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“You can take off your coat, you know.” Finrod attempted a smile, and Curufin kept looking at him for a moment before unbuttoning his coat and shrugging it off his shoulders. He laid it over the back of a chair, and was about to fold his arms when Finrod reached out and took his hand. Curufin’s face went blank at the touch, and Finrod loosened his grip, giving Curufin the opportunity to pull away. He didn’t, though, and so Finrod tugged his hand lightly. “Let’s go sit down.”

Back in the room he'd been staying in, Finrod released Curufin’s hand and sat down on the futon Bëor kept in his spare room. Curufin remained standing though, his eyes glittering.

“Is this your new thing then?”

“My what?”

“Your new kink?” Curufin’s voice was scathing, and underlain with a trace of bravado that belied the tense way his hands clenched. “You can’t sneak around on Amarië anymore, or on him, so you’re going to bring me to other people’s houses to hook up – ”

Finrod’s eyes widened. “No! No, Curvo, I promise that isn’t what this is about. I wanted to talk to you.”

“Talk to me? Ah, yes, I know what that means. Are we going to ‘have the talk’ now? Just tell me we can’t possibly keep going, because without the sneaking and lying, oh, the fun’s just gone!”

“No,” said Finrod steadily. “I wanted to talk about the opposite, in fact.” He could see the uncertainty in Curufin’s stance, and for a moment Curufin’s thoughts were painted clearly across his face. Are you just going to turn me into what he was? Because there is so much he did that I cannot, and if you ask it of me…

Curufin dropped down on the futon beside Finrod, crossing his arms and legs and clenching his jaw. “The opposite?” He pulled a sneer back onto his face. “Playing coy doesn’t really become you, Findaráto, though I suppose – ”

Finrod didn’t blink at his biting tone, though, and simply reached out to smooth his fingers over Curufin’s hair, settling a stray lock. Curufin froze and stopped talking.

“I’m not interested in sneaking around anymore,” Finrod said quietly. “I’m not interested in burdening you with expectations, physical or otherwise – I’ve told you before I will only ever do what you’re comfortable with, and that still applies across the board. But here’s what I am interested in: I’m interested in being with you. Or at least,” he amended, “trying.”

Curufin stared at him. “Being with me?” Slowly his body started to unknot as he turned this over. “What does that mean? I’m not going to prioritize you over everything, if that’s what you think ‘being together’ means,” he said after a while. “My work has to come first, I don’t care if that’s not what one is supposed to say at times like these. And if this – if you – start to get in the way of the things I need to do, I’m not going to dribble and fret over dropping you. I’ll just drop you.” He stared at Finrod challengingly, but Finrod seemed unfazed.

“That’s fine. And you should know that I don’t…have all the answers, or entirely know what I’m doing. With anything, really, even though I once thought I had it all sorted out. Everything’s a bit upside down for me right now. You already know that my history with relationships is murky at best, but what I know is that I want to give this a try.”

“Wait,” said Curufin, who never asked anyone to slow down for him. “Who said anything about relationships? Is that what this is?”

“I hope it might be,” said Finrod, and he leaned forward, gently inquiring. And when Curufin lifted his head and leaned forward too, Finrod kissed him on the lips.

Presently, they settled back together, backs against the wall, knees pulled up as they sat side by side on the lumpy futon. Finrod put a light arm around Curufin’s shoulders, and Curufin allowed himself to lean into Finrod’s side. He let out a breath, and Finrod wrapped his fingers over Curufin’s shoulder.

“I don’t like most ‘relationship’ stuff,” said Curufin abruptly. “For the record. Cutesy dates to eat Italian food by candlelight – no way am I doing that. Also I hate going to movies. Also I don’t think stargazing is romantic – if we’re going to engage in astronomy, it should be about the science, not about necking on a picnic blanket – and I don’t like flowers or chocolate – ”

Finrod had been listening to this recitation attentively, arm warm around Curufin’s shoulders, and only now did he break in. “I promise not to force undue romance on you, but did you just say you didn’t like chocolate? You liar.”

Curufin made a face as Finrod ran his fingers teasingly through the hair at the back of his head. “Fine. I don’t want to be given, like, heart shaped boxes of chocolates. And no nougat.”

“I shall never give you a heart-shaped box of anything,” said Finrod gravely. “Or nougat.”

“And you heard me about the flowers, right?”

“I was pretending not to. This might be where we run into trouble, because there may be the occasional flower – no, shh, this is non-negotiable, because see, I really like flowers.”

“NO, that’s foul and tacky, I refuse, I’m out – ”

Finrod leaned forward again and kissed Curufin, stifling his vehement objections. Curufin made a brief, outraged noise, and then knotted his fingers in Finrod’s shirt and pulled him closer.

“Fine,” he whispered, when they broke apart. “But you should know I won’t make other concessions so easily.”

“I would expect nothing less,” said Finrod, and kissed him again before letting him go.

* * *

The three of them burst through the door to Daeron’s apartment, laughing immoderately and tripping over each other as they tried to crowd through the doorway at the same time.

“What did I say?” cried Daeron, swinging the half drunk bottle of red wine they’d picked up at the bodega at the end of the block. “Am I genius for pulling you two in or what?”

“Sure, take all the credit.” Ríanellë pulled her hair from its ponytail and took a long drink from her own bottle. “Oh my god, this shit is like vinegar.”

“That’s what we get for buying $5 wine,” Maglor pointed out, but he was grinning as he drank from the third bottle. “And Dai, shut up, stop being so smug.”

“Never!” Daeron danced over to the stereo and dropped a record onto the turntable with aplomb. “Seriously, was that riff on the third track inspired or what?”

“That was Maglor’s idea.” Ríanellë shook her hair out of her eyes, her skin flushed from the wine and excitement. “Whew. This hits you quick on an empty stomach, doesn’t it? Maglor threw in that riff – I think it was improvised, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah.” Maglor dropped down on the couch as loud music filled the apartment.

“Right, that’s what I was saying. My buddy’s inspired.” Daeron passed behind the couch and pulled Maglor’s ponytail as he went. “Gawd, I’m not letting you go anywhere, you’re going to help me make this album kill.”

“Hear, hear.” Ríanellë raised her bottle in a toast as she started to sway to the music. “I could have kicked myself, though, first legit studio time and I didn’t have a single instrument with me, I can’t believe it.”

“We’ll get you any instrument you want,” said Daeron, spinning her around as she kicked off her shoes and danced in her stocking’ed feet. “I’ll get you a fuckin’ tuba if you want it, if you keep bringing that voice of yours – and Mags says you write, too?”

“Mostly pig songs,” said Ríanellë, and as Daeron squinted at her, she twirled across the room. “Ohhh he’s a lying, flying porker, see how his snout grows - !”

“You two are drunk,” said Daeron, laughing again as Maglor joined in the chorus and also in the dancing, tipping himself up from the couch to spin like a dervish next to Ríanellë. “What is so goddamned funny?”

“Pigs!” they both shouted at him, and, "We'll teach it to you, but you gotta be drunker," said Maglor.

Daeron tipped another eighth of the bottle down his throat obligingly.

Soon what was left of the wine was splashed across Daeron’s wood floors – Ríanellë had attempted to execute a pirouette and had dropped her almost empty bottle in the process – and Maglor had fallen back to the couch, winded as the room spun hazily around him. He felt warm and happy, his face aching from smiling, his throat raw from a day of singing and an evening of laughing too hard at things that seemed hilarious at the time.

Ríanellë had put on another album and was sliding across the floor in her socks, almost tumbling over as she slid headlong into Daeron, who grabbed her just in time to keep her from falling.

“Whoa there.”

“Why, thank you, kind sir,” said Ríanellë primly, and locked her arms around Daeron’s neck to keep herself upright. “Ooh, I love this song!”

“That’s the sound of the needle skipping,” said Daeron, “at least, I think so.” He paused, blinking thoughtfully. “But who are we to say what is or isn’t music?”

“Aw, shut up, you fuckin’ hipster,” said Ríanellë, and slipped again. “I can see why you two are friends.” Daeron laughed, pulling her up against him, and as she lifted her head to him, their mouths met.

Maglor had been watching lazily from the couch, content to watch and let the noise crash over him, content to watch his friends dance and joke, but at the sight of Ríanellë’s arms around Daeron’s neck, her eyes closing as he kissed her, Maglor’s stomach went suddenly cold, something sharp and painful clanging through the wine-warm haze.

Bu then Ríanellë broke the kiss, laughing, and fell back against the couch. “Oh, lord.” She slid over the back of the couch, landing in Maglor’s lap, and snuggled back against him. “How bad am I at this?”

“You’re pretty good, as far as I can tell,” said Daeron, grinning and plopping down on the couch next to them.

Ríanellë hummed and nuzzled at Maglor’s chin, as Daeron leaned forward and pressed another kiss to her bare arm, her shirt half slipping off her shoulder. Unsure, Maglor tilted his head to catch Ríanellë’s lips in a kiss, and the chill in his stomach started to subside as he felt Daeron’s warm hands brush lightly over his hips before he bent down to keep kissing Ríanellë’s neck.

Oh, thought Maglor. Oh, okay.

And then, Okay, yeah.

The three of them curled together on the couch, kissing and touching unhurriedly, without urgency or awkwardness, something clicking into place as easily as it had in the studio when their voices had come together with such little effort. Maglor stretched out with his back against the arm of the couch, Ríanellë settling warm between his legs, Daeron sprawling against both their sides, their legs hopelessly tangled. Someone was crushing his arm, their lips were all stained with wine, and they kept getting the giggles in turns, until Daeron had to pull away from kissing Ríanellë to stifle his laughter into Maglor's chest. Ríanellë’s hair was in Maglor’s mouth, there were too many couch cushions to maneuver properly, and his shirt was hiked up to his chest, but Maglor felt oddly elated. There was still a shiver in his stomach, but it felt like anticipation now, instead of dread, the same shiver of excitement and premonition he got before he went onstage, or stepped into the recording booth. A bit of fear, but an intoxicating fear, and the sense of This will either go very well, or very badly, but there's no way I'm turning back now.

Okay, yeah.

“C’mon,” murmured Daeron at last. “Couch’s too small.” He pushed himself to his feet, his hair a hopeless tangle, his shirt gone some time ago, and held out a hand. Ríanellë let herself be pulled up, tucking herself under his arm as he stretched out his other hand to Maglor. Maglor took it, and Daeron pulled him up with a broad, genuine smile, brushing a quick, messy kiss to Maglor’s cheek. Then he turned, still holding both of them by hand, and led them to the bedroom.

The door clicked shut behind them.

Chapter End Notes

1. This chapter sponsored by Shut Up and Dance, which I have decided is the theme song of the trio of hipsters at its close.

But your taste is so inviting

Chapter Summary

Now I'm living in a dream

Chapter Notes

0. For everyone who was disappointed I did a fade to grey at the end of the last chapter…this opening scene should perk you up. (Warnings for graphic m/f/m sex, deeply nsfw, explicit descriptions…you get the picture.) Also, for the many, many people who have expressed a longing for a certain redhead and his cousin husband boyfriend, I have written a scene just for you. Because I am a pushover (and I miss them too.)

Maglor woke with the dull, nauseous headache that screamed ‘bottle of cheap red wine’. He also noticed that his left arm was entirely asleep and he shifted uncomfortably, only to realize that the reason his arm was numb was because it was laid under Ríanellë. More specifically, Ríanellë’s bare shoulders. Ríanellë herself being fast asleep and naked and curled against his side. Maglor blinked, trying to get his brain to catch up to his eyes. His gaze traveled across Ríanellë’s body to the hand that was resting on her bare hip. His gaze traveled up the arm to its owner: Daeron, also asleep, his hair messy and in his face, his legs tangled with Ríanellë’s.

Flashes of the night started coming back to him.

Oh. Right.

Ríanellë struggling to get out of her bra, laughing helplessly as both Maglor and Daeron tried to help and only made matters worse.

Maglor, oddly hypnotized by the tattoo on Daeron’s bare shoulder blade, tracing his fingers over it as the muscles of Daeron’s back shifted under his touch.

The taste of Ríanellë’s salt.

The callouses on Daeron’s hands.

Oh, my god.

Maglor’s cramping arm spasmed, and he twitched involuntarily, causing Ríanellë to roll away from him and into Daeron, who wrapped his arm around her and tucked his face against her hair.

Maglor sat bolt upright, with a dizzy lurch of his stomach, and Daeron opened his eyes blearily. “Ungh. What time is it?”

“I don’t know,” said Maglor, and winced. Talking hurt.

“Shh,” murmured Ríanellë, into Daeron’s chest. “ ‘S too early to talk ‘bout how early it is.”

“It’s light out though,” said Maglor pointlessly.

“Lie back down,” said Ríanellë, and she reached up to tug him down into a tangle with her and Daeron. Uncertain, Maglor settled his chin against her shoulder and put a cautious arm around her waist. His arm brushed Daeron’s as he did so, but instead of flinching away, Daeron simply reached out and pulled both of them closer, his hand wrapping around Maglor’s hip. Maglor, pressed close to Ríanellë’s back and the soft, tempting curve of her ass, felt himself stir, despite the queasy pound of his hangover. Ríanellë wriggled back against him, a smile curving the corners of her lips, and Daeron made a noise of approval. He leaned forward to kiss her, and the arm he had laid across both of them traveled lazily up Maglor’s side. Maglor felt his skin prickle anticipatorily at Daeron’s touch, and he tightened his arms around Ríanellë, enjoying the experience of feeling her responses without the fog of alcohol that had shrouded him the night before.