"Are you all right?"
"Jæja."
Anthony sighed. He walked over, cane clacking against the hardwood floor, and propped his cane against the desk to put both his hands on Sören's shoulders. After a moment he began rubbing, kneading. Sören exhaled and leaned into his touch. Anthony had a way of being able to calm and soothe him when the inner storms raged; Sören sometimes half-wondered if Anthony's touch was magic. Now he knew that half-wondering was his intuition whispering hints of what was going on with them, and the touch was a tangible reminder of the otherness. Nonetheless, Sören let himself take a little comfort.
"You're not fine," Anthony said.
"No. I'm not fine at all, I'm bloody Fëanor. Emphasis on the bloody."
Anthony stopped rubbing. He took his cane in one hand and Sören's hand in the other, pulling Sören up from the desk chair, leading him over to the edge of the bed. Nicholas was helping Elaine and Gitta in the kitchen, presumably working out his own complicated feelings about being Fingolfin through the chopping of vegetables and stirring of pots.
Sören looked into Anthony's eyes, and felt a twinge of sympathy for the tiredness he saw there. Anthony hadn't slept last night. He'd been up all night reading a PDF of The Silmarillion and taking notes. In the early morning, after Mark left to do whatever it was Mark did all day and he was sure no one would overhear, Anthony reported his findings and invited Sören and Nicholas to look for themselves.
As much as Sören had wanted to take the holiday to just relax and not speculate on the mystery of who and what they were, Sören was admittedly relieved that Anthony, with his keen analytical mind, had sought answers and figured things out rather quickly.
But the truth was disconcerting. First, there was the undeniable fact that their dreams - their memories of before - were fragments of The Silmarillion, a book none of the three of them had read at any point so there could be no counter-argument that they had been subconsciously influenced. They were fictional characters, which bothered Sören a lot, since fiction was supposed to be fictional, not reality. And yet, in Anthony's research, he'd turned up the little nugget that J.R.R. Tolkien's gravestone said "Beren" and his wife's "Lúthien" - Anthony's theory was that the professor had been Beren in a past life and his "fiction" wasn't fully fictional but was cobbling together memories.
Which was the other troublesome bit. While many facets of their memories aligned with canon, there were things that either weren't mentioned at all or contradicted the canon. Finarfin no longer walked under the trees of the Blessed Realm, but had been reborn as Anthony. Sören distinctly remembered that Feanor did not, in fact, hate Fingolfin and Finarfin, or vice versa - that had been a ruse to disguise their forbidden incestuous affair. There was no hatred at all.
Not until the end. Sören shuddered.
Sören closed his eyes and his mind's eye replayed one of his most vivid memories... when Feanor sent Finarfin back.
"You must go back," Fëanor says, stern, unyielding. He pushes Finarfin away, much as he wants to stay in those arms forever. "You must renounce me. You must tell them you were wrong."
"No, I will not deny you, I will not -"
"You will, or your children's blood will be on your hands... and mine."
Finarfin takes a deep breath, and then Fëanor sees that silver-gold mane billowing in the winter wind, rushing harder, faster, fiercer, and he sees something like a white fire around him for a few seconds. "You just want to get rid of me," Finarfin says. "You never have time for me anymore -"
"We're in the middle of a war, in case you haven't been able to tell."
Finarfin shakes his head. "You still have time for our brother." And then he sneers. "That's it, isn't it? You don't want me anymore. You just want him."
Fëanor looks into Finarfin's eyes and he knows that this is the only way to make him go, the only way to save Finarfin's life. "You're right," Fëanor lies, and he turns his back to Finarfin, both so Finarfin will think he is being shut out, and so Finarfin cannot see the lie in his face, in his eyes, cannot see the tears starting. "I don't want you anymore."
He hears Finarfin huff, and then he hears Finarfin's boots crunch in the snow. When he hears them a distance away, Fëanor finally turns around and he watches Finarfin keep walking into the freezing rain, not looking back, never looking back, until finally he disappears into the fog.
Fëanor hears later that Finarfin has left, along with his wife, and their brother's wife. "Good," Fëanor says, nodding.
What Anthony hadn't known back then was that their brother hadn't touched Sören in a very long time. After the reconciliation feast of Fëanor and Fingolfin, they had stolen away to make love, and as they burned together, the Trees burned, the darkness of Morgoth and Ungoliant spreading across the realm, as Morgoth stole away to Formenos to kill Finwe and steal the Silmarils. Fingolfin had been consumed with guilt for their father's death - if he and Fëanor had not been indiscreet, there would be no need to stage a public feud, resulting in Fëanor's exile, where it was easier for Morgoth to attack the remote Formenos with its limited staff, than the palace in the more densely populated Tirion. Fingolfin would forever associate sex with Fëanor with the death of their father and the burning of the Trees, giving into a sort of magical thinking that it was ill luck for them to be intimate.
In the cold of the Helcaraxë, after Finarfin left, Fëanor had turned to Fingolfin for comfort and been rejected once again. Fingolfin had also expressed regret that Fëanor had ever made the Silmarils. And it was then Fëanor snapped, and burned the ships of his brother's company, to keep them from following him. He and Fingolfin had never reconciled before the end.
A chill went through Sören, remembering. He understood now why he was so reactive, so defensive, when Nicholas said anything involving the Silmarils that seemed critical, or potentially heading there. It wasn't just that Sören was protective of his creation, and had a bad history in this lifetime with his aunt and uncle taking things away from him. On a subconscious level, the Fëanor part of Sören had been screaming not this shit again at Fingolfin.
Finarfin would have died for me, and I sent him away to live. Thinking I only wanted Fingolfin... who broke my heart. Maybe we'd still be alive, in Beleriand, if...
It was no use speculating on the "what ifs", and Sören didn't really want to go back to that time, even as life on twenty-first century Earth as a human had its problems.
Anthony was holding Sören close now, rocking him, petting him. "I know," Anthony husked. "I know it's... a lot."
Sören gave a bitter laugh. "It's too much. It's overwhelming." He pulled back, tears burning his eyes, feeling like he was breaking inside. "You must think I'm a monster."
"No." Anthony exhaled sharply. "I think Beren was an unreliable narrator, he made Fëanor and his family out to be worse than they were because he was jealous of Celegorm."
"Fair, but what we do remember is pretty bad. The kinslaying. The ship-burning -"
"Sören." Anthony touched Sören's face. "You do remember what I do for a living, yes? If you were on trial right now, I would argue the insanity defense. You were traumatized."
"It doesn't make it right."
"No. But you were - you are - so much more than that." Anthony looked down and away, and when his eyes met Sören's again they were too bright with unshed tears of his own. "My uncle Nigel, who I've told you about, who was very dear to me, came back from the Gulf with PTSD. He physically attacked someone when he was having a flashback. I don't see him as a monster, even though that act of violence was terrible. I remember him as the cool uncle who took me to concerts and on camping trips and always gave me a supportive shoulder when I needed one. As for us..." Anthony squared his shoulders, like he was arguing in court. "We grew up in a dysfunctional family, we turned to each other, but we lived in a world where we had to hide what we were, we were indoctrinated by religious fanatics, and you were verbally and mentally abused by your wife... all of that kept building and building. I'm not a psychologist but I think you had PTSD then, too, and it finally got to the flash point. You were literally not in your right mind when you led us on the exile. But before that... you loved your partners, your children, so much. You loved making gifts for people, you were generous. You made us laugh. You were much more sensitive than you wanted anyone to know. You still have that beautiful, sensitive heart, and I love you."
The tears spilled down Sören's cheeks, not able to hold them back any longer. Anthony's own tears came. They clung to each other and wept, rocking together. So many emotions spiraled through Sören - guilt, shame, rage, grief. The feeling of loss and the weight of the Doom echoing in that void space...
...the fear that history would repeat itself.
Sören regretted the kinslaying, the ship-burning. But Tolkien's narrative made it sound like Fëanor's greatest crime was cursing the Valar, his rebellion against them, his defiance - and Sören would do it again. He held the Valar to blame for Morgoth's treachery, who should have kept him on a shorter leash. And above and beyond that, the Valar had subjugated his people. Finwë had tried to protect his people but instead led them into a form of slavery, making them go against their nature to love as they would. The bright "purity" of Aman had a twisted dark core of corruption, and Sören had no regrets about calling it what it was and trying to lead his people to freedom.
His fists clenched as he held onto Anthony for dear life, feeling that anger seethe in him all over again. It was not wrong for him to refuse the Valar the Silmarils. He still felt, after all this time, that the Valar did not deserve them. If anything, he felt it even more strongly now.
"I love you," Anthony whispered, stroking Sören's curls. He kissed the top of Sören's head, buried his nose in Sören's hair. "I love you, my heart. I love you." He pulled back, took Sören's face in his hands, and gave him a fierce, determined look - stern, almost angry. "And I'm not going to lose you again. You're not going to push me away this time."
"I'm so sorry." Sören fell apart, weeping. "I'm so sorry, Anthony. I'm so, so sorry. I'm sorry..."
Anthony kissed Sören's tears, his own continuing to fall, silently. "Hi Sorry. I'm Finarfin."
Sören gave him a playful shove, tweaked his nose. Anthony let out a laugh that sounded very, very tired. Sören looked at the clock - it was after 1 PM; Anthony had been awake for over 24 hours.
"We should take a nap," Sören said. He'd gotten some sleep but Anthony had woken them up early with his findings and even if Sören had been a morning person, the weight of their newfound knowledge made him feel very old.
"Kay." Anthony leaned on his cane to get up, stretched, and started to strip down to his boxer-briefs. As exhausted as Sören was, he still admired the view. When Anthony caught Sören's gaze, he grinned, cheeks turning pink. "You're incorrigible, you know."
"Takk."
Anthony chuckled and threw his shirt at Sören. "You've always been incorrigible." He sighed deeply. "The more things change, the more they stay the same."
"My love for you has never changed, brother."
Their eyes held, then Anthony walked over and took Sören in his arms again. Sören's face rested against Anthony's stomach, and, not able to help himself, Sören kissed just above his navel, knowing he was sensitive there. Anthony's breath hitched. "I thought we were taking a nap," Anthony said.
"We are." Sören blew a raspberry into Anthony's stomach. "That was a sneak preview of later."
Now it was Anthony's turn to give Sören a shove, and then he put Sören in a headlock and gave him a noogie. Sören blew a raspberry into Anthony's arm.
"Such kingly behavior," Anthony said.
"The kingliest." Then Sören farted, which scared Seumas off the bed, and Anthony fell over on the bed, shaking, sides heaving; the tears were for a different reason now, his face lit up.
"Jesus Christ, Sören."
Sören couldn't help himself. "Such kings. Very Noldor. So Elves. Wow."
"Wow."
They laughed so hard Seumas meowed at them in concern.
Sören stirred awake to sweet, gentle little kisses raining over his face... the tickle of Nicholas's whiskers. When he opened his eyes he saw Nicholas leaning over Sören and Anthony tangled up together, kissing Sören's face as he pet Anthony. Anthony smiled and stretched, blinking his eyes open. "Hey," Anthony said, his voice husky from sleep.
"As you know, hay is for horses," Nicholas said, his eyes twinkling. He touched Anthony's cheek, then he kissed Sören's brow. "My boys."
Sören smiled too, and rubbed noses with Nicholas. "Hi, Daddy."
"Hello, sweetheart." Nicholas kissed the tip of Sören's nose. "Did you have a good nap?"
Sören nodded. Just before he'd dozed off he'd been afraid he would have nightmares about their past life, but if he'd dreamt, he couldn't remember it. And he actually felt rested, like the nap had hit a switch in his brain that helped with the exhaustion of the emotional fallout of processing everything.
"The two of you looked so precious curled up together that I was hesitant to disturb you, but I couldn't help myself." He took Anthony's and Sören's hands in his, and squeezed. "I feel like after what we've learnt, it's all the more important to tell you I love you." His eyes met Sören's, and held.
Sören bit his lower lip, feeling the tears start again. He didn't want to have another big crying episode, like he'd had earlier after they'd read the relevant parts of The Silmarillion. He withdrew his hand from Nicholas's, flung his arms around the older man's neck, and pulled him close, hugged him tight. Those words meant so much right now, Sören loving him so fiercely he felt his heart could break.
He felt a gentle nudge at his forehead, though Nicholas hadn't touched him, and then he heard Nicholas's deep, velvet voice in his mind. Especially you.
Now it was Sören's turn to rain kisses over Nicholas's face. "Oh, elskan." Sören skritched Nicholas's whiskers like he was a cat; Nicholas smiled, cheeks turning pink. "I know. I..." Sören took a deep breath. Nicholas needed to hear something as well. "I forgive you. I'm sorry I burned the ships. I was hurt, I was angry, feeling like I'd lost you made something snap in my head, and that's not excusing it but -"
"Hush." Nicholas kissed him deeply, fiercely. Sören's cock stirred in his boxer-briefs under the covers. When the kiss broke and they pulled back, breathing harder, Nicholas said, "I'm sorry too. I... shouldn't have given into superstition, magical thinking, like our love was to blame for our father's death. I'm sorry I turned from you. I'm sorry I hurt you. And now I understand why the stones - the Silmarils - have been such a fraught subject."
"Jæja."
Nicholas gave a nod. "I don't know how or why we ended up here, in these bodies, on this mortal coil."
"Well, I don't believe the Valar are trying to give us another chance," Sören said. He'd speculated about that for awhile after the information bomb dropped and he'd decided against the possibility that the Valar were trying to show mercy. "If they were responsible for... our lives here... weaving our fates... they have a lot to fucking answer for. The abuse I endured as a child. Being raped when I was twenty-five. Anthony getting bullied in school, getting into the car accident -"
Nicholas held up his hand and nodded again, giving him a look as if to say Fëanor, enough - he knew that back then as well as now, when Sören or Fëanor got going, he got going and would rant and fume for hours unchecked.
"And I doubt they are suddenly fine with the nature of our relationship." Nicholas's lips quirked as if that amused him, and then he sobered again. "I believe it would be giving them too much credit for us finding our way back to each other. Whatever the circumstances of our incarnation here, our love did lead us back together again."
"It did." Sören sighed, looking into Nicholas's dark chocolate eyes and melting for him. "And it's almost like your... soul, spirit, whatever... it knew that I needed a father figure, needed a daddy." Sören's lips quirked too. "And if I recall correctly, you played daddy to me back then too." Sören's mind's eye played a mental movie of Fingolfin carrying an exhausted Fëanor out of the forge, bathing him, feeding him by hand before spanking him for being naughty overexerting himself, then spoiling him with tender, sweet lovemaking.
Of course, it hadn't always been tender. Especially not with Finarfin involved. It tickled Sören in a perverse way that Finarfin had been treated as the most gentle and "harmless" of the three brothers in canon; Finarfin was harmless the way a poisonous plant appeared harmless, and he was probably the kinkiest of the three of them.
A frisson went through Sören, remembering those special, rare occasions when the three of them were able to get away together and make love. And fuck. The old passion between them was new again, like the phoenix rising that he'd tattooed on his back years ago. No matter how many times they burned together, it was never old, never the exact same way twice, going deeper and deeper into the consuming fire of their love, immolated, transformed.
Here and now, Sören needed action to back up words. He needed the hard proof that Fingolfin wasn't going to recoil from him again, wasn't going to recede back into the shadows of guilt and shame. The part of him that had died wishing he could have died in his brother's arms and not his son's reached out now, and it was hungry. Sören pulled Nicholas against him again, crushed their mouths together, tongues playing like the way Sören wanted them to play inside each other. Sören pulled back the covers and took one of Nicholas's hands and put it on the hard bulge in his boxer-briefs. Then he grabbed Anthony's hand and put it on top of Nicholas's.
"I need you," Sören whispered. He looked over at Anthony, who was watching with interest. "Both of you."
Nicholas's free hand cupped Sören's chin and he kissed Sören back, matching fire for fire, hunger for hunger. They both groaned into the kiss, Sören's cock leaping, throbbing, stiffening even more. Nicholas began to kiss Sören's sensitive neck as Anthony leaned in to kiss Sören, Anthony sliding his hand off Nicholas's to rub Sören's thigh and stomach, electrifying him with his touch. A few kisses later, Anthony and Nicholas leaned in to kiss each other and Sören moaned at the sight of them kissing.
Sören and Anthony quickly got out of their underwear as Nicholas stood up and undressed, giving them a show. Anthony let out an appreciative wolf whistle once Nicholas was fully nude, and Nicholas chuckled, blushing. Sören loved the way Nicholas's eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled and laughed. Sören's eyes raked Nicholas's body up and down, admiring the trim physique, the silver pelt. He didn't get to look for long - Nicholas quickly climbed onto the bed and began kissing Sören again, like he was starving for it, like his life depended on it. Sören whimpered, feeling his cock starting to drip with precum, almost painfully hard. He let out another little whine as Anthony kissed his neck. Anthony kissed up and down his neck, over his shoulder, taking little licks and nibbles, knowing how much that teased him. Anthony and Nicholas's hands ran over Sören's body, fingers brushing, walking, making Sören break out in gooseflesh, trembling to their touch.
Soon Anthony and Nicholas were kissing, licking, and caressing Sören all over, loving every inch of him as if to make up for what had happened ages ago - Finarfin leaving when Fëanor told him to, rather than doubling down and insisting to stay; Fingolfin withdrawing from Fëanor, rejecting him. To make up for all the nights when Fëanor lay there alone and lonely, aching to burn away the cold of the Helcaraxë with his brothers' love. As Anthony and Nicholas sucked Sören's nipples at the same time, he couldn't help crying out, even as they were trying to keep the noise down for the sake of the other people at the villa. The ancient hunger seemed to intensify every sensation, make everything more urgent, more lustful.
"You're not pushing me away a second time," Anthony said, looking up at Sören, before he drew Sören's nipple back into his mouth, sucking harder.
Nicholas touched Sören's face. "And I shan't ever reject you again. So long as I'm able to do so, I will never stop touching you." Nicholas slid over to kiss Sören's heart, bringing tears to Sören's eyes. Then Sören cried out again as Nicholas suckled at the other nipple, pulling it with his lips.
"Fuck," Sören panted. "Please, I need..."
"So do we." Nicholas's eyes twinkled with mischief. "As you know." His tongue fluttered at the nipple, licked around it in slow circles, and lashed hard before he sucked again.
"We'll get there, love." Anthony licked at Sören's nipple too, tugged the nipple ring with his teeth, soothed with his tongue, then suckled so hard it almost hurt. Sören whimpered, writhing, cock and hole both twitching, desperate for relief.
They lapped and sucked at Sören's nipples for a long time, teasing them into swollen, glistening nubs, driving him mad with pleasure. At last, when Sören was almost sobbing, they moved to kiss and lick his stomach, his thighs. Anthony took slow, deliberate licks at Sören's cock, while Nicholas licked and sucked at his balls. Then they traded places, Nicholas sucking him slowly as Anthony sucked on his balls, occasionally taking little nibbles.
Nicholas came up to kiss Sören, both of them watching as Anthony resumed licking at Sören's cock, then sucked slowly, his eyes locked with theirs. "What does our Spirit of Fire want?" Nicholas husked, before nipping at Sören's neck.
"You. Both of you. I want everything." There were too many possibilities of pleasure, all of them delicious.
"I want to take you," Nicholas said, stroking Sören's face, looking into his eyes. "I want to fill you. I want to be one with you. I need this, now more than ever."
Sören took Nicholas's hand and kissed it. He nodded - he couldn't speak, too overcome by desire and the fierce love that burned inside him.
Then Nicholas gave him a wicked little smirk, glancing over at Anthony, who let go of Sören's cock and smiled at him, as if they were on the same page. Nicholas looked back at Sören. "And I want to watch you suck him, like you're trying to make it up to him for pushing him away so long ago."
Sören's laughter rang out. "I might suck it right off, if that's what I'm trying to accomplish."
"Promises, promises." Anthony licked and nibbled at Sören's thigh, making him gasp, another quiver of pleasure going through him.
After they readied themselves, they got in position - Anthony laying on his back, propped up against the pillows, Sören on all fours face down ass up, his head between Anthony's legs, with Nicholas kneeling behind him. Once Nicholas was all the way inside Sören, he took Anthony in his mouth, sucking hungrily.
Though they tried to be quiet, they could still hear the slap of their flesh, the bed creaking and rocking against the wall, Nicholas smacking Sören's ass, Anthony's gasps and sighs of pleasure. The lewd sounds, and the look of ecstasy on Anthony's face, the way he grabbed Sören's curls and tugged possessively, combined with the intoxicating surrender to Nicholas's domination, thrusting hard and savage inside him, hitting that sweet spot just right, and Sören lost himself, going deeper and deeper into pleasure, the tension rising, tightening, keeping him on that edge where he desperately needed to come but he never wanted to stop giving himself to Nicholas, never wanted to stop servicing Anthony, needing them to use him, master him, claim him.
"That's a good boy," Nicholas growled, spanking Sören's ass again. "Such a good boy for Daddy."
Sören couldn't help the moan with his mouth full, almost coming from that. He rocked his hips back at Nicholas, matching his rhythm, working his ass in circles, teasing them both. Nicholas grunted in response, and his hand struck Sören's ass once more. Sören let out a whimper as the pleasure-pain stung through him. Sören sucked at Anthony harder, faster, bobbing his head up and down, working his cheeks and tongue, making slurping suctioning sounds.
Anthony grabbed Sören's curls tighter, started thrusting into his mouth, panting, eyes glazed. "Oh, fuck."
"That's it. Please your brother," Nicholas rasped.
"Getting close." Anthony tensed, trembling.
"Mmmmmmm." Sören's eyes locked with his. He kept the rhythm going against Nicholas's hips, the rhythm up and down Anthony's shaft. Sören was almost there himself, going out of his mind with lust and sensation. There was nothing else in the world that mattered, when the three of them were like this. And it was even more consuming now.
Anthony's breath hitched and his mouth opened. He threw back his head and gasped, shuddering as he spent into Sören's mouth. The sight of Anthony coming and the salty-sweet taste of him set Sören off, crying out around the cock and cream in his mouth as the throbbing started, pulse after pulse of relief, joy, delight.
"Darling," Nicholas moaned, and he stopped thrusting. Sören groaned as he swallowed down Anthony's seed, gratified by the feeling of Nicholas spurting inside him.
Sören rested his head on Anthony's thigh, and after Nicholas had slipped out of him, once Sören was able to move again he lay sandwiched between them, curled up on Anthony's chest, Nicholas spooning him. Their arms were tight around him, reinforcing that they would never let him go again.
"Good boy," Nicholas whispered, and kissed the top of Sören's head.
Anthony smiled, looking like he was high. It was infectious; Sören smiled back and kissed the tip of his nose. "Wow." Anthony chuckled. "That was good."
"That was... very, very good." Sören sighed and flexed his fingers and toes, started to knead a little like a contented cat. He made a purring noise, nuzzling Anthony, and Anthony laughed and skritched Sören's beard. "I love you both so much."
"And we love you." Nicholas's arms tightened, squeezing. "So very much."
Sören sighed again, grinning; he closed his eyes.
They rested for awhile, and then Sören felt Anthony's hand in his hair, petting. Anthony also rubbed Sören's shoulder. Sören smiled and tilted his face up to give him a sweet little kiss. One kiss became another and another and at last their tongues were playing together again, hands caressing each other's chests and thighs, hard cock rubbing hard cock. Nicholas's own cock rose back to life and Sören rubbed his ass against Nicholas's cock, moaning softly at the feel of Nicholas's hard cock sliding up and down his ass crack. Nicholas began to kiss Sören's neck and the sweet hollow where the neck and shoulder met, as Sören and Anthony kissed more deeply. When Nicholas tilted Sören's face to his, kissing open-mouthed, tongues teasing, Sören gave an urgent moan and bucked against them, cock and hole both twitching, throbbing.
"More," Sören breathed. "I need you both again..."
Nicholas and Anthony exchanged glances over Sören's shoulder, and then Nicholas cleared his throat and said, "This time I'd like to give myself to you. I claimed you as mine... and now I'd like you to claim me, as well."
Sören's breath hitched, cock jolting at that, remembering the tightness of Nicholas.
But even as Sören wanted, his entire body aching, hungering for release, he hungered all the more to express his love to the men he loved, a love that had burned for eons, that not even the Doom and the Void could quench. As Anthony and Nicholas lay back, kissing, idly stroking each other, Sören took turns kissing and licking them all over, tongue playing in their chest hair, lapping and suckling hard nipples, nibbling and sucking at the planes of their stomachs, nipping and licking sensitive inner thighs.
When Sören had his fill, shaking with desire, completely inflamed with lust for their gorgeous male bodies, his own cock dripping precum, they still took their time getting there - Sören and Nicholas fell into a sixty-nine, Sören on top of Nicholas, with Nicholas sucking Sören's cock as Sören's tongue played around the rim of his passage and inside him, getting him ready to be taken, fucked. Anthony positioned himself so his face was at Sören's ass and he ate Nicholas's cum out of Sören. Having his cock sucked and his hole licked at the same time made Sören crazy with pleasure and need, moaning into Nicholas's opening, not able to help himself. Anthony's skilled tongue and Nicholas's hungry mouth almost brought him off then, and Sören made himself hold back, knowing what was yet to happen would bring about an even more powerful release.
Nicholas lay back, a pillow propped under his hips, looking up at Sören with trust and love in his eyes. They kissed passionately as Sören's slick fingers worked inside him, preparing him, and Nicholas's hand worked lube over Sören's cock, massaging it, teasing. Anthony kissed and licked up and down Sören's spine, knowing how that made him weak and wanting, and Sören instinctively thrust his ass out at Anthony, who slapped it before he poured lube over the crack of Sören's ass. Sören and Anthony groaned together as the lube dripped into Sören's passage, and Sören shivered with anticipation as he heard the wet slurping sound of Anthony lubing up his own cock.
Several kisses later, Sören's cock was at Nicholas's channel, and their eyes held, breathing each other's breath as Sören pushed inside. It had been a couple of weeks since Nicholas had last bottomed for either of them so his passage gripped like a silken vise. Sören made himself go slow, not wanting to hurt him. When he was all the way inside, they kissed, and after resting for a moment, Sören took his first few slow thrusts. Nicholas gasped, eyes rolling back as the captive bead ring of Sören's Prince Albert piercing hit his prostate. Sören groaned, shuddering at the velvet heat clenching him, the texture of that nub inside Nicholas connecting with his exquisitely sensitized frenulum. "Oh god." Sören grit his teeth.
Then Anthony was inside him, Anthony's chest against his back, Anthony kissing the nape of Sören's neck, Anthony's cock rubbing that sweet spot inside him so deliciously. Sören moaned into Nicholas's mouth, trying to keep his thrusts slow, not just for the sake of Nicholas's tightness, but to not come right away. But soon Anthony was rocking away inside him and Sören matched his rhythm, and Nicholas's hands clutched at him, Nicholas panting, shaking. "That's it, love," Nicholas rasped. "Just like that..." He let out a moan, and Sören moaned too.
Three bodies became one, one rhythm, one need. There was no past, no present, no future, all space and time seemed to stop for them, going deeper and deeper into that sacred space of their passion. This had been why Sören had made the Silmarils, when he was Fëanor. The fire of their love, their ecstasy, had been the brightest light. Each thrust, each kiss, each sigh, was another spark of the flame, burning brighter and brighter, hotter and hotter. In those moments Sören felt eternal, transcendent... as if the dance of their bodies were enacting the Big Bang that exploded the universe into being, as if the fire between them were a forge of cosmic creation, more powerful than the Valar themselves.
Nicholas pulled Sören into a deep, fierce kiss, like he was kissing Sören's soul. Fëanáro, Nicholas spoke into Sören's mind. Never leave me again.
Never ever. Sören kissed him back.
Anthony exhaled. "Did I just... hear..."
You can hear us too. Sören couldn't believe it - and yet he knew he shouldn't be surprised it was possible.
Sören's hair stood on end, his skin gooseflesh. He felt ready to cry from the power of his love, the moment of awe that this was real, this was happening, this was really happening...
If you can hear us, say the number 'five' out loud, Nicholas said.
"Five," Anthony said, his voice shaking.
That's nothing. Sören needed a moment of levity, so he didn't fall apart, which was decidedly unsexy. I'm thinking of a number between one and seventy...
"Brat." Anthony slapped Sören's ass, laughing, and then he took a playful bite at Sören's neck. Sören gasped and bucked against Anthony, thrusting harder into Nicholas, electrified.
They held onto each other for dear life, fucking harder, faster, bed banging against the wall, not able to contain the grunts and moans of pleasure. Sören went deeper into the flames of pleasure and lust until he felt himself flying to that point of no return, right there...
They came together, all three exploding in unison, crying out with their release. The feel of Nicholas's seed shooting over his stomach and Anthony's inside him made Sören pulse harder, his prostate and cock throbbing together, pleasure spiraling through his own body, a flood of relief, radiant joy. Silent tears spilled down Sören's cheeks, and he was laughing too - it felt so damn good to be here with his brothers after so long.
"I love you," Sören said, the three of them clinging, rocking together. "I love you, love you, love you..."
"Love you too." Anthony squeezed him and buried his face in Sören's shoulder with a soft sigh. "God, I love you."
"Love you so much." Nicholas kissed Sören's brow. He smiled. "As you know."
I didn't know, at the end.
Nicholas's brow furrowed and their noses rubbed together, and Nicholas kissed him. I shall endeavor to remind you so often you get sick of hearing it.
I will never get sick of hearing it. Sören stroked Nicholas's cheek. Then he smirked. Or hearing other things.
Nicholas facepalmed; his cheeks were pink, eyes twinkling. I hope Elaine and your aunt didn't hear.
After two intense orgasms Sören felt like taking another nap, but dinner was less than an hour away, so he forced himself to stay awake by busying his mind, thinking of the sketch he was working on - the frozen landscape surrounding them but made even more harsh and brooding, which was being transformed into what Sören now knew was a piece of art representing the Helcaraxë.
He'd done a painting of the ship-burning, back in 2013 when things had started to go pear-shaped with him and Anthony. Sören thought about his other paintings - the visions he'd been able to see so clearly in his mind's eye, things that had just seemed like a powerful imagination at work, and now he realized were clues, the subconscious Fëanor part of him trying to share memories.
Sören heard himself musing aloud. "I wonder who else is out there."
"Yeah, I wonder," Anthony said, frowning a little.
chapter 6 | return to Learning To Fly | return to Other Tolkien Fic | return to index