"That's a good boy."
Fëanor made a rude noise blowing his tongue between his lips.
Maglor smirked, then affectionately tousled Fëanor's hair and poked the tip of his nose. "I'll see you in a few hours."
Maglor left the bedchamber... leaving Fëanor alone, sitting in a chair with his wrists bound before him. This time Maglor had used a silk scarf instead of rope, since Fëanor had rope burn on his wrists, but his ankles were bound with rope. Maglor had tied Fëanor to make sure he couldn't escape and would stay and hear Fingolfin out, per the promise he'd made to reconcile with his brother in his fevered "do anything for cock" begging.
Fëanor couldn't quite say he regretted the fuck, and truth be told he missed Fingolfin and his resistance was wearing thin. But he had enough pride left to not want to make it this easy, and as soon as he heard Maglor's footsteps down the hall and was sure Maglor wasn't going to come back to make sure he wasn't trying anything funny... Fëanor began to fidget, trying to loosen the knots or rip the silk altogether.
When he felt the hold at his wrists relax just a little, he raised his arms and lowered his head and began tugging at a knot with his teeth. Tugging and tugging, snarling with frustration. At last he pulled enough that he was able to slip his hands free, and with that, he reached down and untied the rope knots binding his ankles together. He heard another set of footsteps down the hall - different from Maglor's; this had to be Fingolfin. Just in time. Fëanor got up, quickly stretched his legs, and then he rushed to the window, opened it, and climbed through.
By the time he made his way to the gardens, he wasn't alone. He looked over his shoulder and saw Fingolfin in the distance, chasing him. Fëanor began to run through the trees, heart pounding, stomach aflutter... a thrill through his entire body. Fingolfin got closer - he was a fast runner himself - and Fëanor ran as fast as he could, giving it his all, until Fingolfin reached out and grabbed him by the arm.
Then Fingolfin tackled Fëanor to the ground and pinned him. Fëanor's cock hardened immediately, and his breath hitched as he felt a hard bulge in Fingolfin's own breeches, responding. For a moment they looked into each other's eyes - Fëanor was once again dazzled by the most beautiful blue he'd ever seen, as if they had been the inspiration for the new sky after the Sun and Moon replaced the light of the Trees.
Fëanor's cock throbbed urgently as Fingolfin growled. "You little brat," Fingolfin said, with that glare Fëanor found impossibly handsome. "You called me here to reconcile and then you escaped from me."
Fëanor batted his lashes and bit his lower lip. "Sorry."
"As you know, you are not sorry." Fingolfin seized a handful of Fëanor's hair and then he bit Fëanor's neck.
Fëanor almost came untouched, letting out a sob at the pleasure-pain of Fingolfin's teeth... the excitement coursing through his entire body.
"It's all right." Fingolfin gave him a wolfish, predatory grin. "I'm going to make you sorry."
Fëanor grinned back, wanting to really earn what was coming to him. "Hi Going To Make You Sorry -"
With another growl, Fingolfin kissed him hard and rough. Fëanor moaned into the kiss as their tongues met for the first time since their re-embodiment, and he shuddered, cock pulsing with need. They kissed and kissed, and then Fingolfin began to tear the fabric of Fëanor's tunic, rending it open, all regard for the handiwork or the cost gone in the heat between them. When Fingolfin tore at Fëanor's breeches Fëanor reached out and did the same, ripping Fingolfin's clothes to pieces, letting the scraps fall into the grass. When they were naked, Fingolfin bit Fëanor's neck again and began to grind against him, cock rubbing cock.
What followed was a domination struggle, the two of them kissing as their cocks ground together, Fëanor rolling Fingolfin onto his back and rubbing against him, before Fingolfin re-asserted control, shoving Fëanor onto his back and pinning him. They loved it, the thrill of competing, hot and primal. Back and forth they went, rolling, shoving, biting, kissing, hands roaming, until at last Fingolfin grabbed Fëanor's right leg, held it tight around him, making it difficult for Fëanor to escape the lock, and with his free hand, reached over to his rent breeches, produced a small vial of oil, and oiled his cock - the sight of Fingolfin touching himself almost brought Fëanor off right then.
Fëanor gasped as he felt the tip of Fingolfin's cock against his entrance, and he felt his hole twitch, his own cock jolting with urgent, desperate need.
"You brat, now I'm going to pound you raw," Fingolfin rasped.
"Promises, promises."
Fëanor's mischievous grin only lasted for a few seconds before he felt Fingolfin's cock stretching him and he had to take deep breaths. When Fingolfin was all the way in, Fingolfin leaned in and kissed him, and then Fingolfin rose back up and let him have it, fucking him fiercely, Fëanor's leg on his shoulder. Fëanor still topped from the bottom, encouraging him with "fuck me harder" and teasing with "is that the best you can do?"
Then Fëanor completely lost his ability to make words when Fingolfin seized his cock and stroked it in time with his pounding thrusts. The rhythm on his cock and that sweet spot inside him combined deliciously and Fëanor felt himself dangling at that edge of release, about to fall. Fingolfin slammed into him even harder, balls slapping away, and Fëanor came with a cry, shooting over Fingolfin, feeling like his entire body was turned to liquid. A few thrusts later Fingolfin came too, moaning and shivering.
Fingolfin fell on top of him and they kissed, savoring the throbbing pleasure. Then a nuzzle, before they kissed some more. Fingolfin touched Fëanor's face. "How's that?"
"Not bad." Fëanor winked. Then he stopped teasing. "Pretty damn good."
"As you know, you're a fucking brat."
Fëanor touched Fingolfin's face in return, feeling ready to cry with the relief following release. "I love you too."
Fingolfin sighed and he pressed his head against Fëanor's. "I suppose I should say I am sorry for not apologizing to you first, but it hurt me that you burned the ships and you wouldn't initiate the apology -"
Fëanor sighed too. Now the tears flowed, even as it wounded his pride. But his love was stronger than pride. He looked into those flame-blue eyes and spoke the truth. "I needed my Atya, after Atar died, and you turned me away. The cold of the Helcaraxë was as nothing compared to how it felt here, without you." He touched his heart. "And yes, I regret burning the ships and coming to Middle-Earth without you. I regret it more than you know. Two wrongs don't make a right. But I... needed... my... Atya..." Fëanor broke, sobbing.
Fingolfin's jaw trembled and his eyes were too bright. He shook with silent tears as he kissed Fëanor's own. "I should have never rejected you. I thought we had been cursed, and I wanted to spare us - and especially you - more pain, more suffering. But it was an even greater curse to lose you, my blessing..."
The brothers held each other, crying, kissing each other's tears... then kissing, claiming each other's mouths hungrily, the passion rising between them once more like an unquenchable flame. "I love you," Fingolfin said, taking Fëanor's hand in his and pressing it to his heart. He smiled as he added, "Brat."
Fëanor stuck his tongue out.
Fingolfin kissed him again. "I see that bratty, slutty hole of yours hasn't been punished enough." Fingolfin licked Fëanor's neck, and kissed it, making Fëanor tremble against him, melting, weak and powerless to his brother's pleasure. "It's time for Atya to put you in your place, slut."
"Yes, please..."
Finarfin had sailed out to Tol Eressëa with Fingolfin, and later that evening - after Fëanor and Fingolfin had a nap and Finarfin and Maglor had some private time to reunite - it was time for Finarfin, Fingolfin and Maglor to work together to discipline bratty Fëanor yet further... in the dungeon.
Finarfin produced a riding crop and several lengths of red-colored rope. The thought of what they would be doing with that rope made Fëanor's cock throb as Finarfin handed Fingolfin the riding crop, and handed the rope to Maglor. Then Finarfin sat on the chair like it was his throne, a smug little smile on his face at the show that was about to begin.
"There's three of us and there were three Silmarils, so we should each give him nine spankings - that's twenty-seven." Finarfin gestured to Maglor, who held the crop. "You can go first."
Maglor smiled. He gave Finarfin a little kiss on his way over. Fingolfin roughly bent Fëanor over the spanking horse and Maglor took a moment to look at Fëanor's ass and tenderly rubbed it, before giving it a good, hard smack with the riding crop. Fëanor cried out, and then thrust his ass out at Maglor, loving that feeling of being dominated and surrendering. "More, Atya," Fëanor moaned.
Maglor smacked Fëanor's ass again and again. While Fëanor enjoyed being spanked bare-handed, there was something very satisfying about the sting of the crop, hearing the sound of leather striking flesh... knowing the crop would make welts bloom on his ass, the evidence of what they'd done, how they'd punished him. Fëanor's cries got louder with each slap of the crop, and by the time Maglor had done nine lashes, Fëanor was grinding against the spanking horse, panting like he was in heat. Fëanor's cock was almost painfully hard - he loved giving himself this way.
Maglor handed the crop to Finarfin, who came over with a wicked look on his face. Finarfin hit hard, as if he were trying to compete with them. Finarfin moaned appreciatively as Fëanor flinched against each blow of the crop - now Fëanor was whining, sounding desperate in his need. Shameless. At the ninth lash of the crop Fëanor's breath hitched, his cock dripping pre-spend.
Fingolfin took the crop last, showing no mercy as the crop came down on Fëanor's ass. Fëanor yelped and screamed but did not ask him to stop, only continued grinding against the spanking horse, breath ragged, whimpering. At the final blow, Fëanor heard himself babbling "thank you, Atya, thank you," over and over again like it was a chant, a prayer, until Fingolfin pulled Fëanor up on the leash and silenced him with a passionate kiss.
They marched Fëanor to the bedchamber he shared with Maglor, walking him on the leash, Fëanor's hard cock bobbing with each step, dripping a trail of pre-spend along the floor. Once they were in the suite, Finarfin gave Fëanor's ass a hard slap and shoved him onto the bed. Fëanor got to choose what position he wanted to be tied in, and opted for face down, ass up, fully submissive.
Maglor tied the leash to one of the bedposts, then Finarfin got to work weaving the rope together in knots, tying Fëanor's wrists and ankles to the bed, and then making a sort of net over his body with intricate knotwork patterns. Fingolfin and Maglor watched, and Fëanor felt that spark of awe as Finarfin bound him - though this was far from the first time that Finarfin had tied him this way, he was still newly enchanted by it each time, especially now with being re-embodied. It was a work of art. A work of magic.
When the bonds were ready, Finarfin had Fëanor test them, and then he slapped Fëanor's sore ass, making Fëanor cry out. He tenderly rubbed Fëanor's ass, then he slapped it again.
Maglor sat on the edge of the bed. "Which one of us gets to fuck this slut first?"
"I think perhaps Ara should, since he has been without Fëanor's luscious hole for a good while, and he worked so hard tying him." Fingolfin nodded.
"I agree." Maglor gave Finarfin a sultry look.
Fingolfin and Maglor sat together on a cushioned seat a few feet away from the bed, to watch. Though Finarfin was rock-hard and dripping pre-spend, he didn't start fucking Fëanor right away. He spent some time rubbing salve on the welts on Fëanor's ass, while kissing and licking down Fëanor's spine, and back up, before he slid down to tongue Fëanor's well-used, gaping opening - still full of Fingolfin's seed from earlier - while he continued massaging salve over the welts. Fëanor got loud again, whimpering - feeling so wanton, going out of his mind with lust - and at last begging, "please, Atya, please, fuck me, please..."
Finarfin relented, kissing and caressing his way up Fëanor's back. He lay on top of Fëanor's back and once he was all the way inside, Fëanor cried out and Finarfin gave a deep groan. As Finarfin thrusted, kissing and nibbling Fëanor's shoulder, Maglor and Fingolfin stroked each other, every now and again kissing, rubbing their tongues together, before looking back at Finarfin fucking Fëanor.
"You're not allowed to come until I fuck you, pet," Fingolfin commanded Fëanor. "You're going to let us use you for our seed..."
Fëanor gave an urgent whine. "Oh, fuck..."
Finarfin growled and bit Fëanor's shoulder, thrusting harder. Fëanor loved it, begging for more, losing his ability to make words at all when Finarfin pulled on his hair, their hips slapping together as Finarfin railed him. When Finarfin came, gasping, shuddering, Maglor moaned and took Fingolfin's hand off his cock. "Don't want to come too soon," Maglor breathed.
After Finarfin recovered enough to join Fingolfin on the bench, it was Maglor's turn. The thought of Maglor's seed inside him too, mingling with that of his brothers, drove Fëanor even wilder. Maglor pounded him hard and fast; Fëanor heard himself making the most shameless howls and grunts, and he could tell from Maglor's ragged breath that Maglor would be undone quickly, but Maglor kept in check just a little longer, as Fëanor savored the feel of Maglor inside him, the younger man's power and passion. Fëanor wanted to be theirs. "That's a good boy," Maglor whispered, nipping at Fëanor's neck. "Such a good boy for Atya..."
"FUCK!" Fëanor shivered. He did so love the role reversal. "Fuck, I'm going to come if you keep doing that..."
"No coming for you yet, slut," Fingolfin scolded. Fëanor glanced over and wished he hadn't - the sight of his brothers kissing and stroking each other was too delicious. Fëanor grit his teeth, making himself hold his release back a little more.
It felt like eternity.
Finally, Maglor moaned as he filled Fëanor with his seed. Fëanor whimpered at the feel of yet another cock coming inside him, and Maglor shot again with a shuddery sigh.
It was time for Fingolfin to fuck him. Again. But first, Fingolfin wanted to have some fun, having been denied his elder brother's body for so long. Maglor and Finarfin watched as Fingolfin ate their seed out of Fëanor's hole, while Fëanor screamed and howled, gasping, once again begging "take me, fuck me, use me, breed me, please, please Atya, please..." Fingolfin smacked Fëanor's ass and worked his tongue even harder and faster. Maglor was hard again and he and Finarfin rubbed their tongues together as they played with each other's cocks.
Fingolfin knelt behind Fëanor and pushed in. Where Finarfin and Maglor had been fierce and brutal from the get-go, Fingolfin started slow, teasing them both. He reached around and gripped Fëanor's cock, and leaned down to kiss and lick the back of Fëanor's neck and shoulder. "That's a good slut," Finarfin purred.
Fëanor moaned in response. "Atya..."
Fingolfin fucked him ever so slowly, sweetly, as gentle as he had been fierce in the garden that afternoon. It was one of the most languid, sensual fucks of Fëanor's life and he lost himself in pleasure... savoring the feel of connecting with his brother again, feeling like a piece of his fëa was back in its rightful place.
And then Fingolfin stopped being able to take it slow. He sped up, groaning, and when Fëanor cried out "more", Fingolfin growled and started to slam into him, hips slapping furiously. Fingolfin smacked Fëanor's ass and rasped, "Like that, slut?"
"Yes, yes, yes, more..." Fëanor let out a whine as Fingolfin smacked his ass again.
Fëanor was so close, and he had a feeling his brother was almost there too. Just before he could come, Fingolfin called over to Finarfin and Maglor. "Let's claim this slut together."
Finarfin and Maglor arrived on either side of the bed, just in time for Fingolfin to give in to Fëanor, commanding "Come. Now. Come for your Atyar now, slut."
Fëanor let out a wordless wail, then a cry of "Ñolo!" as he climaxed, shuddering. Maglor and Finarfin came together, shooting over Fëanor's face and hair and back, and Fëanor shivered again, screaming through clenched teeth. Two thrusts later Fingolfin let out a shout, then a gasp, shaking before he collapsed onto Fëanor's back, spending inside him.
Fingolfin rested there for a moment, then rolled off, and Finarfin cut Fëanor's bonds free. Fëanor stretched, flexed his muscles, and made a little murmur of pleasure at the way the ropes left patterns on his skin.
Fingolfin noticed them too, tenderly tracing them with his finger, then gently pushing Fëanor onto his back and licking the rope burns all over Fëanor's chest and arms, making Fëanor hard again. Then Fingolfin dove down and took Fëanor into his mouth. Loving him, taking care of him again, the way things should be. Fëanor moaned, clutching Fingolfin's head. "Ai, Ñolo, I love you," Fëanor breathed, before letting out another moan, louder, arching to him.
I am starving for a taste of you, brother, Fingolfin spoke into Fëanor's mind. Fëanor responded with a sigh of bliss.
Fingolfin sucked hungrily, making filthy slurping noises, and a few minutes later Fëanor, quivering, gasped out "Atya, may I?"
"Mhm. Mmmmmmmm."
"Yes," Fëanor cried out, and Fingolfin gave another "mmmmmm" as Fëanor's seed spilled from the corners of his mouth.
Fingolfin kissed Fëanor, letting him taste himself, and then Fingolfin stroked himself feverishly - a minute later he came over Fëanor's torso, and scooped it up with his fingers, fed it to Fëanor, and kissed him again.
Fingolfin pulled Fëanor close, and Maglor and Finarfin held them, a cozy, safe, warm cuddle-pile. Fëanor felt deeply content, not just from the relief and bliss of two orgasms, but feeling the obvious tender loving care from the men he loved - especially Fingolfin, who had been lost and was found again. Fingolfin tenderly pet Fëanor's hair, rubbed his nose in it, and whispered, "I love you, Little One."
"I love you, Atya."
Fingolfin kissed Fëanor's brow. "Will you marry me?"
Fëanor's eyes misted. He didn't hesitate. "Yes." He clasped Fingolfin's hand in his. "An oath of life."
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