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“Curvo.” Finrod pressed their foreheads together, shaking with suppressed laughter. “Don’t say things like that when I’m inside you, it’s very distracting.”

“God forbid I distract you. If you take your eyes off the road, we might crash.”

“And this bed doesn’t even have guardrails.”

“I’ve complained about that before. So you’re inside me.” Curufin drew in a breath, his hands tightening on Finrod’s sides. He was trembling less now that it didn’t hurt, but his legs were very tight around Finrod’s waist. “That is an odd thought.”

“Is it a bad thought?” asked Finrod softly, moving his hips slightly, and Curufin closed his eyes, his fingers digging into Finrod’s skin.

“No, not really, but - I don’t know why you want to do it.”

“I can elaborate on the beauty of your impeccable asshole, if you’d like.”

It was Curufin’s turn to let out a startled burst of laughter, and then he bit his lip to hold back a gasp as Finrod moved a hand over him.

“Is this good?”

“Yes,” said Curufin after a minute, his eyes still closed, breathing through his nose. “Yes, that is good.” He opened his eyes again as Finrod nuzzled a kiss against the crease of his neck. “Is sex supposed to be this ridiculous? I feel we shouldn’t be so amused about it.”

“Sex is ridiculous,” Finrod informed him, “And laughter while making love is a good thing, I think.”

“Because you find me so hilarious?”

“Because it is fun,” said Finrod, and kissed him. “And silly, and wonderful, and because I am happy.”

“I always thought,” said Curufin, as Finrod settled into a slow, easy rhythm, “that sex was supposed to be either agony or ecstasy. That's how it always seems to be described.”

“And instead you find it…?”

“Awkward,” said Curufin, thinking about it as he ran both hands absently up Finrod's sides, tracing his ribs with the light touch he knew Finrod liked. “But not uncomfortable, not after the first bit, anyway. Funny, but not stupid or humiliating. And…it feels better than I thought, but I wouldn’t call it ecstasy.”

“The ecstasy,” said Finrod, pressing gently against Curufin’s knees and lifting him slightly to change the angle, “can always come with time.” He moved again, and this time Curufin couldn’t hold back his gasp, his fingernails suddenly biting into Finrod's side. “Good?”

“Good,” whispered Curufin, a little amazed, and shut his eyes again as he held Finrod between his palms, between his thighs, and then, pulling him down, against his lips.

-

The sheets and blankets were tangled, but thanks to their precautions not too terribly impacted by their exertions. Curufin thought about this, and then wondered where the condom had gone; Finrod must have been very quick to take care of it after, or else maybe it was still somewhere in the blankets –

He felt around discretely with his toes, and Finrod murmured sleepily, “I wrapped it up and threw it away.”

“Oh. Good.”

Finrod stretched out an arm and Curufin rolled into it. He was still a long time, his face hidden against Finrod’s neck. Finrod stroked his hair and kissed his bare shoulder.

“Was that how it should go?” asked Curufin at last, turning back and staring at the ceiling.

“It was perfect,” said Finrod, laying a hand against his chest and resting his head on Curufin’s shoulder. “You were perfect.”

“That’s obviously not true.”

“I don’t care.” Finrod turned his face into Curufin’s hair, which was uncharacteristically mussed. “You can’t make me take it back.”

“Fine, I won’t force the point.” Curufin swallowed and carefully touched the back of Finrod’s head. “I don’t know how often I can do that,” he whispered, after a while. “It wasn’t bad – It was good, at the end, but – I don’t know.”

“That’s okay,” said Finrod, his hand sliding over Curufin’s chest so he could wrap an arm around him. “We don’t have to ever do it again, if you don’t want to. There are plenty of other things we can do, or try – or not.”

“Not never. No, I want to – Just not always.” Curufin took a breath, and fumbled for Finrod's hand, not sure why he suddenly felt the need to hold his fingers so tightly. “I am glad we did it. I hope I will be better at it in the future, if we try again. But I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to do what you did. Be on top. It’s just looks like…too much for me. But that’s not fair to you, because I know that’s what you like, I know that’s what you – ”

“A person is allowed to like more than one thing,” said Finrod mildly.

“But I heard you,” said Curufin, and he closed his eyes, his hand still tight around Finrod's. Something was building, swelling his throat with sudden emotion, sudden panic. “I used to hear you, with him.”

“Curvo – ”

“I know what you like, how much you like it, and how am I supposed to compete – how can I possibly – ”

“Curvo – ”

“I can’t be like him, I’ll never be like him, I’ll never be able to do what he did for you, and how will I ever be enough?” These last words came out in a rush, almost frantic, and Finrod sat up and pulled him into his arms.

“You are enough. I am not martyring myself or sacrificing some part of myself to be with you, I am with you because you are the one I want. Everyone is different, every lover is unique, and I don’t choose who I’m with because I want exactly what I had before.”

“But why would you choose me at all?” cried Curufin. “Why would you stay with me, when I can’t give you all you need, why would you want something like me, something this complicated and needy and odd, when you could have anyone?”

Finrod took Curufin’s face between his hands and waited until Curufin relented and met his eyes. Finrod's eyes were blue and warm and very tender as he said, patiently and plainly, “Because I love you.”

In the valley where my heart sinks

Chapter Summary

A snowstorm brings shenanigans and the return of Neithan the Wronged.

Chapter Notes

0. Warnings for tonal whiplash.

Don’t stop loving me.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

To: "Nolofinwë" <fingolfin@finwecorp.com>

From: "Irissë" <ar-feiniel@gmail.com>

Subject: fine time to take a business trip, pops

How dare you schedule your life without taking into consideration the fact that I might want to drop by unannounced out of the blue and chat with you sometime maybe　　

Hey dad, miss you.

Mom might have mentioned that I came by the house on Monday to talk to you, only to learn that you’d just left for the week. ‘On business,’ apparently. What’s the business trip for　 Neither she nor Finno will tell me. Well, they both said things along the lines of ‘You’d have to ask him’ and ‘Dad goes on a lot of business trips, what’s it to ya, squirt?’ I had to remind Finno that it is rich for him to call me squirt when we are the same height and have been since high school. Not that we’re keeping track, of course, because that would be childish, but I may even be a little taller these days, having been doing yoga and putting air in my spine, or whatever they say it does, while he hunches over his computer like the desk jockey he is. (Get him a standing desk, or a new job, or something, huh Mr. President?) Turno and Arko, of course, could spend their lives compressing their spines crouching in badger dens and they'd still be taller than all of us.

Observe: me, doing what we call ‘buffering’/‘delaying’/‘making jokes to put off the inevitable.’

Because you know me, so good with the expressing of feelings.

I really did want to tell you all this in person, but if I wait ‘til you’re back, half of it will have already happened, which feels lame and not fair to you since mom is already caught up to speed, and she says you’d want to know. Part of me appreciates that I can write it and not say it anyway, considering the embarrassing amount of snot and tears I deposited on momma when I told her. (This is making it sound really terrible. It’s not that terrible.)

The first part: I’m moving in with Elenwë next weekend. This is probably a relief to you in terms of the ‘no longer living with a bunch of stinky [Fëanorion] dudes in a stinky [Fëanorion] house’, and I hear it is also one of those big, positive life step things. I’m moving in with my girlfriend! Who the HELL thought I’d ever get to say that? Not me, but apparently you owe mom money now. Still, the house on Mithrim Lake isn’t actually that stinky, and I’ll miss it and my dumb boys, but they say they’ll help me get my stuff across town and won’t even break any of it out of spite, so that’s something. The next biggest hurdle will be convincing Lómion to stop harassing Idril, because the next time he creeps up on her I’m pretty sure she’ll take his ears off. She’s bigger than him now.

The second part: I’ve been going to Alcoholics Anonymous for a couple months now.

Because I am an alcoholic. As they say.

When I told mom, there was a lot more explanation and context and emotion and, as I said, snot, but I figure being blunt works as well as anything else. I don’t think it comes as a surprise to you or mom that I’ve had kinda of lousy coping mechanisms in the past, and am slightly prone to self-destruction (eg taking unnecessary risks, deciding to fall in love with my brother’s girlfriend, cultivating friendships with creatures like Tyelko etc etc; this is called humor to diffuse tension, look at me going to twelve step programs and identifying behavior patterns in myself, haha, okay mom got the snot, you’re getting parenthetical diarrhea, I’m really sorry)

Here are the bullet-points, sans logorrhea:

I’m in AA.

I’m also in therapy. (Thank Tyelko for that, believe it or not)

I’m coming up on a month of sobriety.

I’m working on getting a sponsor.

Some of the meetings I go to are open, if you ever want to tag along and see what it’s about, and you can totally ask me any questions you have, too.

Aaaand that’s what I’ve got for now/as much mature adulting as I can handle. If it’s cool with you, I’m going to close with carefully calibrated small talk, because that’s probably what I would do if this was a face to face conversation.

We got a bunch of snow last night (Winter Storm Chewbacca! Actually, I don’t know if NOAA okayed that one, but I like naming random weather events almost as much as I like naming cats). Just about everyone’s got a snow day or is playing hooky, and if the roads clear, I think some of us will head north to ski. If they don’t clear, we’ll probably just ski off the roof. (Just kidding. The best roof access is through Makalaurë’s window, and he won’t let us in.) But the Arafinwions are itching to go ‘off-piste’ or whatever eurotrash phrasing they use to describe making us all eat their powder, and I will definitely go get piste with them if I can locate my skis. The Fëanorions will probably snowboard because they are, as we know, the worst.

Hope your trip is going well.

Love

Ris

Aredhel sat cross-legged on the floor and stared down at the laptop. She rolled out her neck, cracked her knuckles, and hit send quickly, like she was swatting a particularly objectionable bug on her keyboard. Then she slammed the laptop closed and tossed it onto the bed while letting out a little whoosh of breath.

“Ow!” said the bed.

“Oops.” Aredhel cringed apologetically and got onto her knees, peering over the mattress to the bundle of blankets and pillows. “Forgot you were there, El.”

“Thanks,” said Elenwë grumpily. She poked her head up over the quilt, her hair snarled and sticking up over one ear. “Oh look, it’s still cold. Still snowing, too. Heinous.” She retreated again. “Wake me up in April.”

“Your winter aversion was cute the first five times,” said Aredhel, pinching where she approximated Elenwë’s backside was beneath the blankets. “But this is getting a bit ridiculous. You do know we live above the 40th parallel, right? This is an occurrence that happens every year, this winter deal.”

“You don’t know that,” said Elenwë’s voice from beneath the covers. “I hear this global warming thing is legit.”

“Do not speak so glibly about the death of winter." Aredhel shuddered and began digging through half-packed boxes for her snow pants. "Hey, so I sent that email to my dad.”

Elenwë’s face appeared once again from the blankets. “You did?” She sat up and tucked a curl of hair behind one ear, drawing her knees up and wrapping her arms around them. “How’d that feel?”

Aredhel shrugged and pulled on a pair of thick long underwear. “It was a lot easier than telling him in person.” She straightened out her socks and adjusted her elastic waistband. “Of course it means now I have to wait like a shivering madman for him to reply and I’ll invent all kinds of things that could go wrong in the meantime and probably start drinking again to cope.” She caught sight of Elenwë’s expression and added, “Kidding.” She pulled on her snow pants over her long underwear and hopped across the floor as she wiggled them over her hips. “Was that an unfunny joke? Yes, okay, noted that that was a bad joke, got it, put your face away.”

Elenwë mumbled something about where Aredhel could put her face, but eventually yielded and rolled out of bed, yelping as her feet hit the cold floor. She proceeded to bundle herself into as many sweaters as she could locate while Aredhel snapped her suspenders over her thermal top and tugged a hat over her hair. Elenwë was reaching the point at which she could no longer bend her arms properly, so Aredhel caught her around the waist and pulled her out of the bedroom, leaping nimbly over the boxes on the floor. They thumped down the stairs as Aredhel pulled on bulky ski mittens, and paused to wave into the kitchen.

Curufin was sitting at the table, leaning back in his chair reading a cereal box and looking bored while Finrod and Maglor had a heated discussion over the coffee pot about –

“If you’re debating rhythm,” said Aredhel, bumping Elenwë across the foyer in the direction of their snow boots, “then I think consistency and avoiding the jackhammer effect are the most important things to keep in mind.”

“Alas,” said Curufin, still studying the nutritional value of Raisin Bran, “that they are actually debating musical rhythm. I agree, of course, that jackhammers should be avoided there as well.”

Maglor folded his arms, looking annoyed at the interruption, but Finrod laughed and plucked the cereal from Curufin’s hands. “Fine, Makalaurë, I will concede your point on compositional structure if you concede that the rule is only proven if you take into account the exceptions I pointed out.” Finrod ate a raisin from the box and perched on the chair next to Curufin, nudging him over slightly.

“Maybe.” Maglor curled his lip. “But I refuse to accept your point on Brahms, you madman.”

Elenwë, who now looked as bored as Curufin, levered herself up on the counter to look out the window. “Why does it look like there’s a tailgate taking place outside?”

“Because there’s a tailgate taking place outside.”