Adult-FanFiction.org : Lord of the Rings

Mine	By : wynterstormcrow Category: +First Age > Slash - Male/Male Views: 1828 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I own nothing from LOTR/Silmarillion/Tolkien's realm, no characters are mine or places. I make no money from this.

Chapter List
- 1-Mine
- 1
“Your move.”
Fingolfin studied the board, pointedly ignoring the way his half-brother lounged so bonelessly, so gracefully in his chair. The elder Elf was clad in a pair of snug black leggings, his shirt mostly unlaced. Thick, ebony hair fell over a muscular chest, a chest that was threatening to be the undoing of the younger. “You, dear brother, are a bastard,” he announced, looking up to meet those burnished-silver eyes.
Fëanáro chuckled, a rich, dark sound that pulled at Fingolfin’s groin. “Atar insisted we both learn strategy; what better way to hone a skill than to play against one another, hmm?” he taunted, and shifted his position a bit, drawing attention to the bulge in the black leather of the leggings. Azure eyes dropped briefly, and he saw Fingolfin swallow. Aye, my brother, let us see how good your control is, he reflected, smiling most wickedly to himself.
Damn his half-brother! Fingolfin was near sure by now that the bloody bastard was doing this intentionally, just so he could have the smug satisfaction of rejecting him. He was certain Fëanáro had never lain with another male, so what other reason could the elder Elf have but to hurt him? “Aye,” he finally agreed, and turned his attention to the board once more. He saw no way out of the trap the elder Elf had laid for him … both in the game, and in that chamber they sat in.
Still smiling, Fëanáro lazily poured another glass of the wine he’d made, and made sure to top off his half-brother’s glass as well. The alcohol in his blood and the heat from the fire they sat before were both affecting him; normally it would have annoyed him, but tonight he used it to his advantage. “A bit warm in here, don’t you think?” he casually remarked, slipping out of his shirt and laying it aside.
Fingolfin drew a shuddery breath, the alcohol affecting him also but not in the same manner as his half-brother. Too clearly he could see himself before the elder, kneeling, his mouth gliding over that fair, muscular torso and teasing those hardened nubs. “Bloody tease,” he muttered, not even realizing he’d said it aloud.
Growling from low in his chest, Fëanáro rose to his feet in one fluid motion and stepped over to Fingolfin. Staring down at the younger Elf, he reached to wind one hand in that long, black hair and hauled him to his feet by it. Not giving Fingolfin a chance to speak, to object, he crushed his mouth against that of his half-brother’s and proceeded to ravage it.
The younger Elf was stunned for the span of two seconds – and then he began to reciprocate eagerly. Hands wandering freely over his half-brother’s bare torso, he met the kiss and gave back as best he could. Fëanáro tasted of the wine, and smelled of spices, compelling Fingolfin to go further. At that moment he could have cared less that they were half-brothers. He wanted – nay, he needed what Fëanáro was offering, and he was determined to get it one way or another. Moaning wantonly into that hot mouth, he pressed his swollen cock against his half-brother, relieved to find the elder just as aroused.
Fëanáro ripped his mouth free of his half-brother, panting heavily and gazing into azure eyes glazed with need. “Too bloody many clothes,” he murmured, tearing the shirt from Fingolfin and ripping the laces free of his leggings. Having effectively rendered the Elf nude, he swept the game off the table they had been using, not giving a damn when the stone pieces shattered as they hit the stone floor. Growling again, he set Fingolfin on the table and urged him to lie back. Giving him one last fey look, he bent down to take his half-brother’s swollen cock down his throat.
Fingolfin bit his lip clear in half to keep from screaming at the sensation of having Fëanáro’s mouth on such a sensitive area of his person. True enough, he’d had others perform such an act on him before, but ‘twere maidens and not his mad half-brother. Quite clearly he had been mistaken about Fëanáro having never lain with another male – the skill and ease with which he pleasured him with his mouth spoke of experience. Moaning, he fisted that heavy black silk that was his half-brother’s hair and let himself feel every last sensation.
Right before he pushed Fingolfin into release, Fëanáro stopped dead and sat up to gaze down at him. “Will you give yourself to me, my brother?” he asked, deadly serious. One hand ventured down between the splayed legs, fingers sliding along the cleft of those taut cheeks. “Will you let me claim you?”
Panting for breath and worked up beyond all measure, Fingolfin could only nod his consent. He’d never lain with a male either, but this was Fëanáro. This was his half-brother, the one he loved dearly. The one he looked up to, idolized, wept over. Yes – for him he would do this.
A sense of relief seemed to pass over the elder Elf, and he nodded with a tender smile. “Hold still for a bit, lovely one,” he murmured. “I’ll not risk hurting you.” Turning, he rummaged around for a moment until he found where he had hidden the oil. Uncorking the small phial, he dripped it over his fingers first and set it nearby. Meeting his half-brother’s eyes, he gently slid two fingers between his cheeks and rubbed the oil over his virginal entrance. When he had it well-oiled, he inserted one slender, long finger.
Fingolfin had assumed any penetration would be somewhat painful, so he was surprised when the feel of his half-brother’s finger sliding into him drew a moan from him and caused his cock to jerk against his stomach. Relaxing on the table, he kept half-lidded eyes on Fëanáro as the elder Elf prepared him slowly. Another finger was added a brief time after the first, both working in and out of his body and stretching the ring of muscle and both serving to cause his arousal to spiral far out of control. “Brother, please,” he begged softly. “I cannot bear this teasing!”
Fëanáro chuckled softly, and slicked himself with the oil. “You are most impatient, my lovely,” he chided with a smile, “but I am inclined to go along with your wishes.” Positioning himself, he slowly pressed into his half-brother, gritting his teeth as he felt his entrance stretch to admit him inside.
Moaning loudly, the younger Elf writhed on the table as he was breached though not entirely from pain. It stung, sure, but it was a good sort of sting … Looking up at Fëanáro, he reached out to him, wanting him closer. The elder Elf smiled and leaned down to him, catching his mouth in a slow, sensual kiss while he slid himself to the hilt inside his body.
Fëanáro was in for a surprise this time however, for his timid half-brother had grown bold now in his need. Fingolfin fought him for control of the kiss, hands winding in his hair and pulling on it insistently while those long, muscular legs wound tight around his waist to pull him deeper into him. Growling again, the elder Elf cast aside all decorum and gave his half-brother what he wanted – he relented control of the kiss and began pounding into him hard and fast.
How he managed to stay atop that table was a mystery; Fingolfin writhed like a wild thing beneath his half-brother, fingers clawing at his back and tangling in his hair to pull on it hard. When Fëanáro pulled free of the kiss to focus on hitting that incredibly delirious spot inside of him, Fingolfin attached himself to his neck, shoulders, and chest, biting hard enough to bruise and licking the wounds afterward.
Snarling down at his half-brother, Fëanáro reached to hook his legs over his arms and shoved his knees in to his chest, effectively bending him in half, to resume pounding into him. The new position trapped the younger Elf, keeping him from leaving any more marks on him, and it also allowed for deeper penetration. Burnished silver blazed into azure, both Elves nearing their release …
Fingolfin went over first, jerking and bucking beneath his half-brother and crying out his name. His seed spilled forth over his chest, spattering his hair and part of one cheek but he paid it no heed. Gasping for breath, he watched as Fëanáro curled his lip back in a snarl and fell into his own release.
When it was over, both Elves dragged themselves to the rug before the fire to lie cuddled together. Fingolfin rested his head on Fëanáro’s chest, wishing he had the ability to purr while his half-brother stroked his hair and back. He was sore, but it was a good kind of sore. Sighing contentedly, he kissed the elder’s chest and felt lips press into his head in turn.
“You do know I love you,” Fëanáro said suddenly.
“I did not,” Fingolfin expressed, managing to sit up so he could look at those amazing silver eyes. “But it’s most grateful I am to hear that, my brother, for I love you also.”
A smile appeared on the elder’s lips. “You are mine, Nolofinwë,” he murmured.
“Aye,” Fingolfin agreed. “As you are mine, Fëanáro.”
“Aye,” Fëanáro agreed. “As I am yours.”
- 1
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