyes. His sheathed knife had fallen to the bed when he took his belt off, and he drew it, hefting it in his hand, then brought the flat of the blade down on Maeglin's thigh.
“Ahh fuck!”
“Good?”
“Mmm, yes. Again?”
Celebrimbor obliged, leaving wide red stripes up and down his thighs.
When Celebrimbor paused to adjust his grip, Maeglin craned his head around. “What is that, anyway?” Celebrimbor held up the knife. “Did you make it?”
“I did. It was when we first came to Mithrim, and we weren’t able to get good quality steel, and so my father taught me to combine different hardnesses for a better blade.” Thinking of his father still hurt, but he’d been trying not to shy away from the good memories he had; he didn't want to forget who his father had been before the Oath ate away everything but itself.
Maeglin scrambled up, his face lit with interest, and Celebrimbor let him take the knife and turn it over, peering at the steel.
“He called it damask, like the fabric, because of the patterns. He said he was glad, then, that Grandfather made him learn the old techniques as well as the new. This is how blades were forged along the road during the Great Journey.”
“Yes, a lot of the Green-elves still make them this way, if they bother with metal at all. They do have an unfortunate tendency to break.”
“So we learned.” Celebrimbor smiled wryly. “Which reminds me, I keep meaning to ask you about galvorn—”
“I don’t want to talk about that,” Maeglin snapped. He handed the knife back. “Is it too much to ask to keep our fathers out of our bed?”
Celebrimbor recoiled, caught off guard, guilt rising hot and uncomfortable in the pit of his stomach. “I’m sorry, Maeglin, I didn’t mean—”
Wincing and shaking his head, Maeglin cut him off with a kiss. “Don't, it’s my fault. That’s what I get for asking such a question of a smith. I should know better.” He took Celebrimbor’s hand, closing his fingers around the knife hilt and setting the point against his own breast. He smirked. “Third time’s the charm, right?”
“I…” He bit his lip, unsure, but he too was ready to burn away the ghosts of pain that hung around them. “Hmm.” Careful to pull away from the tip so the point wouldn't break skin, Celebrimbor ran the knife down Maeglin’s body, pressing a little harder once he was certain the long, raised welt it left was bloodless. He noticed with relief that Maeglin's flagging erection woke again.
Maeglin arched into the pain. “Oh, I like that…”
Celebrimbor drew spirals and swirls on his pale skin, reveling in his moans and whimpers, in the patterns taking form. “You might have marks from this still tomorrow.”
“Valar, I hope so.” Maeglin could barely keep still, writhing beneath the blade as he grew increasingly sensitized. He jerked, and the point pricked him, a blood-drop like a ruby beading on his skin. Celebrimbor kissed it away and pressed his lips to Maeglin's. He lapped eagerly at Celebrimbor's mouth for a taste. “You promised you’d fuck me,” he breathed. His hands sought Celebrimbor's cock.
Setting the flat of the blade against Maeglin’s cheek, Celebrimbor pushed his hands aside, sliding his cock against Maeglin's. “Mmm. Did I.”
Maeglin's hands went right back. He held both their cocks together and stroked slowly, squeezing a little the way he knew Celebrimbor liked. “Tyelpë...”
Celebrimbor slicked his fingers with more oil and slid them slowly into him, easing him open with care.
“Hurry up! I don't need all that!”
“I don't want to hurt—”
“I want you to!”
Celebrimbor stopped and they glared at each other, the flash of irritation in Maeglin's eyes surely mirrored in his own. “Why are you being so pushy? I thought I was in charge. I thought that’s what we agreed.”
“Sure, as long as you do what I want!”
They held each other's gaze as the words sank in, then both burst into laughter. “All right, Maeglin. We're gonna do this your way. You tell me what you want, and I will do it to you.”
Maeglin grinned victoriously, but he hesitated. “You sure? If you really want, I'll try to keep my mouth shut; I just—”
“It's fine.”
“Then shove inside me hard and fuck me like there's no tomorrow.”
Celebrimbor growled and nibbled his throat as he climbed between his legs. He sheathed himself in one thrust, pushing past the initial resistance without pause. Maeglin shrieked and clutched at Celebrimbor’s sides, but he was already rocking his hips seeking purchase to move beneath his weight. He gave Celebrimbor a slight nod, and that was all the encouragement he needed to pound into the smaller elf. Sweet aching heat throbbed and grew in him as Maeglin thrust desperately to meet him.
When he thought Maeglin was getting close, he slowed just enough to hold him there until Maeglin drew a ragged breath and said, “Tyelpë. Now.” He closed his fingers around Maeglin and stroked him as he drove into him. Maeglin came howling, all over Celebrimbor's chest, and Celebrimbor followed a few thrusts later, crying Maeglin’s name as he filled him with seed. He rolled over beside Maeglin, breathing hard, and Maeglin nuzzled against him contentedly.
As soon as he could move again, Celebrimbor reached for the washcloth on the nightstand and wiped them both clean, then fell back into the pillows. “Was it what you hoped?” he asked quietly.
Maeglin curled sleepily into his arms, arching his back cat-like into Celebrimbor’s caresses. “Mmm…it was nice. A whole evening that I didn’t think about her.”
Those words hit Celebrimbor where he hadn’t realized he hurt. A despairing ache overtook him, and tears sprang to his eyes. “I just wanted to make you happy.” It would never happen. He had failed again and again this night, just like he had failed his family, and Maeglin would always have this void inside him he could never fill, however much he tried.
“Oh, sweetheart.” Maeglin turned to face him and wrapped his arms around him, gently kissing away his tears. “You’re so gentle and kind and good. Please don’t cry. I had a good time, truly. You gave me what I wanted.”
“I know. I’ll be fine.”
Maeglin closed his eyes and sighed. “I warned you about me when we started this; nothing about it is fair to you. I’m sorry.”
“You don’t have to be sorry. I knew. I want you. I want to give you whatever you’ll let me.”
“But it’s not enough.”
“It has to be,” Celebrimbor whispered.
Maeglin stared at him with wide dark eyes like a trapped wild animal. He looked like he wanted to run, but instead he tucked Celebrimbor under the blankets and stroked his hair comfortingly. “Would you like it if I sing to you? A lullaby?”
Forcing a smile, Celebrimbor nodded. Maeglin’s voice was husky and soft, and Celebrimbor thought it lovely. After a few lines, he began to sing along. The Quenya rolled sweetly from his tongue.
Maeglin broke off. “Do you know all the words? I only have part of it…”
“I know the whole thing. I can teach you. Where’d you learn it?”
“My mother. She used to sing it to me when I was very young. Only when Adar was away.” Vulnerability showed in his face, and Celebrimbor wondered if he’d ever shared it before.
“She used to sing it with my father and my uncles around the campfire late at night, back when we'd all go hunting together.” Celebrimbor squeezed his eyes shut. “I miss them so much.”
Maeglin pulled him close. “Sing more,” he whispered.
He tried, Maeglin joining him, but they barely made it through another stanza before they both choked up and trailed off. Maeglin began to cry in broken whimpers, and they wept in each other’s arms, holding each other tight until they had no more tears.
“Thank you,” Maeglin whispered. “I would have cried myself to sleep tonight no matter what, and I’m glad I didn’t have to do it alone.”
Celebrimbor stroked his cheek softly and tucked the ache away as best he could. “I’m glad too.”