Silver light

BY : Lumeriel_Melkoriniel
Category: +Almaren and Valinor, Pre-Trees - Trees > Slash - Male/Male
Dragon prints: 1046
Disclaimer: I don't own The Silmarillion or the characters in it. i don't make money of this (just fun)

“The split of the Metalworkers Guild cannot be decided lightly. The founding of a new guild will mean changes in the structure of our society. New schools, new workshops ... and new channels of exchange between artisan sectors will be necessary.”
“The creation of the Guild of Goldsmiths and Silversmiths will favor the economy of our city. In addition, it will favor the development and specialization of artisans. At present, apprentices must first learn all the metallurgical processes before being able to specialize in an artisan branch ...”
“I think many will be against the fact that the artisan's study program varies. It has always been done in this way: apprentices must understand that gold and silver do not fall into their hands like the fruits of trees”
“You are not the best person to make that observation.”

Silence reigned in the room after the sharp rejoinder of the Crown Prince. The second son of the monarch straightened imperceptibly, squaring his shoulders as if he were in the training arena. The noble on his left made a move to approach; but Prince Nolofinwë hardly shook his head in his direction, in a silent order.
“On the contrary, brother Kurufinwë”, began with a soft voice, almost ... velvety, “I think I am one of the most suitable to make that observation. It is true that I was not endowed with your ability to create memorable works ... or with your exalted intelligence; but precisely for that reason I understand better the need for those who possess such talents to know that there is a long way behind the jewel that adorns the neck of a noble or embellishes the face of our wives. Understanding how metal becomes ... usable, moldable into something of such exquisite beauty, is indispensable to work it. Only then will an artisan be able to find the true form that sleeps in a piece of gold or silver. Regarding the request to found a Guild of Goldsmiths and Silversmiths, I propose that the applicants present their case, detailing in a report the advantages that this brotherhood would bring to our society”. A murmur of approval rose from those present. “In the same way, the Masters of the Metalworkers' Guild who are against it will present a report with the disadvantages.”
“That will be a cockfight”, Fëanáro crossed his arms, mockingly. Several laughs erupted around him. Nolofinwë did not look away from his half-brother.
“Both reports will present facts and proposals with solid bases, or they will be rejected by this Council. At the head of the commission in favor will be Master Angamir, and the Commission against will be chaired by tar-Aldarion. We will receive the reports on the fourth day of Laurelin starting today, and seven days later, the request will be put to a vote.” He looked around the presents to finish fixing his eyes again in Fëanáro. “If you all agree.”
The general assent was raised in the Board Room. Only Fëanáro remained silent, lightly pressing his lips and when Nolofinwë proposed that they move on to the next item on the agenda, the weight of those obsidian eyes on him was so great that he almost wished his half-brother would attack him in front of everyone. It would be better. Much better.


Anairë looked at her husband when he entered the studio. A smile curved her rosy lips as she left the brush and palette before rising to offer her half-open mouth to the soft kiss that sought her. Immediately, the weight of Nolofinwë's tension hit her physically, causing her to go back one step. Then she reached out and put a hand on his forearm.
“Arakáno, love”, she said sweetly, “What happens?”
“Why would something happen, dear?” the prince smiled with his usual distant expression.  “Just one more day in the Council.”
“Arakáno!” she retorted, pulling his sleeve to keep him from slipping. “You're tense, honey. Your tension is hitting the walls and it's rumbling my stomach.”
A grimace of shame and regret curled Nolofinwë's sensual mouth.
“I'm sorry, beauty. I just ... I just had a disagreement with Fëanáro in the Council.
Anairë stopped the exclamation that came to her lips in time. Fëanáro.  A disagreement with Fëanáro. Of course it was enough for an elf as even-tempered as Nolofinwë to lose his aplomb. With an effort, the elf took a few steps to fix her supplies before asking, in a casual tone:
“Will he stay in the palace today?”
“We-we'll eat together.” admitted Nolofinwë, insecure.
Anairë turned again in front of him. He watched him for a few seconds and again was surprised by the vulnerability of those blue silver eyes as he referred to his relationship with his half-brother.
Tenderly, she approached her husband and raised a hand to caress the curve of his tense jaw.


Years ago, when her parents explained that she would marry the second prince, Anairë had been disappointed at the idea of ​​joining her life to a man who showed the same passion as an iceberg. Nolofinwë Arakáno was a beautiful young man - too beautiful, in fact - and intelligent; but their social skills were limited to those required in the field of diplomacy. He had never known a romance and had few friends. During the first months of courtship, Anairë confirmed her fears: Nolofinwë never touched her and barely spoke when they were alone. But what most desperate the young elf-maid was the state of impotence in which the prince fell when he was in the same room as his half-brother. Every time Fëanáro addressed him, it was with sharp, almost offensive words and Anairë could not understand why, in Varda's name, that tall, muscular elf tolerated such treatment. For her, the Crown Prince only had disdain and derogatory comments. Finally, a week before the wedding celebration, Nolofinwë took her out of the city and, in a trembling voice, confessed her secret.
"I am ... I-I am my b-bro-brother's lover."
At first, Anairë did not understand. For long minutes, she stared at him, trying to discover where the joke was; however, the flush in the prince's cheeks and the despair in his clear eyes convinced her that he was telling the truth.
"That's not ... How is that possible?" She asked at last.
"It's ... it's been like that for years. He does not ... he's not happy with our engagement. "
“Is he jealous?"
"N-no," he emphatically denied, shaking his head. "He's just against sharing me with someone. You do not have to be scared: I will not let him hurt you. In any case, his anger will only be directed at me. "
"Does he know you're telling me this?" she hesitated, coming up with something crooked in that story - more crooked, she wanted to say.
"He'll know." He sighed, defeated. "He will not like anything that I brought you here. Alone.” He watched her for a moment and in a calm tone, added: “I will understand perfectly if you decide to break our engagement. I like you, Anairë; I like you seriously. That's why I decided to be honest with you. You have the right to know that I ... I do not enjoy sex like ... I'm not going to be a passionate husband; but I will love you and respect you. And the children you give me will be my most valuable treasure. "
"Do you not like females?"
"Do you prefer men?"
"No!" He exclaimed, appalled. "It’s not that. I just do not ... "
Anairë looked at him with a frown, beginning to suspect.
"Nolofinwë, do you love Fëanáro? As a lover, I want to say. Do you love him physically? "
The whiteness that spread through his beautiful features was all the answer she needed. At that moment, she decided that - no matter what Fëanáro thought about it - she would marry him.
"Do your parents know?"
"My father has an idea. He does not know the whole truth, of course; but he ... Once he almost surprised us ... My mother can never know. "
"She will not know," she promised and, perceiving the uncertainty in those precious eyes, she extended a hand to rest it on his, gently.”Could we go on a wedding trip to Alqualondë? It will be much easier if at least those first days we are alone. "


Even today, so many years later and with three teenage children and a fourth learning to walk, Anairë felt her heart twist as she looked back on the hopeful look her husband gave her that afternoon. Their married life had not been easy: as he warned her, Nolofinwë was not a passionate husband. At all times, he was generous and gentle, and he cared that she was always satisfied – and she did, by Yavanna's skirts! - but it was evident that sex was not part of the interests of the second prince. At times, Anairë had wondered if he was also so balanced and controlled with his half-brother; but when - as now - she saw apprehension in her husband's features, she regretted her jealousy for no reason: Nolofinwë did not love her half-brother.
“Surely Findekáno will go to that party with Nelyo” she said after a moment. “And Turvo is studying some new thinker that was found in the library. Irissë will sleep with me and Arvo. I'll be waiting for you when you're ready.”
“Thank you” murmured Nolofinwë, closing his eyes for a second. “I'm going to take a bath and change. I do not want to make him wait too long: there is no reason to add impatience to his displeasure.”
In other circumstances, Anairë would have laughed at the caustic humor of her husband; but this time, she pushed herself on the tips of her feet to kiss his lips.


Nolofinwë went through the gallery that led to his half-brother's quarters in the palace. Luckily, Finwë had allowed his eldest son to keep the west wing, the most isolated wing of the royal palace. In addition, Fëanáro pretended to be a revolutionary, so he counted on nothing more than the indispensable servitude, so Nolofinwë was certain that he would not run into anyone on his way there. After the bath, the eldest son of Indis had changed his usual clothes to the latest Noldorin fashion for a simple outfit, easy to discard when the time came.
When he arrived at the door, he stopped for a few seconds to massage his temples and frown: his headache had not left him since he left the Council. He knew it was the insistent call of Fëanáro, but sometimes he pretended he had the ability to refuse. He knocked on the door and waited. He repeated the call by not receiving a response and a voice rose from the inside. He turned the handle and entered.
His gaze passed over the table set for dinner and he went to the bed surrounded by red silk curtains. He felt movement in the bed and the murmur of voices reached him. With an effort, he forced himself to remain motionless: evidently, Fëanáro had lost patience.
“Kurvo, get out of here.”
Nolofinwë stood up when he heard the voice of his older brother from the cabinet. Turning, he saw him at the door, resting one hand on the jamb while holding a wine glass in the other.
Fëanáro was a difficult sight to ignore. He had the typical Noldorin physique, accentuated by work in the forge and his love of travel and outdoor physical practices. His skin had an olive tone that highlighted the bluish black of his long straight hair. With his tunic open at the front and his hair down to the mid-back, he looked powerful and sensual like a panther that settled in ambush. The obsidian eyes slowly traced the minor's appearance.
“Kurufinwë!”, Fëanáro called again when a moan resounded behind the curtains of the bed. “Get out of here, kid! I have matters to deal with ... my half-brother.”
Nolofinwë looked away when his nephew jumped out of bed, quickly followed by a young girl with silver hair and flushed cheeks. Kurufinwë went to the door, greeting his uncle with a mocking smile; the girl, on the other hand, made a curt bow and almost ran after the king's grandson.
The second prince looked back at his brother once the door closed, leaving them alone. Fëanáro drank slowly and held out the glass in his direction.
“Serve me.”
Nolofinwë took a deep breath and prepared himself for a long journey: worse than a furious Fëanáro was a drunk Fëanáro. With lightness, he approached him and took the empty glass to fill it with the telerin wine that the eldest preferred.
Fëanáro did not move, waiting for the drink to come. When Nolofinwë was in front of him, he took the glass and drank the contents in one gulp. He dropped the chalice to the floor and, extending a hand, wrapped his fingers in the hair gathered in his brother's ponytail to pull it until it stuck to his body.
The youngest forced himself to remain motionless to feel the erection that was pressed into his side. Fëanáro's mouth touched his chin, down his throat to the edge of his clothes and rose again to assail his lips. Obediently, Nolofinwë opened his mouth and allowed the passage to the tongue that invaded wildly. For years he had learned that not resisting was much simpler: Fëanáro was enough to hurt him enough, he did not need to be stirred up.
Fëanáro kissed his younger brother fiercely, using teeth and tongue to establish his dominion. It was one of the best parts, with which he dreamed while pretending in front of everyone that they were civilized elves. He stuck the fingers of one hand on Nolofinwë's butt, pushing it against himself to show him how much, how he wanted him. This was the only good thing that came out of his father's second marriage


Nolofinwë was less than thirty years old when he first really knew the anger of his half-brother. Until then, Fëanáro had ignored him, pushed aside, dismissed him as a useless bale; but that day was different. He did not even remember what he had done to make his older brother angry to the point of hitting him. Fëanáro's fists had been like rocks crashing into his chest and belly. When the pain forced him to bend over on himself, Fëanáro slapped him with the back of his hand. He repeated the blow with an almost hieratic monotony. Nolofinwë collapsed, stunned by pain, blood running from the corner of his mouth.
Fëanáro watched him for a few seconds and suddenly dropped to his knees beside him to take his face with both hands. The boy had stiffened with fear; but instead of hitting him again, Fëanáro moved his face closer until their breaths mixed and, very slowly, licked the blood that escaped from the child's mouth. Nolofinwë had frozen in his hands, feeling the strange sensation of Fëanáro's tongue running down his face, lingering on his swollen lips, sliding between them. Choking gasps escaped the elder's lips and Nolofinwë had no idea what the hell was happening. Fëanáro forced him to lie on the floor and opened his clothes to caress the same body that had previously attacked with rage. In spite of himself, the adolescent body of Nolofinwë reacted to the experienced exploration and the world became a carousel of colors when Fëanáro grabbed his sex unexpectedly hard with one hand and caressed him roughly while insulting him. Not knowing what was happening, Nolofinwë felt that the world was breaking in his head and fluids sprang from him to soak his brother's fingers. When he was able to breathe again, he found Fëanáro watching him with a strange fire in his eyes. The boy was certain that something special had happened between them, but the moment he opened his mouth to ask his brother, Fëanáro again slapped him. Tears veiled his eyes and a guttural moan erupted from the older elf's throat.
With fevered hands, the Crown Prince opened his trousers and released his erect phallus. He took Nolofinwë's hand and took it to his sex, forcing the boy to caress him harshly. It did not take long for Fëanáro to let out a hoarse moan and his cock would shake in the boy's hand, emitting liquid shots. Nolofinwë contemplated bewildered the fluids that spilled in his half-brother’s pelvis and his own fingers. Fëanáro grabbed him by the hair with strength and forced him to lower his head until his face was at the level of the member still half hard. At first, he did not understand what his older brother demanded; but one look was enough for submissive Nolofinwë to open his mouth and cleanse with his tongue all traces of the elder’s pleasure.
Then, Fëanáro sat up, arranged his clothes without looking at him and left. The teenager did not tell anyone what had happened ... because he was not even sure what the hell had happened. It was weeks before Fëanáro returned to visit the palace with his children and when they met in the library, Nolofinwë blushed intensely, evoking what had happened. The older one just smiled, malicious and went up to him to grab him by the arm and force him to kneel at his feet. When he untied the ties of his breeches, Nolofinwë found that Fëanáro was totally excited. On this occasion, the older elf forced Nolofinwë to take him in his mouth and give him pleasure like that. Nolofinwë hated the experience - the feeling of suffocation each time the other bumped into his throat, the hands that pulled his hair as if it were reins, the penetrating smell of his brother's skin, the strong and slightly salty taste that flooded his mouth… He backed away, frightened when Fëanáro's fluids filled his mouth, choking him and one shot hit his clothes while the other elf finished ejaculating. Disgusted, he made a spitting motion; but a hand rested on his mouth, forcing him to swallow. As soon as he did, Fëanáro freed him and he could breathe again. Nausea came to his throat as he understood what was happening; however, a violent slap hit him to the ground. Immediately, Fëanáro's hand grasped his hair, bending his head back.
“Let it be the last time you get away, bastard” he hissed against his skin. “The next, you'll stay still while I fuck your mouth and when I cum, you'll swallow everything like a good boy, is that clear?”
“Brother, I do not think ...”
The protest died in a moan when Fëanáro slapped him again.
“I asked if it's clear, kid.”
Nolofinwë barely nodded and a sound of pain escaped his lips once his brother released him, pushing him back to the floor.
“You need more practice” declared the Crown Prince, in a calm voice. “You are very clumsy with your teeth and you do not know how to use your tongue. We will have to correct that.”  He looked at him from his tall stature, disgusted. “Go and change your clothes, for Manwë’s sake: you have the whole tunic stained.
Later, while changing clothes to attend the dinner, Nolofinwë let the tears of shame slip down his cheeks.


Fëanáro took his time while invading the other elf's mouth. As always, Nolofinwë remained frozen in his arms, as if he were dead; but that did not matter to him: that same indifference aroused the prince until his blood burned. Finally, he moved away enough to let his tongue run down the curve of his jaw to the lobe of his ear. He felt the shudder of the muscular body against his.
“You challenged me today” he recalled as he moved his tongue along the jeweled ear. “You dared to contradict me in front of everyone.”
“It was not my intention…”
"Ssshhh," he ordered, sliding his hands across Nolofinwë’s shoulders to his chest to open the sleeveless vest and push it down his arms. “Silence, boy. How dare you contradict me? To take the opposite to me in front of my vassals? I'm going to have to punish you, boy."
Nolofinwë closed his eyes firmly, struggling to overcome the cramping in his stomach that such words provoked.
“Kurufinwë ... brother ... I was just trying to be fair. I never wanted…”
“Do not be shy, precious.” mocked the major while grabbing the silk shirt and pulling it, tearing. For a second, he stared ecstatically at the younger's white skin, the soft blue and red strokes that marked his flat belly, the silver rings that pierced his nipples ... his work, his brand. He lowered his head. “You like to be punished. You do nothing but provoke me to punish you. You've always done it”, and his mouth closed over a nipple, as he tangled his tongue in the silver ring.
The youngest wanted to reply, to refute his statement; but the only thing that he modulated was a moan of pain when Fëanáro's teeth pulled the jewel.


Finwë had shown his enthusiasm when his eldest son announced that he would take Nolofinwë as an apprentice. The boy tried to protest, claiming that he did not like the blacksmith's trade; but it was in vain and a week after the announcement, he found himself in his brother's forge, ready to learn things he did not want to learn. At first it did not seem that Fëanáro wanted anything other than to teach him the principles of blacksmithing; but when Nolofinwë failed to make his first piece perfect, the master announced that he would be punished.
“Undress yourself” ordered Fëanáro.
The boy began to tremble, scared; but a stern look warned him that it was sane to obey promptly. With movements that the fear became more awkward, he shed his clothes until he was totally naked in the middle of the forge. He had not yet fully developed, and in his limbs was joined the delicacy of childhood with the incipient strength of the adult. Fëanáro ran it with an appreciative look, the bulge in his pants easily visible.
“There”, the craftsman ordered again, indicating the anvil. “Support your hands and open your legs.”
Nolofinwë hesitated, trying to imagine what his brother was up to. After his experiences, the boy had searched the library to find books that referred to the sexual practice between males and the images had upset his stomach thinking that Fëanáro wanted to do those things to him ... or that he expected him to do them.
“Nolofinwë!” warned the major and the boy hurried to comply with the instructions. Maybe, if he obeyed, everything would end faster.
He shuddered to feel the wide, calloused hands covering his buttocks, caressing them gently for a few moments before squeezing and pinching. The rough caresses continued, opening his rear. Nolofinwë gasped when he felt a wet touch at his rear entrance. Fëanáro's tongue ran through his opening up and down, reaching the base of his testicles, where the teeth nibbled. Nolofinwë closed his eyes and clung to the anvil, experiencing a shiver of pleasure. He felt the blood flow from his body to his genitals and he barely noticed that his cock stood rigid, betraying his arousal. He did not notice that the delicious exploration was over and for that reason, the furious slap that found his buttock threw him forward.
Baffled, he opened his eyes and tried to turn around.
“Quiet, bastard.” Fëanáro growled, coldly and again hit his backside.
The thrashing continued for a while, Nolofinwë's erection deflated by pain and violence. At last, Fëanáro seemed satisfied and without transition, he devoted his attention to the sex of the adolescent, licking and caressing until he was again hard of desire. Nolofinwë felt the climax tighten in his testicles and from his half-open mouth a moan arose ... and in that moment, his brother walked away and recommenced the punishment on his backside still aching.
The session continued for hours. Fëanáro excited the boy until he was about to ejaculate and then, proceeded to whip his buttocks conscientiously. Tears ran down the red cheeks of Nolofinwë: if at first he had removed himself and tried to protest, he only worried about standing up, his white fingers against the anvil. Finally, Fëanáro seemed to reach his own limit and released his sex. The precum sprang from the hole in the head of his imposing cock, reddened by the long restraint, and Nolofinwë looked over his shoulder, fearing the moment when that monstrosity entered him. But the elf was content to slide his phallus between his reddened buttocks, taking advantage of the heat and humidity that his continuous explorations left behind. He rested his whole body against the boy's taut back and his mouth was at the height of his ear.
“You have a beautiful rear, little boy” he whispered as he began to move. “I'm going to really enjoy taking your ass. But first I'm going to prepare you like today: I'm going to put these beautiful buttocks red and hot ... that way you'll feel more when I put my cock inside you.
“Kurufinwë ... please ...” the boy sobbed; but his plea was silenced by the deep moan with which Fëanáro ejaculated over him.
The older elf collapsed on top of him with all his weight, causing him to let go and both fell to the ground, Nolofinwë’s knees violently hitting the stone. Fëanáro turned away from him and straightened his clothes as he made his way inside the forge. When he reached the pile formed by the boy's clothes, he kicked them towards him.
- Get dressed and leave - he said -. We're done for today. Tomorrow try to be here early. You know I do not like to wait.


The drowned sounds of pain that escaped from Nolofinwë's throat only excited Fëanáro more. His cock tensed his breeches and before he could control himself, he pressed a hand to the fabric, stroking himself roughly. With a snarl, he pulled away from the other and turned on himself, sinking his hands into his loose hair.
“Damn, Nolofinwë,” he roared hoarsely. “Why are you doing this to me?”
“I do not ...” the youngest began to say, wondering how the hell it always ended up being his fault that the other did the things he did to him.
“You do, damn bastard!” Fëanáro exploded, turning again to grab him by the hair and push him on his knees while the other hand undressed his own sex -. Look what you do to me. You drive me crazy. You've had me like this all damn day.” he hissed between teeth, taking his cock to draw with the wet tip the tight mouth of Nolofinwë. “Fix it up, little boy. Calm me as you know to do.”
Nolofinwë lowered his eyelids and opened his mouth. Immediately, Fëanáro's member slid against his tongue, propelling himself to his throat. Nolofinwë made an arcade; but with an effort, he restrained the instinct to move away and proceeded to suck and lick.
Fëanáro moaned, throwing his head back with narrowed eyes. Gods, he loved feeling that mouth in his sex. Nolofinwë knew how to give him pleasure like no one else. The vanyarin nuisance’s tongue was the glory itself. The only comparable pleasure was when he dug into that tight ass and listened to his moans. His fingers tangled in Nolofinwë’s disheveled hair, using them as reins to guide him as he fought against the urge to ram ... ramming uncontrollably. But that would only make it end sooner, and he did not want it to end. Never.
Despite Fëanáro's intentions of making the blowjob last as long as possible, Nolofinwë had not wasted those years of practice: he knew every reaction of his brother and how to take him to the point of no return with his mouth. After a moment, Fëanáro was fucking his mouth, uncontrolled, cursing and roaring when shortly after he exploded in powerful shots in the minor's throat. Nolofinwë forced himself not to move, swallowing everything he could at the first moment. When Fëanáro stepped back to lean against the wall with low eyelids and ragged breathing, the younger elf wiped his lips and chin with the sleeve of his shirt and swallowed again to empty his mouth.
Finally, the Crown Prince regained control over himself and stepped away from the wall to approach the table.
“Come”, he ordered, expressionless. “You must eat something before we move on to other matters.”
Nolofinwë sat up, gritting his teeth when his knees resented the awkward position. He approached the table and patiently waited for his host to tell him he could sit down. He had performed this ritual too many times in his life to not know what was expected of him. Finally, the oldest pointed to the chair at the head of the table and, although he frowned, Nolofinwë took the seat, arranging his torn clothes as best he could. Fëanáro pulled a chair to his side and with a half-smile, poured a glass of wine. When the second prince reached out to take the glass, his brother gave a warning grunt and held the golden cup against Nolofinwë's lips.
The son of Indis stared at the other, bewildered; but finally, he opened his lips and sipped the wine, allowing Fëanáro to give him a drink. The liquor eased his dry throat and helped him get rid of the powerful taste of Fëanáro's release. Unconsciously, he closed his eyes and savored the drink, absorbing himself in identifying the harvest, the vineyard, the spices with which its flavor was accentuated. He gasped when Fëanáro's mouth found his in a light, sinuous kiss, too sensual not to react.
He opened his eyes when Fëanáro withdrew and for a second they stared at each other.
“I hate you” murmured Nolofinwë, choking with rage. Fëanáro seemed to be embarrassed; but it lasted only a thousandth of a second and he smiled before bending again to breathe on his brother’s breath.

“You lie, my love.”
The younger brother dismissed the idea of ​​insisting. Fëanáro saw only what he wanted to see: in his head, in his fantasy world, Nolofinwë came to him because he loved what he did to him, because he loved him ... no matter how much Nolofinwë denied it.
At that moment, Fëanáro turned to him again, holding a plate with meat and fruit on it. Nolofinwë felt the tears fill his eyes as he recognized his favorite dishes: this was worse than Fëanáro’s violence. With the patience that a mother would show her favorite son, Fëanáro combined the meats with the fruits, dipping them in the different sauces to bring them to his lover's mouth. On one occasion, when the sauce dripped from the corner of the youngest's mouth, he came over to clean it with his tongue, delicately.
“You're a very careless child” he whispered against his skin, his voice husky. “I'll have to teach you manners, Nolvo.”
Nolofinwë could not reply, silenced by the tongue that slid between his lips and moved wildly. After a moment, Fëanáro had lost all control of himself and pushing the other, sat astride his hips, moving insistently until he perceived the hardness of the other's sex. A moan of approval escaped his lips.
“There it is again” he declared, triumphantly, still rocking his hips against the erection of his brother. “You're a little pervert, Nolvo.”


The hours in the forge became endless and after each lesson, Nolofinwë returned to the palace in pain and embarrassment, hiding the marks he kept in his body. However, Fëanáro had not taken it yet and the adolescent gave thanks for whatever it was that stopped him.
Then, his father announced that he would accompany his brother on his trip to Alqualondë. Nolofinwë tried to find excuses, to defend himself with the tests of the Academy, to claim that he would only make a fool of himself in Olwë's court for his stuttering ... But Finwë dismissed all his apologies and ordered him laughing to prepare his luggage.
Three days later, Fëanáro came to pick him up to take him to Alqualondë. Nelyo and Cáno would join them two days later. Nolofinwë almost breathed a sigh of relief; but his hopes were cut short when Fëanáro ordered him to put the horse at a gallop, claiming that he wanted to advance as much as possible on first day.
They were well away from Tirion when Fëanáro finally ordered to dismount and told him to set up the camp while he was looking for branches for the fire. The forests were dense in that area and the light of the Trees scarcely crossed the leafy vegetation.
When Fëanáro returned, Nolofinwë had raised the camp as his brother himself had taught him when he was a little boy of just over eight years old. The boy had also served dinner, consisting of bread of lembas and cheese, and a carafe of wine sweetened with honey. Fëanáro watched him without speaking while he handed him the food and the boy barely managed to eat, aware of the burning gaze fixed on him. Uncomfortable, and alert, he settled himself at one end of the tent, paying attention to the sounds his brother made outside. Finally, Fëanáro slipped into the tent and Nolofinwë expected him to fall on him in one of his sexual attacks. After a while he heard only the calm breathing of the elder and let out the breath he retained. Perhaps Fëanáro feared that his children would arrive earlier than expected and surprise him.
“Father said you did not want to come with me.”
Fëanáro's hard voice shook him, taking him out of his bubble of hope.
“I-I did not ... I did not say that ... Ku-Kurufinwë” he stammered, squeezing his eyes.
“Are you accusing my father of being a liar?” hissed Fëanáro and Nolofinwë felt the thrust of his anger, filling the small tent.
“ I do not!” he screamed. “I just…! I just said that I had ... exams ... I-I've got e-exams and I do not ... I have not st-t-tudied ... I have not studied much.”

Fëanáro's hand closed fiercely on his shoulder and forced him to turn around to face him. The older's obsidian eyes glittered in the semidarkness of the tent, like wild stars and his sensual mouth curled into a grimace of rage.
“You're lying, bastard” he declared at the end. “You did not want to come with me, right? You did not want to be alone with me. Why? Why do not you want to be with me? Here alone? Away from everyone? Where nobody will hear your screams and your moans when I take you?
Fëanáro's voice had become hoarse as he spoke and now his eyes shone differently, his pupils dilated as his lungs filled with the boy's perfume of fear. Nolofinwë gasped as the eldest lunged at him, pinning him to the ground to straddle his hips.
Fëanáro's mouth was rough and punishing against his, his tongue looting, his teeth hurting. With an agile movement, Fëanáro turned around, changing his positions; but grasping the thin body between his thighs. Resting his hands on Nolofinwë's butt, he pushed him against his erection as he continued to kiss and bite the boy's neck and ear.
“Are you feeling that, kid?” He asked before running his tongue in the turns of the naked ear. “Do you feel what you do to me? How do you put me? You are a damned seducer. You know it drives me crazy when you play with me, when you run away to be chased.”
Nolofinwë froze on top of him, suddenly realizing that Fëanáro had misinterpreted his attitude throughout all those years. The older elf's elegant long fingers ran through his body, struggling with clothes. The boy reacted when Fëanáro finally managed to open his shirt and pushed his leggings around his thin legs: with an instinctive leap, he pulled off his brother's top and threw himself into the entrance to the tent.
“No, beauty” laughed Fëanáro, catching him by the ankle and pulling him until he did fall under his body again.  “The games are over. You will be mine today.”
Later - when his body stopped hurting - Nolofinwë would remember having lived that moment as if it happened to someone else. He would remember that Fëanáro destroyed his clothes until he undressed him completely. Then, he hovered over him like an eagle on its prey and explored his entire body with mouth and hands, leaving the marks of his teeth everywhere. He spent a few minutes licking the boy's sleeping cock, awakening it, before descending between his thighs and seeking his entrance. Nolofinwë screamed and kicked as if life were in it, trying to reject the certainty that his brother's actions entailed and the pleasure they provoked in him. At last, Fëanáro sat up and grabbed both wrists with one hand against boy’s chest to get rid of his own clothes. He cursed when he had to pull the loops of his pants to push him by his hips and then kicked him away. When he stretched out on Nolofinwë, the boy sobbed helplessly, trapped by the weight of his body that surpassed his in height and muscles. Fëanáro kissed him passionately, silencing his pleas and protests, and with both hands, raised his thighs to position himself at his entrance.

Nolofinwë shouted into his older brother's mouth, sure that the pain would break his body forever. For a second, he thought he would leave his hroa and wanted it. He wished he could cease to exist at that moment, while Fëanáro pushed inside him, whimpering, retreating to almost abandon him only to dig deeper into the next attack.
Fëanáro kept moving on him, breathing heavily, crashing their bodies to feel the burning skin against his. He dropped the boy's legs and grabbed with both hands the beautiful face, riddled with tears. He kissed his mouth fiercely, forcing him to wake up.
“Tell me you like it, Nolvo”, he ordered hoarsely. “Tell me this is what you want.”
“I do not!” the teenager howled. “Please, brother ... it hurts, it hurts a lot! P-please ... please, stop ...”
“No, my love.” Fëanáro gasped, losing what little control he had left with his entreaties. “I cannot ... You're so delicious ... ah, Nolvo ... you make me crazy, beautiful ... Yes, love, feel me inside you! Feel how I fill you ... you want this, boy ... your eyes ... your body is telling me since ...” A deep moan arched him over the child and his thrusts became erratic as his eyes were closed.
He collapsed on top of the boy, only moving his hips in a circular cadence to press his cock into the narrow interior as he ejaculated. Finally, he pulled away to roll on his back, breathing hard. Nolofinwë remained motionless, feeling the breaches in his insides, sure that his blood mingled with his brother's fluids as they slipped between his trembling buttocks. He bit his lower lip to stop crying: he was not going to cry; not in front of him. With the help of Eru, now, Fëanáro would fall asleep and he could go out to wash himself.
But Fëanáro sat up on one elbow and looked at him with a calm expression. He reached out and slid his finger from his younger brother's chin to his navel and then back up to his lower lip. He leaned down and kissed him almost tenderly. Nolofinwë forced himself not to react. Finally, Fëanáro smiled against his mouth.
“I know you're disappointed, honey” he mused, with a playful tone. “I promised you that I was going to prepare you for me before, but, ah Nolvo, you are such a delicious thing that I could not contain myself anymore. But do not worry, my treasure, I'll please you now.”
Nolofinwë observed him with wide eyes of fright and fear closed his throat when he saw him stand to look for his belt.


Nolofinwë clenched his fists in Fëanáro's clothes, in a vain attempt to control the desire that arose in him. He would never confess it - not even Anairë - but what he most hated about all this was his inability to control the reactions of his body. He hated his body, his blood, his sex ... everything that burned, and hurt, and went mad when his older brother touched him. He hated himself for not being able to feel on other side, with another person ... just with this damn elf. At first it had been fear, only fear; a scary fear of not satisfying the adult's demands, of annoying him, of disappointing him; however, when the fear passed, Nolofinwë remembered the avidity of Fëanáro's hands, the brutal strength of his kisses, the desperate hunger of his possession ... and his stomach twisted at the thought that it was he who inspired such emotions in the most powerful of the Noldor. He had never touched himself. He never gave himself pleasure despite the fog of ecstasy that memories unleashed in his brain. Nolofinwë felt disgust for the sexual act itself and for any of its variants; but in the stillness of Telperion's hours, he let his mind get lost in memories and pleasure flowed only to free itself in his clothes. Later, the prince would lock himself in his private bathroom and wash him as if he wanted to tear off his skin, and with it, the memories of his half-brother’s contact, of his own weakness, of his own filthiness.
Fëanáro kept moving over him, pressing his hard sex against Nolofinwë's tense belly, sliding roughly along the erection against his scrotum. Meanwhile, he kissed and nibbled lips, chin, and jeweled ears. Suddenly, he threw back his head, breathing loudly while cursing.
“Ah Nolvo!” he exclaimed, almost a moan. “You're trying to make me forget your punishment, aren’t you, kid?
Nolofinwë felt the breath clog in his throat, anticipating what awaited him.
“You ... you have not eaten anything”, he pointed, gingerly, indicating the table with a gesture.
Fëanáro did not stop observing him through the curved eyelashes, his mouth slightly ajar.
“I'm not hungry” he replied in a thick voice. “You are the only delicacy I want.” He sat up to get away from him, as if he were afraid he would give in to temptation too soon and went to the bed with insecure steps, adjusting the erection in his tight pants. “And I'm going to savor you like I have not done for a long time, little brother.”
Nolofinwë remained seated, trying to reconcile the need that recent caresses left in him. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched his brother move around the bed with agile and almost feline gestures. Fëanáro took from the table next to the bed some strings of woven silk and secured them to the poles at end of the bed. He pulled them several times to test the resistance and then turned to the younger one.
“Stand up, Nolofinwë”, he ordered. “I want you to undress in front of me.”
For a moment, the younger elf's blue-gray eyes observed him coldly, as if he valued the option of refusing; but at last he got up slowly and advanced until he was a few steps away from him. Then, he dropped his vest and his torn shirt to the floor. As the evening progressed, Nolofinwë was armed with indifference, willing to endure anything in order to get a few days of peace. He took off his boots without laces and slid his pants down his narrow hips. He wore no underwear and Fëanáro gasped, excited, when his half-brother’s cock was half rigid between his muscular legs.
“Here” he indicated with a gesture, moistening his lips.
Nolofinwë approached and waited, obediently, for the next order. Fëanáro took his left wrist and tied it with one of the cords in a way that kept his arm straight without tightening it; he proceeded the same with the other arm. Nolofinwë did not move even to try to disengage: an image that he saw when he was a boy came to his mind.


He had gone with master Rúmil to observe the birds on the shore of the lake and suddenly they saw a magnificent steed tied to a flimsy rod embedded in the damp earth. Nolofinwë looked at the huge horse, surprised that he did not try to flee despite his owner was not seen nearby. When he told his tutor, Master Rúmil smiled softly and stroked his hair.

“He’s tame, little prince. Since he was a foal, his owner tied him to that post and he tried to free himself. At that time, I did not have the strength to pull the stick from the ground and only managed to get tired.”
“But now he could tear it out” protested the boy, frowning.
“He might; but the steed remembers that when he tried before he never got it and has given up. He is tame.”

Tame. Surely, that same precept could apply to him. From his adulthood, he had surpassed Fëanáro by several inches in height and width. His arms and legs were much more muscular, and although he did not work metals neither had much time for outdoor exercises, he possessed agility and strength superior to most Noldorin elves. His beauty was even a little coarser than that of Fëanáro, who inherited the soft and attractive features of Míriel Þerindë, as long as he was behind the hawk-like features of Finwë Noldóran. From his mother Indis, Nolofinwë only inherited the slightly more pointed ears and the dimple in the left cheek when he smiled. However, with all that energy contained in his hroa, the Grand Prince of Tirion simply resisted the fact that his older brother tied him and used him as a sexual object. A grimace twitched his sensual mouth and his eyes darkened with bitterness.
Behind him, Fëanáro finished the arrangements to proceed with the announced punishment. Quickly, he stripped off the red tunic that he had worn open over dark leather pants: the light of the lamps bathed his olive skin, highlighting the star-shaped marks that adorned his abdomen and his back above his hips. He approached Nolofinwë and combed his straight hair into a thick braid that he pulled forward over his left shoulder. Finwë's second son used his hair too long, brushing his hard buttocks, and it was that Fëanáro loved it so, seeing him veil his nakedness with that black silk mantle that highlighted the ivory tone of his skin. After having resolved the matter of the hair, Fëanáro let fingertips run through the marks that remained on the skin of the back of their previous encounter: the traces of Fëanáro's teeth drew roses of passion on shoulders and sides, grooves of his nails were still slightly differentiated in his flesh and, above all, the eight-pointed star was drawn under the nape of his neck, carved in the flesh with a sharp blade, still in process of healing. Nolofinwë would never go to Írien or Findis to heal those wounds, evidence of his incestuous relationship with king's eldest son, and Fëanáro knew that the pains and the stinging must have disturbed his hours of rest, reminding him ... remembering him.
He slid his palms down the sides, directing them to the front to press against the striated abdomen, until he encircled the sex between his fingers. Even in a state of rest, Nolofinwe's cock was long and thick, a heavy column of flesh and tendons that trembled in the grip of the other. Fëanáro pressed his own erection on the younger's bottom as his right hand worked Nolofinwë's cock and with the other hand massaged the testicles. When Nolofinwë growled barely audibly, he pressed his lips to his neck, and kissed and licked almost desperately. As soon as he felt Nolofinwë's member standing proudly, he pressed a kiss to the base of his neck to quickly bite and suck until he scored a dark rosette, and then he pulled away, breathing heavily.
Nolofinwë bit his tongue to stifle the moan of frustration that rose in his throat. Through his clouded senses of excitement, he sensed Fëanáro's movements and how he stood at a distance. He heard the whistle in the air and then, the pain cut the flesh on his shoulder. Instinctively, he arched, throwing his head back and an imperceptible gasp escaping his lips.


Two months left until his majority, Fëanáro had appeared in his bedroom the day before, shortly after the First Minglings of Lights, climbing his window to surprise the boy while assembling the model he was to present at the Academy. Nolofinwë had looked at his half-brother perplexedly: it was not the first time that Fëanáro invaded his room clandestinely; but just that morning Finwë had said that his firstborn was hunting in Oromë’s Woods. However, here was Fëanáro, grinning mischievously and naughty as if he had avoided Mandos's surveillance. Before Nolofinwë could protest the imprudence of this visit when all his brothers and three older nephews - the two sons of Fëanáro himself and the only son of Findis - were at home and everyone felt they had the right to break into the future adult’s bedroom with one or another justification, Fëanáro informed triumphantly that he was coming to give him his begetting day  gift. Nolofinwë hesitated: his older brother always gave him banal gifts, things that he could give him in front of everyone without arousing suspicion, and then, in the darkness of the unused rooms of the palace, he "gifted" him with his peculiar affection.
Then Fëanáro took from his pocket a carved wooden box and held it before the boy, with shining eyes. The boy took the chest and opened it, unsure: on black velvet pillow lay two rings of white gold. Earrings. Fëanáro was giving him a pair of earrings. What he could not understand was why he did not give them to him during the party, as always.
“They are not for your precious ears, little boy” the elder murmured against one of his "precious ears".
“Lay down.” He ordered, looking for one of the perfume bottles on the dresser. “And take off your shirt.”
Nolofinwë obeyed, confused by the arrangements; but in recent years he had learned not to contradict his brother ... and lover. Everything was much easier when he only did what he said.
When he was lying on his back, bare-chested, Fëanáro knelt beside him and moistened a piece of cloth in the perfume to clean his chest, around the nipples. Nolofinwë swallowed hard, cursing himself when the sensitive area reacted to the rough caress. Fëanáro smiled mockingly and left the cloth to take one of the rings. He opened the jewel and crossed one leg over the boy's hip, making sure he did not move.
The boy observed curious how the artisan approached the pointed end of the garment to his skin and before he understood what was happening, the pain elicited him a scream. Fëanáro sank down on him, covering his mouth with his as his fingers closed the rim on his left nipple. For a few endless minutes, Nolofinwë struggled to escape the pain, realizing that the operation had to be repeated on the other side. Finally, the discomfort subsided enough to be able to remain silent and Fëanáro straightened up, leaning on one arm above his head to observe him with dilated pupils of desire. He looked down and hissed impatiently at the trickle of blood running down his white skin. He descended to lick it and Nolofinwë protested when streaks of pain shook his nerves.
After a moment, when pain and excitement were confused in boy's head, the older got up and grabbed the other pendant to repeat the process in the right nipple. Pain arched the youth’s back, pressing his sex against Fëanáro's body astride his hips. Again, the elder cleaned the blood with his mouth and once he had completed the ritual, he released his sex and took it with his hand to press it against the tense belly of the child. Nolofinwë's body was cold from the pain that drained his blood, and Fëanáro's phallus was like a red-hot iron on his sensitive skin. Immediately he experienced the precum leaking into his abdomen, sliding to fill his belly button obscenely. Somehow, Fëanáro managed to get rid of the sleeping shorts without losing contact between them and moved the boy's leg to pass over his own: that way, he was mounted on one leg, his cock pressing on the entrance of the boy at a strange angle, Nolofinwë’s legs catching Fëanáro’s thigh in the form of scissors, the torso of the boy half twisted so that his head rested on the pillows with the black hair scattered like a flag in the wind. A slight push was enough for Fëanáro's cock to penetrate the narrow passage, ignoring any preparation. Nolofinwë arched and gasped breathlessly, clenching his fists on the sheets. A few years ago, being more naive, Nolofinwë would have protested and sobbed, begging him to leave; but at this point, he already knew how much Fëanáro enjoyed listening to him beg. Penetrating him dry was also one of his hobbies: then, when he had ejaculated in him and semen mingled with his blood, he would use his fingers to caress him inside, causing the sting and pain until the boy lost consciousness and vanished in his arms. On more than one occasion, Nolofinwë had already awakened impaled on the older elf's cock, being possessed even in his sleep or in his unconsciousness. Now, simply, he let himself be carried away by the swaying of Fëanáro's hips as he withdrew almost to the edge to sink deeper each time. Nolofinwë closed his eyes: his experience told him that this could last for hours. He tried to focus on the pain in his nipples. That, at least, would pass on at some point.


The tips of the red silk braids were adorned with small gems cut into a star shape. Each time the whip touched his skin, the tips of the stars tore apart almost imperceptibly; but after several impacts, the cuts began to sting and the discomfort was accumulated. At this point, blood trickled in thin threads through the tense muscles of the Great Prince, drawing lattices over the previous scars.
The lashes ceased for a moment and Nolofinwë could hear the labored breathing of Fëanáro. In his mind, he drew the image of his half-brother roughly masturbating to ease tension before continuing; but in that instant, the rope snapped in the air and the gems embedded themselves in his buttocks.
Fëanáro savored the surprised moan that escaped his little brother's lips. It was common opinion in Tirion that Kanafinwë possessed the most beautiful voice among the Noldor: those who thought so, never had the privilege of hearing the Great Prince moaning. With a firm pulse, he flogged his tight buttocks and thighs again. Nolofinwë had the most delicious butt in the world, a rounded mass of muscles, as pale as the rest of his body, barely decorated by two spots just outside the right buttock.
Nolofinwë arched backward, clinging to the ropes to hold himself up as a thrill of pleasure ran through him. Hells! After so many weeks, he really needed to release all the tension in his body and head ... and the lashes were not enough for that. As if he could read his mind, Fëanáro turned around and climbed to the bed on his knees to be at the same height as his younger brother. With one hand, he grabbed a lock of hair behind Nolofinwë's ear and forced him to twist his head to kiss him roughly. He slipped the other hand - still holding the braided rope - down his torso, pulling the ring on the nipple so that Nolofinwë growled into his avid mouth, down to the pelvis to support the rope at the base of the erect cock.
Nolofinwë clenched his teeth as he felt the slight pressure against his sensitized flesh. His skin electrified when Fëanáro moved the handle of the whip to his hip, surrounding his body to slide slowly between buttocks. A shiver of fear shook his shoulders and his thighs. Fëanáro purred, approving and changed the grip to push into the tight hole. Nolofinwë’s cock shuddered against his crotch. Nolofinwë's shout of protest was lost in his half-brother’s tongue and teeth, and he twisted his hands to hold on to the bonds as Fëanáro got in and took out the turning gold roller.
The Crown Prince settled on his brother's rigid phallus and pressed between his thighs. He began to move along the erection, in the same cadence that he established in the penetration; his mouth looting in youngest’s. He felt the tremors of impotence against his body and pleasure ignited his blood. He was going to possess his lover until he was able to move, until he could not even moan and finally - finally! - fell asleep in his arms, confident ... like the precious child he was.
The Great Prince gasped, the pressure in his sphincter filling him to close his throat, the exquisite heat around his cock ... the certainty that his body was bowed to the dominion of his half-brother ... the certainty that a part of him longed to be subdued like this, now. The orgasm tensed the muscles of his back and his anus tightened around the golden cylinder as his testicles tensed to start the ecstasy shots ... and the next second, everything was gone: the pressure on his cock, the tension in his passage, the teeth that hurt lips and tongue. He opened his eyes, fighting to contain the sob of frustration and saw Fëanáro's satisfied smile. Rage clenched his chest and he barely made a hiss between his teeth.
Fëanáro ran his eyes over other’s flushed cheeks, lips parted, eyes sparkling, clenched muscles... and he was about to cum at that very moment. With a brusque gesture, he left bed and returned to Nolofinwë's back. He grabbed him by the hips and pulled until he was in the right position to penetrate with a single blow.
Nolofinwë leaned forward, his shoulders twisting uncomfortably at the bonds. With an effort, he grabbed harder and tried to relax to avoid permanent damage. It would not be the first time that Fëanáro wounded him more than planned.


Indis scowled at his favorite son's arm in a sling. In spite of everything that  others could think, Arakáno was his favorite, so similar to his father that he could have gone through his twin if his eyes were less clear. Although he was already an adult, for the queen he was still the child who stuttered poems for her.
“Again, how did this happen?”
“I tripped on the stairs and tried to catch myself wrongly.”
“You dislocated your shoulder.”  His mother pointed, lips drawing a stern line. “Are you sure you were not fighting with ... your half-brother?”
Nolofinwë paled; but with an effort, he repeated:
“I stumbled. Ask Findis: it was she who returned my shoulder to its place.”
“Findis did not see you having that accident. He knows what you told her, same as me.”
“It's true.”  He insisted, with the calm learned in the Court and in years of hiding true nature of his relationship with Fëanáro.
“Well,” the queen sighed, yielding with narrowed eyes, “I hope you will be well for the dance. Eärwen will come with his brothers.”
“The swan-maiden of Alqualondë.” He half-smiled. “Are you trying to get me married, Mamil?”
“It's time. Your brother is going for his fourth child.”
“Kurufinwë is quite older than me.” He pointed with a pout.

About two hours after the Mingling of Lights, when Telperion meekly lit the Noldorin city, Nolofinwë tried to sleep without leaning on his damaged arm, which was quite difficult because it was his favorite position to fall asleep. The noise of the window opening forced him to sit on the bed, sure who invaded his bedroom.
Fëanáro went to the bed and let himself fall through it as if it belonged to him.
“What did you talk to your mother, Nolofinwë?” He demanded while taking off his shoes.
“About the ball.”
“How did you tell her that you had dislocated his shoulder?” He spun on the bed as he reached under the covers and caught the boy's ankle.
“I tripped on the stairs and tried to grab the balustrade. The weight of my body dislocated the limb.”
“Seriously?”, he pushed aside the blanket impatiently and placed himself on his knees between Nolofinwë's legs. “So, why does she think we're fighting?”
“Because it is what usually happens when we are in front of everyone,” answered the youngest, leaning back to avoid as long as possible the wild caresses. «And when we are alone», he replied in his mind. “How do you know what she really thinks has happened?”
“Atto went to look for me at the forge to talk to me about our relationship”. He descended on him, leaning on the hands on both sides of the head of Nolofinwë to press his hard sex against the crotch of the youth. He moved rhythmically, pressing and rubbing, his breath warming the other's lips.
“I told him I loved you too much to hurt you like that”, he half smiled and moved his arm to grab one of the youngest's legs and forcing him to cinch his waist.
«Really?» Nolofinwë almost laughed hysterically.
“He believed you, I suppose” he said instead, trying to protect his aching arm.
“I just said the truth. You are my treasure, Nolvo: why would I hurt you?”
For the first time in his life, Nolofinwë saw clearly, realizing that Fëanáro certainly believed that he liked everything he did to him, that he wanted to be fucked, tortured, raped, used, beaten, pierced, tattooed ... The surprise prevented him from reacting when Fëanáro moved on the bed to fall on his back with him on top. With his hands on his hips, he forced him to move back and forth on his erection, causing the precum to moisten his clothes.
Fëanáro arched, hissing with pleasure. Immediately, he manipulated his brother until he could push the sleeping pants down his long legs and then opened his fly to release the hard cock.
“Take it” he ordered, hoarsely. Put it all on you and move on top of me.”
Nolofinwë cleared his throat, considering taking advantage of the momentary bargaining power he had received.
“I need ... I need to prepare me before. I ... I cannot take you without ... without the ... the proper lubrication...”
Fëanáro moaned impatiently and writhed beneath his weight, making the moisture spread across his shaft against the scrotum.
“I'm wet enough, damn kid” he barked, digging his fingers into the buttocks”. Take my whole cock now ... or I'll throw you to the ground and I'll fuck you until you break your ass, Nolofinwë.”
«Why should I hurt you?»
Words danced in Nolofinwë's ears, almost as painful as the punishment his half-brother promised. He rose on his knees and grabbed Fëanáro's member with his left hand to place it in his entrance. His sphincter closed instinctively; but he forced himself to breathe deeply and relax. After all, this time he had some control.
He lowered himself little by little, alternating breaths, concentrating on relaxing the muscles and expanding his anus around possession. Drowned moans pulsed in his throat. Fëanáro did not move, delighting in the progress of the penetration and in the increasing strength with which Nolofinwë bit his lower lip. When the youngest stopped, struggling with the pain, he turned his hips, digging a little more.

“Wait, Kurufinwë!” the minor pleaded. “I cannot ... it hurts ... it hurts a lot, really...”

“Do not be silly.” He gasped in a thick voice. “You have only gotten half and you always have much more inside. You can take it all, Nolvo. I want you to take it all. And you want too, precious.”

“N-no ... I cannot...”

 Fëanáro tried to move; but Nolofinwë pressed with healthy hand into his pelvis, keeping him under control. It was as if fire was unleashed in his veins. With a sudden movement, he sat down while squeezing the fingers of the youngest in one of his hands. His cock completely entered the body of Nolofinwë, who avoided his mouth turning his face to the side, hissing in pain. He grabbed him by the hips and moved him up and down, muttering against his skin all he would do later for having resisted. Nolofinwë wanted to break free, he wanted to resist and end this once and for all. What could happen? That Fëanáro hit him? He already did that without him offering resistance. But while his brain roared and sobbed with rage, his cock throbbed, alive in the heat between their bodies. How was it possible that he could still respond in that way? Humiliation only increased with the reality of the reactions of his libido. He tightened his jaws, silencing the moan with which the release erupted. He stirred in his brother's erection, tears of helplessness and shame running down his cheeks.

“By Manwë’s balls! Yes, beauty” the eldest roared. “That’s it, love! Come for me. Ah ... you drive me crazy when you come like that, so tight around my cock ... "He massaged and pinched Nolofinwë's buttocks, causing ejaculation to continue a little longer. “There I go, darling ... I'm going to throw it all in ... ah yes, Nolvo!”

 A few more thrusts in the beating channel of his rectum and Nolofinwe felt the hot moisture fill him. Fëanáro collapsed between the pillows, dragging him along. Nolofinwë settled down in time to protect his injured arm and turned his back to him, pressing his legs almost against his chest, humiliated. Fëanáro curved behind him, fitting him into his body and pressed his sated member - for the moment - between his buttocks.

“Atar spoke of a dance,” he murmured in his ear, in a thick voice. “Are you looking for a wife, Nolvo?”

“King Olwë's daughter is invited.”

“Would you marry her?”

“I don’t remember her”, he went off on a tangent, refusing to admit that he had never considered intimacy with anyone, that he could not even think of celebrating the physical ceremony by which a marriage established ties.

“I would not leave you. You have to marry a female from Tirion, to stay in the city.” Fëanáro squeezed, possessive. “That, if I decide to let you marry. You cannot marry without my permission. You know it, do not you? You know you belong to me. Answer me.”

“Y-yes.” He almost sobbed. His answer was enough to appease the possessiveness of the Crown Prince, who sniffed a little more in his hair and fell asleep.

In a first impulse, Nolofinwë closed to the invasion, contracting his sphincter; but, almost immediately swallowed and mentally recited the genitive variations in vanyarin labguage. His breathing relaxed and his muscles released part of the tension.
Fëanáro groaned through parted lips, pushing deeper, his hands sliding on the skin dampened with blood and sweat. He curled his fingers around the bones of the hips, keeping the other in position and began to move slowly, inside and out, soft and deep, a slow ritual that would dilate the moment of liberation. For years he had not fucked his lover in this way: since the beginning of his contradictions in the Council, their meetings had been only an extension of public rivalry, Nolvo resisting and denying him even his kisses, he submitting him and marking that delicious body by each caress that denied him. Nolofinwë was not a passionate male; at times, Fëanáro had come to believe that sex disgusted him. If it were not for those delicious moans and for the way his fëa lit up when he climaxed, he would have resigned himself long ago to not getting anything from him. However, even if Nolofinwë were to lie frozen in his arms, he could not have denied this pleasure, the pleasure of being united with the only elf who really satisfied his need. Nolofinwë was strong; he was a powerful and hard male who could stand the fire unleashed by his older brother, who could remain impassive where others just collapsed or fled. Nerdanel herself had not resisted the ravages of his power long. As the years of marriage passed, he needed more, he demanded more ... and she barely managed to finish the intercourse without breaking. Fëanáro had restrained himself for years, fearing that Nerdanel would follow Míriel's path, consumed by the fire he would put in her belly. Then, Nolofinwë grew up. Not much really. Nolofinwë was barely a child fresh from infancy when Fëanáro went after him. Unlike the older daughter of Indis, the boy had always had the facility to get him mad. While he was too young, Nolofinwë only disliked him because everyone said he looked more like Finwë than himself; but when the child learned to respond to his sharp comments, Fëanáro noticed that he also had his mother's quick tongue and his own poisonous wit. He was a little demon. And the little valarauko developed quickly, gaining in muscle and height, to the point that he had the body of a boy ten years older joined to a face too naive not to excite an adult to the fullest of his strengths. Fëanáro had beaten his half-brother before - on one occasion he had slapped him so hard for breaking into his forge that the boy had fallen to the ground, dazed and he had left in a hurry, not to leave; but because of the growing need to jump on him and fuck him right there - and that day, as always, the rage led to a voracious sexual desire that clouded his senses, and Nolvo had responded so beautifully! He knew it was his little brother's first experience and at that moment he decided that Nolvo would be his. His half-brother had not disappointed him: he grew up to be strong and beautiful, an imposing male who made heads turn toward him and burned lust, and Fëanáro swelled with pride at the thought that only he could wrench that mask of cold indifference. Only then, while his cock possessed and burned in his half-brother’s body, Nolofinwë was himself without restrictions, and when Nolvo moaned and for a moment allowed his disguise to fall, the Embroiderer's son was complete.
The sensations accumulated in Nolofinwë's body, pain and shame twisting his soul, closing his throat. The ropes seared his wrists and for a second, he wondered what excuse he would invent for Lalwen to heal. It was his last rational thought before an arm of his half-brother surrounded his waist while the other hand sank into the base of the braid almost loose. Fëanáro's fingers wrapped around his member and caressed in the same enervating cadence that he penetrated him. Nolofinwë squeezed his eyelids, refusing to admit that he was craving more strength, more rudeness, more ... domination by Fëanáro. Tension accumulated in his testicles and the need to ejaculate made blood hum in his ears. He dropped his head back, against the shoulder of his older brother and with a strangled voice, he pleaded:
“More ... harder ... please ... faster ...”
Fëanáro almost stopped, confused. It was the first time that his lover asked for more. He had to clench his teeth to keep from running and, on the contrary, he slowed the frequency of the attacks, delaying to retreat until only the head of his cock was inside his brother.
Nolofinwë sobbed, helpless. This was a new torture. Only he could have made the mistake of supplicate.  He wanted more, and that had been enough for his brother to decide that he wanted to delay the act in an interminable way. Fëanáro always fucked him for hours; but after Nolofinwe had come, he merely lay lulled in his arms, as if broken. Sated his dirty lust, it was much easier to yield to Fëanáro’s demands.


Fëanáro took his hand away from his lover's cock once he felt the urge to ejaculate dissipate. It was the fourth time that he prevented the other's orgasm and once again a defeated moan came from the parched throat of Nolofinwe, who was already resting all the weight against him, tired and overexcited in one. Fëanáro sniffed the skin under his ear and wiped the fine drops of sweat with the tip of his tongue. Hissing in disgust, Nolofinwë twisted in the bonds to turn his face.
The Crown Prince gasped in bewilderment when his brother's lips found his in an uncomfortable and strange kiss. Nolofinwë separated just enough to put his tongue into the older elf's mouth and touch the tip of his. At the same time, he pressed his butt on the surprised Fëanáro, which made his cock pulse.
“Please...” he asked in a hoarse voice for the moans and the desire.
Fëanáro's eyes dilated and before he could avoid it, ecstasy shook him like an earthquake. A deep roar escaped his chest and instinctively, his hips waving as he ran wildly. He cursed under his breath, collapsing against Nolofinwë’s back once the spasms were over. Furious with himself for not having endured, he straightened and freed Nolofinwë's wrists.
The Great Prince fell to the bed, his arms and legs numbed by the position. He crept up to fit between the pillows and lay on his back for a few minutes, trying to concentrate on regaining sensibility in his limbs. The sound of breaking glass made him open his eyes and move to see Fëanáro walk furiously through the room.
The Crown Prince stopped in front of the table and grabbed the second bottle of liquor to drink directly from it. He emptied it halfway and threw it against the wall.
“Do not do that”. The remaining voice of Nolofinwë came from the bed, forcing him to turn on the spot. “Please. Someone could ... listen and come see ...”
“And?” he demanded, breathing agitated. “Do you not want them to know you're with me? What are you with me «like this»?”
“I do not think it's convenient for it to be known that you ... that we ... that we are ...”
Fëanáro held his breath when the other male hesitated to use a word to define them.
“Lovers - he hissed, going to the bed to see him up close. “We are lovers, Nolofinwë, why can you not say it?
Nolofinwë blushed intensely and fell back on himself. Fëanáro's gaze descended to his still gloriously hard sex between his marked thighs. Saliva accumulated in his mouth.
“It's ... is it what we are, Kurufinwë?” Nolofinwë inquired, narrowing his eyes when he perceived the hungry expression of the older.
“What did you think we had been doing all these years?” Fëanáro scoffed as he climbed onto the bed and leaned over him.
Nolofinwë remained motionless while Fëanáro's lips brushed his and descended. Fëanáro nibbled and sucked his chin, and continued down the neck, followed a straight line down the abdomen and finally closed his mouth around the beautiful cock.

A cry of amazement and delight escaped Nolofinwë's lips, his back arching to ram into the damp warmth. For a second, it occurred to him that being his brother so angry, it was not a good idea to have his genitals in his mouth; but the voice that hooted hoarsely in his head and thanked for the sweet attention drowned out any logic. Nolofinwë plunged his fingers into Fëanáro's loose hair and lost himself in the rhythm, for the first time taking the pleasure that only he gave him. After ... after Fëanáro would surely make him pay for the freedoms he was taking; but, right now, the son of Indis only thought that they were lovers, Fëanáro had said that they were lovers. He came with a prolonged moan, his seed filling the mouth of his half-brother, his cock vibrating against the tongue that so many times insulted and provoked him.
Fëanáro raised his head, swallowing the remains of liquid in his mouth. It was too much for him not to savor Nolofinwë and the strength of his taste, of his essence, left him yearning for more. His brother had never let go so completely and Fëanáro also wanted more of "that".
“Happy, little boy?”  He asked, resting a hand on the boy's belly. For the first time, Nolofinwë did not jump like a cornered fox. Instead, his eyes flashed behind thick lashes.
“Are you angry with me?”, he asked instead of answering.
“No. Not anymore, my love.”
“Why are you angry with me when I just try to please you?” questioned again Nolofinwë, the lost child of so many years ago surfacing in his pained expression. Fëanáro passed his saliva, stunned.
“You never seem happy when we're together. It's as if ... as if I was forcing you to be my lover. However, outside, in front of others, you are the male I love: firm, confident, capable of replicating and confronting me, capable of defeating me.” He smiled, fascinated. “That's what I liked about you.”
“I thought you wanted obedience, submission ...” the younger elf stammered, confused.
“I want to dominate you, yes; but only if you present me with a challenge. Is that why you let yourself be done without reacting?” He frowned. “ Because you think it's how I like to have you?”
“In... in part. You always attack me and ... and you hit me, and I believed ... I thought it made you happy that I ... that I submitted without ... without protest.”
“I was looking for you to answer” he opened his obsidian eyes a lot, now almost silvery with bewilderment. “You react so wonderfully in the Council, in the arena of training, in the Court, during dinner ... you are the only worthy opponent I have found. When you were an infant you put me in a hurry to be able to answer; however, when it comes to sex, you become an iceberg.”
“Oh”, Nolofinwë exclaimed and a shiver bristled his skin. “I did not know ... I can ... I can try it better ... I can try to defend myself when you ... Exactly what would you like me to do? How would you want me to act in ... here?
Fëanáro studied him, intrigued. Something was not right. Although they were talking for the first time and Nolofinwë seemed to understand his motives to treat him as he did ... something he was not saying. Yet.
“I want you to be simply yourself. I want you to take your pleasure and demand it ... as you did today. You never prayed to me. You never kissed me without my order.”
“Bu-but that bothered you” he pointed, stunned.
“I was not angry with you, Nolvo.” Fëanáro smiled. “I was furious with myself: for the first time you give me what I want ... and I come as a teenager! I could not even enjoy it!”
“If that's what you want, I ... I'll try, Kurufinwë; but I ... I do not ... I do not like it.”
“What do not you like?” The older one was surprised. “Do not you like to kiss me?”
“Sex.” confessed with barely audible voice. “I do not like sex.”
If he had said he had wings, Fëanáro would not have looked at him more surprised.
“It's a joke, right?”
“It’s not! I do not like doing it. It disgusts me. I've never ... I do not like to be touched. Or the way my body reacts without being able to control it or ...”
“Your body reacts because you like it, Nolvo!” He interrupted. “Why did you never tell me that? Why did not you tell me how you felt?”
“Because I did not think you cared!”
“Of course I care, you idiot kid!” He exploded, not quite sure against whom direct his anger. “You are the love of my life! How can I not care about something like that?”
Nolofinwë looked at him with wide eyes. Fëanáro cursed under his breath, mumbling something that this day he could not do anything right. Nolofinwë smiled and extended a hand to rest it lightly on his brother's cheek.
“I think ...”, he began to say, unsure. “I think I could get to love you ... as much as I'm capable of love, of course. Although I do not ... like sex, I do like you, Kurufinwë. I like to please you and...
“Do not say more nonsense, Nolvo. Yes, you do like sex. If you did not like it, you would not come like you do when you're with me. And your fëa would not pulse so exquisitely when you reach orgasm.”
“How…?” he blushed. “How do you know?”

“Because I love you, idiot. It's what happens when you love someone: you can feel his emotions and see his thoughts.”

“Oh,” Nolofinwë muttered again, suddenly realizing how much he was unaware of such a basic aspect of Elven life.

“It's my fault”, admitted Fëanáro. “You were too young when ... and I was not patient. I'm not yet. I thought you saw my heart as I saw yours and I thought ... that you liked it that way. After all, you always reached the climax and when you fell asleep, you were ... satiated, satisfied. I felt your fear and your pain; but also your pleasure and your hunger. There are those who need that: pleasure and pain together. I thought you ... "He shook his head. Nolofinwë listened to him, stunned. His brother was right: despite his fear and disgust, he always reached the climax. And he never rested as well as when Fëanáro finished with him. Maybe he liked all that part of the marks, and the pierced nipples, and the whips ... and the punishments ... and the fierce kisses of Fëanáro ... and his orders ... his insults ... his demands ... his cock ... A shudder ran down his spine, making him move to stick to the tense body of the elderly. Fëanáro watched him, questioning. Nolofinwë lowered his eyelids, in a shy attitude.

“We could ... find out.” He suggested. “If you want to. Find out if I need both to satisfy myself: pain and pleasure, I mean.”

“And, how do you propose that we do that?” Fëanáro licked his lips, feeling his sex hardening with the sight of that innocent and playful face.

“We-We could try wi-withouth pain ... once.” He managed to say, with effort. “You'll have to tell me how ... how you want me to touch you and when ... when I do something wrong too ...” A moan erupted from Fëanáro's mouth just before he leaned over him and kissed him passionately. Nolofinwë hesitated; but after a second, he ventured his tongue and answered the kiss as surely as he dared. His lover's moan of pleasure rumbled in his bones. As he let himself be dragged by Fëanáro to straddle his hips, Nolofinwë realized that he had always known - throughout all those years - how to satisfy his older brother: he had known in advance the exact moment when he would ejaculate, the caress or movement that would take him to the point of no return, the exact reason for his anger... every emotion that Fëanáro denied to the world. A sense of rejoicing unknown until then danced behind his navel; but he forced himself to concentrate on the kisses and hands that explored his skin. At least for the moment he could delay a while to communicate his discovery to his lover.




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