第 23 页

“You truly believe being in itself isn’t answer enough to that question?” demanded Curufin. “It’s our actions that matter, not some metaphysical speculation on whether our existence was predetermined or random or what. And too much navel gazing over the why, especially if it leads one to conclude that there is no meaning, is only going to lead to inertia and apathy. I feel that those who spend too much time absorbed in obscure meta-analysis become negligent in participating in the real world. What a waste.”

“Are you saying I do that?” Finrod raised his eyebrows, a look of teasing accusation on his face. “Surely you don’t think that – ”

Curufin leaned forward, a rebuttal already on his lips, while in the hall, Celegorm shook his head. “My god, do you hear them? Remind me to get earplugs. I’ll need to pick some up anyway if you keep fucking Findaráto on the afternoons I’m the only one home – ”

“Shut up,” hissed Caranthir, shooting a look over his shoulder. “You are so obvious, you jackass.”

“I’m subtle as a fish, brother,” said Celegorm, pulling a towel from the linen closet. “So, how is he in bed?”

“Tyelko!” Caranthir pushed Celegorm further down the hall, away from the kitchen, where Finrod and Curufin were now deeply absorbed in conversation. “I’m not answering that.”

Celegorm gave him a doleful look. “Moryo. I’m keeping your secret. The least you can do is give me the scoop.”

“You may be keeping my secret, but I’m also keeping yours,” said Caranthir darkly. “Consider us even.”

“What secret?” Celegorm asked, and then paused. “Oh, right.”

“Right,” said Caranthir. “I don’t tell dad you’re getting boned by your old coach – who’s how many years older than you, by the way? – and you don’t – ”

“Tell anyone you’re having an adulterous affair with our cousin,” said Celegorm sighing, and as Caranthir glared at him, amended, “Step-cousin. Fine. And for the record, Oromë's only, like, 15 years older than me.”

“So you’ll stop making all those stupid faces?” Caranthir prompted.

“What? This is just my face, dude, I can’t control – Okay, fine, I get your point,” said Celegorm hastily as Caranthir stepped toward him menacingly. “My lips are sealed.”

-

Curufin shook his head, smiling as Finrod threw up his hands.

“I can’t believe you’re tearing this out from under me!” Finrod was exclaiming, looking pathetic but laughing. “You realize I’m two years into my doctorate on this subject.”

“My apologies, Findaráto,” said Curufin, coolly, but couldn’t help but laugh too as Finrod sank his head dramatically into his hands.

“Have pity, Curvo,” Finrod said into his hands. “My ego is too fragile to be so devastated by a freshman.”

“It is a very fragile ego then,” said Curufin. “But look at it this way – perhaps if your studies have prepared you for anything, it’s for exactly such an existential crisis.”

“Oh, shut up, you monster,” said Finrod, raising his face, but he looked more amused than anything. “You are too smart for your own good.”

“I’ve said that for years,” said Celegorm, coming back into the kitchen with a towel to mop up the spilled tea. Huan raised his head from his paws and watched with interest as Celegorm dropped broken pieces of teacup into the trash.

“I should schedule you for an hour before each of my meetings with my advisor,” said Finrod, propping his head on one hand and studying Curufin. “And for a full day before my defense. It will be the perfect preparatory exercise. Even the most rigorous committee couldn’t ask more exhaustive questions than you.”

“I’m at your disposal,” said Curufin, leaning back in his chair. “Any time you need the legitimacy of your chosen field questioned.”

Finrod shook his head and got to his feet to refill his cup. “I should have been taking notes on this conversation,” he said, as he returned, his hand passing lightly over Curufin’s shoulder. “I want to remember some of the points you made.”

Curufin shrugged and brushed absently at his arms as if something was crawling over them.

“What are we doing for dinner?” Maglor called from the living room. “It’s someone else’s turn to cook for once.”

Caranthir opened the refrigerator and scrutinized. “Well, we have – ”

“If you say eggs, I’m out,” said Curufin. “We get it; you make good eggs. Learn another dish.”

“Fine, you cook then.”

“I don’t cook.”

“I’ll cook, you worthless assholes,” said Celegorm, arresting the conversation. “But someone’s gotta do a beer run. Ingoldo, you staying for dinner?”

“I don’t know,” said Finrod regretfully. “It’s tempting, but I should probably head back before too long.”

“Whoever goes to get beer can drive you then,” said Celegorm, pushing Caranthir out of the way and rummaging in the fridge. “Look! Bratwurst. Excellent. And…what the fuck, who bought tofu?”

He straightened up, looking horrified, and both Caranthir and Curufin pointed to the living room.

“It was me,” said Maglor. “Would it hurt to – ”

“If I’m cooking, it’s going to be animal-based,” said Celegorm firmly. “Scoot over, Curvo, I need prep space.”

Curufin shifted his seat closer to Finrod’s as Celegorm dumped a cutting board and several vegetables onto the table.

“How did your summer fellowship turn out, by the way?” asked Finrod. “If we can deflect the attention from my doomed pursuits for a moment.” He smiled, resting a hand on Curufin’s arm.

Curufin looked down at Finrod’s hand, seeming momentarily taken aback, and for once at a loss for words. “Oh. Um. It went…fine.”

“What was your topic of research?”

“I,” Curufin closed his eyes briefly, as if trying to refocus. When he opened them again, he looked almost angry. “Listen, I should go do some homework.” He stood up abruptly, twitching his arm from Finrod’s touch.

Finrod blinked, startled. “Oh. Of course. I understand.”

“Right,” said Curufin, and turned, not looking where he was going and nearly treading on Huan’s tail.

“It was good talking to you, Curvo,” Finrod called softly after him, as Curufin vanished upstairs.

-

“Don’t mind him,” said Celegorm, as Finrod watched Curufin go. “He just gets like that sometimes.”

“I hope I didn’t say anything to offend him,” said Finrod, looking concerned.

“Nah,” said Celegorm, tossing the package of bratwurst onto the counter and kicking the fridge shut. “I mean, you might have. It wouldn’t surprise me. I offend him all the time, by accident. But I wouldn’t take it personally. Moryo, you’re on prep detail.” He thrust a knife into Caranthir’s hands and pushed him into Curufin’s vacated seat. “Ingoldo, you sure you don’t want to stay? You’re welcome to our humble sausage. I mean, you’ve already sampled some of Moryo’s – ”

“Subtly put,” said Finrod, as Caranthir brought the knife down viciously on a carrot and said loudly, “How’s that old rugby injury of yours, Tyelko?”

Celegorm chuckled and whisked over to the stove. “What? It was an innocent question, Ingo. Dinner: are you in or out? Oop, word choice again, what am I thinking of…”

“I think I’ll pass on your kind offer,” said Finrod, as Caranthir decimated the carrot with a certain amount of violence.

“Where’d Curvo go?” asked Maglor, coming into the kitchen from the living room, and not paying any attention to Celegorm’s smirk or Caranthir’s scowl. “Did I hear you two talking philosophy?”

“No,” said Finrod, dodging a piece of carrot shrapnel. “What you heard was your younger brother shattering my confidence in my chosen field. He’s pretty impressive, isn’t he?”

“He’s something,” said Maglor dubiously.

“Move, Makalaurë, you’re in the way of my sausage,” said Celegorm, whipping around with a frying pan and bumping Maglor out of the way with his hip.

“So Maitimo’s moved out,” Finrod said, as Maglor sank into a chair. “That must be a change. Do you miss having him around?”

Celegorm yelped and a brief plume of smoke shot from the stovetop. “Oh, god yes,” said Maglor, with heartfelt sincerity, and pressed his fingers to his temples.

----

Curufin returned to his room but found himself too distracted to work. The itchy feeling under his skin was back, along with a restlessness that made sitting still an impossibility. He brushed once more at his skin, unable to tell if it was the usual annoyance of touch that had him so jumpy, or if it was something…different. There had been a flutter, a charge, when Finrod had touched him. He paced, impatient with himself.

Sit down, do your work. Concentrate.

Work was out of the question; his mind was scattered; all over the place.

Read; go online; do something, anything – distract yourself.

But…

He rubbed at his arm again, irritated, and threw himself down on his bed. He closed his eyes, owning to himself that he recognized this. Every once in a while – rare enough that he could practically count the times – his body would react without his control. He hated it, he always did, felt useless in the face of it: how could something physical prove stronger than his own mind? How could he allow something so messy, so unpleasant, to rule him?

But sometimes, he yielded.

He would admit that in times of stress or anxiety, it could help: Dopamine, his mind would supply helpfully, release of endorphins. Natural stress relief. Medically proven.

Sometimes he could ignore the urges of his body, never particularly strong anyway, but this did not seem like one of those times. His skin felt oversensitive, and as he stretched his arms over his head, even the drag of the bedspread against his bare skin made him shiver. He clenched his fists against the temptation to reach down and rub his open palm against the growing bulge between his legs, forcing himself to wait.

The shower, yes, that would be better. Cleaner, quicker, no mess, everything down the drain and finished.

Why now, though? The infuriating part of his brain asked, the part that picked at his motives and refused to stay quiet. Why react so strongly, out of the blue? Why need this now?

Midterms, he told himself. I am stressed and need to…deal with it.

Or…

From downstairs, a light, merry laugh floated up. Finrod was still in the kitchen, talking with his brothers. The sound made goose bumps rise on Curufin’s arms and he stepped swiftly from his room into the bathroom, shutting and locking the door behind him.

Get it together.

Standing in the hot spray of water, he closed his eyes and tried to will his body to relax, even though his stomach was churning unpleasantly and there was a sudden tightness in his throat, like he was going to cry, or throw up.

What are you, a child? Just do what you need to do.

Gritting his teeth, he pressed his forehead to the cool tile of the shower, and reached down to take himself in hand. He was already hard, and a breath escaped him as his hips jerked involuntarily into the tight heat of his fist.

Usually, pleasure was dark and formless for him; clamped-shut eyes and the clench of his fist, stroking himself off efficiently and as quickly as possible. But today, his closed eyes presented images before him, rather than the usual darkness.

Bright, laughing eyes. A low, warm voice; a smile. A smile on full lips that…

He wrenched his eyes open, gasping, forcing himself to slow down.

What is going on?

Determined to ignore the suggestions of his mind, he squeezed his eyes shut again. The hot water sluiced over his shoulders and down his chest, and the sensation of being over-sensitive took him again. The water ran over him, intimate as touch, and his skin tautened in response. He felt himself twitch in his hand, and he bit his lip as he began to stroke once more.

Light hair falling into blue eyes. The touch of a warm hand on his bare arm. Imagining that hand moving higher, to caress his shoulder, to brush fingers against his throat, to…

Stop it.

Those full lips parting in a smile, shaping around his name. That gentle voice…how would it sound crying out? What would those long fingers feel like wrapping around him?

Curufin shuddered convulsively, right on the edge, gasping as he tried to resist the fantasy. But it was too tempting, too captivating.

A long body sliding up against his from behind, pressing him forward against the tile of the shower – he braced himself now, one hand flat to the wall – an arm wrapping around his waist while the other hand stroked steadily over him and a soft voice murmured in his ear…

“No,” he whispered, the sound of the water drowning his voice. “Stop it.” Where were these images coming from?

The touch of another, the feel of lips on his neck, someone murmuring his name…

His orgasm, when it came, was so fast and intense that it took him by surprise. He jerked forward into his hand, coming so hard that his head fell forward painfully against the shower tile, and he couldn’t choke back a low moan.

Almost immediately, the shame came, and revulsion.

What he would think of you, if he knew?

The very thought made him feel sick, and he straightened up, letting the water wash him clean, rinsing the evidence of his pleasure down the drain. He grabbed the soap and scrubbed himself hard, feeling disgusted.

That can’t happen again, he told himself. You’re not allowed to think of him like that.

He flinched and turned his face into the water as he heard again, from downstairs, that familiar laugh.

What if he knows? Curufin thought, in a sudden panic. He had made a noise, at the end – had he been heard? He let the water drum against his eyelids, and part of him wished for it to fill his mouth, his nose, to smother him and this wretched feeling of shame.

“I’ll drive you home, Findaráto,” one of his brothers was calling from the front hall. “Just let me grab the keys.”

Good, thought Curufin, but ached and didn’t know why. The less time he’s here the better.

Why would you think of him? He demanded of himself as he stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around his hips. You know you can’t have him. He has a girlfriend. And he would never even look at you like that.

Which is good.

Because you don’t want him. You don’t want anyone. You certainly don’t need anyone.

“I’ll see you this weekend at Maitimo and Findekáno’s.” Finrod’s voice floated up from the front hall. “Good luck with the harvest festival, Makalaurë – Oh, and say goodbye to Curufinwë for me.”

Curufin leaned briefly against the bathroom door and closed his eyes. When he opened them again, his face was once again studiously blank. And by the time he went downstairs, neatly dressed and his wet hair swept back from his face, not even his brothers would be able to tell anything was out of the ordinary.

Chapter End Notes

2. For the record, I'm with Curvo on the whole philosophy thing. Sorry, Finrod. The only class in college I hated more than my philosophy class...was my other philosophy class.

Whole arsenal stock ready to blow

Chapter Summary

In which birds are fed and a house is warmed.