第 44 页

“Talked me out of it? Fat chance.”

“That’s probably true. But you know…you know I think you’re -” perfect, beautiful “ - just as attractive without anything like this, don’t you?”

“So you don’t like it.”

“No, that’s not it at all.” Oromë stared down at the wolf on Celegorm’s bare, golden-brown shoulder, and felt an unexpected flood of heat. His fingers brushed again over the tattoo, and he watched goose bumps rise on Celegorm’s skin. I didn’t think it was possible to find him even more desirable than I did already.

Celegorm took his chin between his fingertips and tilted Oromë’s face up to his. “Oromë. What are you thinking?”

“I think you are the hottest fucking thing I have ever seen.”

Celegorm let out a laugh, surprised and delighted. “Oh yeah?”

“Yes.” Oromë wrapped his hands around Celegorm’s hips and pulled him close.

“And you like the tattoo?”

“Very much.”

“I think I’m gonna have to make you prove it.”

“That I can do.” Oromë bent and pressed his lips, very gently, to Celegorm’s shoulder, right over the wolf’s head. “Does it still hurt to touch? Is it healed? Can I – ”

“Babe, you can do whatever you want to me.”

“Excellent.”

-

Much later on, the bedroom was in wild disarray, and Celegorm and Oromë had only managed to get half dressed. Celegorm padded down the hall to the kitchen, the sprawling disorder of the bed still visible over his shoulder, and yawned, leaning on the counter.

“Is this today’s paper?”

“Yes.” Oromë was searching through the refrigerator. “Does pasta work for you for dinner?”

“Sure. We can carbo-load for the next round.” Celegorm winked as Oromë shot him a look. He bent down over the paper, shaking out the sports section. “You’re gonna root against my team in the Super Bowl, aren’t you? Just to spite me.”

“I’ve always liked Seattle,” said Oromë innocently, filling a pot with water. “Lovely city.”

“You’re not even from Seattle.”

“Great team.”

“Yeah, you know who else is a great team? The – ”

“I really like their running back.”

Celegorm scowled. “You are so fucking – ” The doorbell rang, and he broke off.

Oromë sighed. “Can you toss me a shirt, please?”

“Why?” But Celegorm moseyed back to the bedroom to snag a tee shirt from the floor. “I think you should always answer the door half-naked.”

“Probably not a good idea,” said Oromë, as he went to the front hall to look through the peephole, and Celegorm tossed him a shirt from down the hall. He caught the shirt, and froze. “Definitely not a good idea…”

“What’s up?” asked Celegorm, catching sight of Oromë’s face. “Oromë, what’s wrong?”

“It’s your father. Your father is standing on my front stoop.”

Anyone from my past, get your ammo

Chapter Notes

0. Warnings for sexual intimacy and discussion of sexual repulsion in the first scene. Also includes intense scenes (towards the end) of confrontation and over-protective/aggressive interactions with a parent; also includes descriptions of panic, rage, accidental injury.

Curufin was trying to finish a problem set and a circuit board at the same time, with mixed success, and feeling frustrated that his multi-tasking wasn’t working better. Therefore he was only slightly annoyed when his phone buzzed, and then, remembering who it was likely to be, the annoyance disappeared in a flood of apprehension and excitement – all too familiar a feeling these days.

He and Finrod hadn’t texted since That Night.

-

It had started with Finrod calling him and asking – in a tight, and very unlike him voice – if he wanted to go for a walk. Curufin had been about to say, “Do you know how late it is?” and “I have work”, but then he stopped, listening more to the tone of Finrod’s voice than the words themselves, and said only, “Let me get my coat.”

They’d walked around the park twice, and Finrod hadn’t said a word about why he was so pale and angry looking, or why he had called for a 10pm walk. Instead, he had asked about Curufin’s work, and his progress on the spark gap project, and they’d gotten into a debate about Linux that had been both unexpected and highly interesting.

“I always forget you actually know anything worthwhile. You being a philosophy creature and all…”

“I was a computer science minor, thank you, and creature yourself.”

They had ended up back at Curufin’s house. It was late enough now that all the lights were out, including – though neither of them mentioned their particular relief at this – Caranthir’s.

They’d gone upstairs to Curufin’s room very quietly, and then…

Then.

Half the time, Curufin still wanted to run. Half the time, he still wanted to push Finrod away – too hot, too close, too heavy; odd tastes, odd sensations – and gasp for breath, fighting the crawling sensation of his skin. But the other part of him, the stubborn part, the part that told him fiercely that half-measures were not an option – pushed him on.

And when Finrod had breathed against his lips, “You remember how I told you…How I told you I’d only touch you if you asked…”

Curufin had said, “Yes.” And, “I’m asking now.”

So Finrod had.

And Curufin’s fingers had knotted in the sheets, and he’d choked out, “Stop”, only a minute in, and Finrod had stopped, immediately. Curufin had closed his eyes, breathing hard, and said, “Okay. Okay. Try again.” Finrod had whispered, “Remember, just say the word and I'll stop,” and taken him in hand again. And this time, Curufin hadn’t asked him to stop.

Even thinking about it now made his cheeks flush.

So messy, so inelegant, so awkward, how can he possibly want to do this to me?

It had been over almost embarrassingly fast, but part of him was relieved; he didn’t think he could have endured it if had taken much longer. And the whole time Finrod had murmured soft encouragement in his ear, and repeated, “I can stop anytime you want me to”, and Curufin’s fingers had sunk into Finrod’s flesh instead of the sheets, and he had come with his lips pressed tightly together, and at the last minute, unconsciously, had buried his face in Finrod’s shoulder. Finrod’s free hand stroked lightly through his hair, as Curufin shivered through his orgasm.

“I’m sorry,” he said, when he could speak again. “That I can’t…I can’t do the same for…”

“It’s fine,” said Finrod, and kissed him gently enough that Curufin should have objected. “Watching you is more than enough for me.”

(This was such a profoundly confusing statement that it rocked Curufin, even now; what could Finrod possibly get out of watching his overheated, untidy, crude pleasure? He could hardly bear witness to his own pleasure when he gave it to himself; how inherently unlovely and disturbing it was; even thinking about it was enough to make him shiver with vague repulsion. And yet Finrod was murmuring, in a voice soft with heat, that watching him was enough…

‘Why?’ he wanted to ask, ‘Explain yourself.’ He tried to consider what he would feel, watching Finrod lost in pleasure…But the image only gave him the slightly sick, detached feeling in his stomach again, even though the idea of Finrod’s flushed cheeks and panting breaths was vaguely…intriguing…

‘Explain this to me, explain why you said this,’ he wanted to ask, fascinated on almost a scholarly level, as if he were demanding, ‘Tell me why metaphysics is worth my time.’

But he didn’t.)

It had been hard to sleep, ever since That Night.

-

And so now, when his phone vibrated with a text message, he’d dropped his pencil at once and snatched for it, more eager than he’d admit, even to himself.

But it wasn’t Finrod. It was Celegorm.

* * *

“Shit,” Celegorm breathed, and retreated down the hall. “Shit, shit.” He grabbed Huan by the scruff and hauled him back towards the bedroom. He fumbled the door closed, just as the doorbell rang again.

Oromë shot one last glance down the hall, then squared his shoulders and opened the door.

Huan circled the room curiously for a moment, then flopped down on the rug to watch Celegorm with interest. Pressed against the closed door, wishing he had a peephole, or a closed circuit camera, or something, Celegorm listened as Oromë greeted Fëanor courteously, though with unmistakable confusion – and apprehension, Celegorm knew – in his voice.

But his father sounded…jovial?

“I am sorry to impose on your weekend like this, Coach Aldaron, but I’ve been meaning to do this for a while and since I was in the neighborhood, I thought I’d stop by so as not to forget once again.”

“Please don’t worry about it. But forget what, exactly?” Oromë’s voice was easy and polite enough, but Celegorm could hear the underlying tension.

“Ever since we ran into you and your wife before the holidays, I’ve been telling Nerdanel it’s a crime we haven’t made any real show of our appreciation for all you’ve done.”

Shit. Celegorm wished he could thump his head against the door and still go unnoticed. This is gonna get in his head all right… He reached for the bedside table, knocking over a bottle of lube, and grabbed his phone.

curvo. SOS. this time dads at oromes house.

There was only the briefest of pauses.

Is that a joke?

NO

Have you accidentally stumbled into a Shakespearean comedy of errors or something?

fuckit curvo this is serious

Sorry. But what do you want me to do?

you didn’t send him here did you

What? Of course not, Tyelko.

u sure? bc this seems like kinda the thing you would do

NO, Tyelko. Haven’t I proven that I’m on your side? You should know that if I’d wanted to undermine you, it would have happened long ago.

so howd he find this place ? ?

The yellow pages, I assume. The internet. Any number of ways. I found the address in a matter of minutes, after all.

WHY IS HE HERE CURVO WHY IS HE HERE

I couldn’t tell you.

Frustrated, and still anxious, Celegorm threw his phone down on the bed and listened again.

“As I said the last time we spoke, there’s no way we could ever thank you enough for all you’ve done for Turkafinwë, and I’m sure he’s not the only one on whom you’ve had a profound impact.”

Nicely put, dad. Oromë’s gonna commit hari-kari with a steak knife now.

“Thank you,” said Oromë, and his voice was definitely strained.

“And what you’ve done with the program at the University has been nothing short of remarkable. You really deserve recognition for that.”

“Oh, it’s hardly a solo effort,” said Oromë, and Celegorm could hear him holding himself together. “I get plenty of recognition, don’t worry.”

“Nevertheless, Nerdanel and I really wanted to register our appreciation properly.” There was the sound of paper tearing smartly along a perforated edge, and Oromë fell so abruptly silent that Celegorm clenched his teeth. “Consider this a gift for the team, and for you – we want to support you and your work however we can.”

“I can’t possibly accept this,” murmured Oromë. “I am beyond honored, Mr. – ”

“Just call me Fëanor, please.”

“ – but I can’t accept this kind of – ”

“Don’t be so polite,” said Fëanor, his voice amused. “I can make the donation to the school in person, or I can give it to you here, but I wanted to let you know that I was making it because of you, and in gratitude for all you’ve done. For the team, for the school, and for our son.”

Oh, Christ, dad, stop talking.

It seemed like Oromë wasn’t capable of responding.

Fëanor chuckled, and said, “I think I’m going to head out before you find some excuse for rejecting this. Thanks once again, Coach Aldaron. You’ve done incredible work, and this is well-deserved.”

Just leave, leave, leave…get out of here you old bastard. Even when you’re being generous, you’re fucking shit up for me.

His phone buzzed and Celegorm threw himself on it, suddenly sure that it would be heard from down the hall, where Fëanor was making his exit.

Well? Any updates?

he's leaving. he gave orome MONEY

hmmm

no fucking SHIT hmmm

Celegorm dropped his phone, the front door finally having clicked shut behind Fëanor. He burst out of the bedroom and down the hall. Oromë was at the counter, leaning forward on his elbows, staring ashen-faced at the small piece of paper in front of him.

A check.

Celegorm took him by the arm and pulled him gently away from the counter. “Babe…”

Oromë raised his eyes to Celegorm’s face. “I can’t possibly take his money.”

“It’s not for you, technically,” said Celegorm, trying to sound light-hearted and reasonable. “It’s for the team.”

“In recognition of all I’ve done,” said Oromë, in a low, miserable voice. “All I’ve done for his son…”

“Knock it off.” Celegorm took Oromë’s face in his hands and kissed him lightly on the lips. “Don’t think about it as a gift for you, it’s for the team – which has been everything he said, you know it has.”

“Would you take his money, if it was you?”

Celegorm snorted. “I take his money all the time. Kind of a different situation, but yeah. You don’t think I’d kill to not rely on him? But you’re not his fuck-up son, and you gotta get out of your head about this. This could be a whole lot worse, okay?”

“How?”

“Excuse me,” came a voice from the entryway, and Celegorm jumped back, his hands dropping from Oromë as if he’d been burned. “Sorry to barge back in, but I think I forgot…my gloves…” Fëanor broke off, staring. “Turko?”

“Dad.” Celegorm stepped swiftly away from Oromë, immediately conscious of his still bare-chested state. “Uh.”

“What – Were you here the whole time?” Fëanor looked honestly baffled, and it was such an unusual look for him that Celegorm felt a hysterical urge to laugh. “Why – ”

But the confusion was rapidly fading as Fëanor’s quick eyes began to take things in. Celegorm felt his heart sink to his feet; he recognized that look. It was the sharp-eyed, undeceived look of someone who had kept him grounded through most of his teenage years; someone who noticed the details.

The wrapper under the seat; a faint smell in his room; an overheard phone conversation; grass stains on his jeans; a cut on his knuckles; a paper squashed to the bottom of his backpack…

“What aren’t you telling me, Turkafinwë?”

Taking the car to go hook up with girls who weren’t his girlfriend; smoking pot in the house; a plan with lacrosse teammates to pull a borderline dangerous prank; a fight, ANOTHER fight; another failed class…

This is gonna trump all those other disappointments, dad.

He could see Fëanor piecing it together; not that it would take even a mind like his father’s to put it all together: The way Celegorm and Oromë had been standing together; Celegorm’s half-dressed state…the door, now open, down the hallway, that gaped onto an utterly disheveled bed…

Fëanor’s eyes went blank with comprehension.

Oromë stood, seeming about to speak, but Fëanor stepped back from him. He addressed Celegorm instead. “Tell me this isn’t what it looks like, Turko.”